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“Oh, aiight, get ya laugh on, baby. The tables are about to turn. So let’s see how funny you think shit is now.” He tells me to lift my hips. I do. He removes my skirt, tossing it into the corner of the room. I get ready to remove my laced Vickies, but he stops me. Tells me he wants to eat my pussy over them, first. And I am more than fine with him wetting my pussy up over my panties. He buries his head in between my thighs, starts licking the center of my pussy, then begins sucking it until the thin fabric of my panties are drenched. I let out a moan, palming his head with one hand and pinching my right nipple over my shirt with the other. I wrap my leg around the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into me.
“Yeah, that’s right, tease my pussy, nigga. Wet my panties up…” The nigga doesn’t even have his tongue in me yet, but the way he’s working me over has my insides already shaking. I know a lot of it has to do with hearing Jasper’s voice earlier, and me missing his dick inside of me. Then there’s that other part of me…that side of me that knows I’m playing with fire, taking risks, playing a dangerous, deadly game. And it is this knowing that ignites the flames between my thighs. “Rip my panties off,” I demand in a low, husky moan. He grabs them with his teeth, then tears them apart, exposing my engorged clit and dewy lips. “Suck my pussy, nigga…”
I reach for him, direct him to shift his body, to lower his dick down into my mouth so I can take him into my throat. He does and we get into a wet, sweaty, nasty groove of moaning and groaning and sucking and slurping each other. I run a finger along the crack of his ass, gulping his cock down into my neck. Before long he is deep-stroking my neck while eating me out. The loud slurping sound he is making is music to my ears and makes me hornier than I already am. I lift my legs up, roll my hips up from off the bed, then wrap them around his back, offering him access to my asshole as well.
We are both trying to outsuck and face-fuck the other. We are both frantic, trying to outplease the other. It has become a race to see who can make who nut first. In the end, I win—as I always do, bringing him to the finish line in multiple waves of ecstasy. His body shudders as I continue nursing on his dick. I let his baby batter slide down in my throat, then pull his dick out of my neck and begin sucking on the head while rapidly jerking his shaft. He has another nut ready to erupt and I am determined to coax it up. After tonight’s rendezvous, this nigga will never forget being with the Deep Throat Diva. And no matter whoever else he gets to suck his dick outside of “wifey,” none of them hoes will ever compare to me.
A few minutes later, I start creaming on his tongue. Not long afterward he lets out another loud moan and nuts in my mouth again. I swallow him. Then he shifts his body around and collapses beside me, breathing heavy.
“Whew,” he says, catching his breath. “I ain’t gonna front. I ain’t tryna leave my girl, but I damn sure don’t wanna stop this shit, either.”
“Trust me, boo. I’m not asking you to leave her, either. Nor do I want you to. And I’m not going to front. I enjoy sucking your dick. And you’re the first nigga in a long-ass time who I’ve let bust in my mouth and I swallow that shit.”
“Word?” he asks, seemingly surprised.
I nod. “I’m a dick sucker, baby. But I’m not a messy one. Most niggas get the latex treatment, so consider yourself one of the lucky few.”
“That’s wassup. So, what’s really good with you? You single? Gotta a man? The last time we kicked it, you was actin’ all secretive ’n shit. Dig, I’m discreet, too. I’m not tryna disrupt my home situation. And I’m definitely not lookin’ to disrupt your groove either. But I dig you. And I wanna know more about you. This shit we got goin’ is a no-strings arrangement between us, and I’m good wit’ that. Just two peeps freakin’ it on the low.”
“Good,” I say. “And that’s how it should remain. But, after tonight, this is it for us. I have to chill out.”
“Oh, word? I guess that answers my question. I can dig it.”
For some reason I decide to keep it real with him. I break down my situation and tell him all about Jasper without telling him who he exactly is. Explain to him how I got caught up in this internet shit. When I am finished, he stares at me, stunned. “Damn, so how many dicks have you sucked off since you started going online, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Shit. The truth is I don’t exactly know how many niggas I’ve topped off. But I can guesstimate. And in my approximation, I count at least—including him—thirty-seven dicks…in two years. As embarrassing as this is, I tell him. And it feels like a ton of bricks have been lifted up off my shoulders. I am relieved to have someone to share my dirty little deeds with. Besides, I don’t see him as a threat. He has as much to lose as I do, if not more.
I watch him intently as I tell him this, gauging his reaction. There is none. But I can tell he’s thinking—something. “Go ’head. Say it.”
“What?”
“What you’re thinking. How trifling I am.”
He strokes my cheek, then kisses me on the forehead. “Nah, actually that’s not what I was thinking at all.”
“What were you thinking, then?”
“I was thinking, what ya man will do if he ever finds out.”
I inhale a deep breath. Hold it in my lungs as if it were going to be my last, then slowly exhale. I close my eyes for a few seconds, then open them. “Kill me,” I whisper.
SIXTEEN
Seven A.M., Monday morning, I am at the shop handling some last-minute things before the place starts buzzing with people. And as usual, Felecia is here in diva style, done up in all of her finery: white gold tennis bracelets, two carat diamond earrings, and a diamond choker. She’s wearing a sexy black and white BCBG Max Azria tunic dress and a bad-ass pair of four-inch black L.A.M.B. leather and suede strappy booties with twisting straps. Then to top it off she has on a damn multi-toned color bob style wig with a sweeping bang. I glance over at her sixteen-hundred dollar Ferragamo satchel she has propped up on the counter, shaking my head. This bitch is worse than me when it comes to handbags and wears. I swear she has enough clothes and accessories to open up her own boutique. Not that I have room to talk.
“I see you serving up another new look.”
“Oh, please,” she says, waving me on, “I just rolled outta bed and threw this on.”
I laugh. “Yeah, right. And you popped the tags, when? This morning?” She laughs, knowing I’m right. That’s the one thing we definitely have in common—our love for high-end fashion. The only difference—well, two differences—I’m not into all the different wigs and hairpieces, and I can now afford to buy my own shit. She, on the other hand, has a different type and style of wig f
or every day of the week and she still relies on her man, Andre, to keep her laced. I’m not hating, though. I was that same chick once.
The conversation shifts into her filling me in on all the things she forgot to mention last night when we spoke on the phone. She feeds me drops of new gossip. And for some reason, I cling onto every morsel. Like Alicia getting pissy drunk over the weekend and sucking off some stripper nigga’s dick in front of everyone at some chick’s bachelorette party. The image flashes through my mind and I feel myself becoming turned on. Then pictures of that nigga who walked up in here looking for me to suck his dick flash through my head and my mood shifts, but I don’t let on. My man said if I came through you’d hit me off with one of ya deep throat specials…Suck my dick, bitch!
I buck my eyes, shaking his words out of my head. “You have got to be kidding me,” I say, feigning disgust. But I know more than anyone that I am no better, or no different, than she is. At the end of the day, we’re both two dick-sucking whores.
“Now you know I don’t kid when it comes to the street news. And baby, Miss Hotbox was in rare form, I hear.”
