It was a pathetic cycle of dependency, which held her pussy in its grip of dick addiction. The power of the dick can leave even the strongest minded woman quivering in a pool of her own cum and waiting for her next orgasmic release. Every time she tried to get off the crack dick and go about her life; something would happen to start her reminiscing again the way his dick spoke to her body. She would masturbate until she had Carpal Tunnel in her fingers and still her pussy would be on fire. She would curse her stupidity as she dialed his number, but was unable to help herself. She needed a fix. He had her strung out worse than a wino who loved his liquor.
Two hours earlier, Mitchell had called talking that sweet shit that always got J’s panties wet, her clit throbbing, and her pussy smiling like a stupid schoolgirl in love. She was far from a schoolgirl, but still held on to the belief that she would fall in love and be loved by a man deserving of her mind and heart, and not just her pussy. They all seemed to fall in love with her pussy but never with her. Her heart had been broken many times before by silver-tongued men who promised to love her until the day she died, but they always left after the pussy became too familiar. She was always replaced with someone new, but definitely not better. New doesn’t mean better, but men just seem incapable of being satisfied with one pussy, no matter how sweet it is to them.
J was pushing thirty, and she was tired. Like most women, J was still hopeful that there was still one good guy left out there to love her. Men knew that this belief kept most women going long after they should have given up on their sorry trifling asses and it was that simple belief of finding a good man in a city of players that kept the pussy flowing for every man who knew how to work a woman’s mind. They fed them the drink of hope with sexy smiles, empty promises and sex that felt like love—but in the end just turned out to be sex. A momentary distraction from reality.
“Just make sure your sweet ass is naked,” Mitchell told her. “We fucking like rabbits as soon as I get there. I got a dick headache and your pussy is the aspirin.”
The stupid chauvinistic stuff that came out Mitchell’s mouth always made J laugh out loud at his arrogance, but it also made her cringe at how she was wrapped around his finger like a piece of string. All she wanted was for a man to see past the sweetness of her pussy, and see how beautiful her heart was also. There should be a timer on your pussy. It would stay locked until there was reasonable assurances that a man was genuine with his affections, and only then would it open to release the honey to the bee buzzing above it. The problem is when most men smiled at a woman, all four of her lips usually got wet, and the combination to the pussy could easily be read in her eyes. It’s not a conscious unlocking, but soft drizzles of arousal start to flow and he knows that the combination is just a kiss away waiting to be tasted on your lips.
“You always chat that bullshit when you need this pussy, but you never be answering your damn phone when I call.” J’s voice was angry now. Drinking almost an entire bottle of Alize and smoking two joints always made her more emotional. “Why you treat me this way all the time like I’m some kinda fucking jump off or some whore bitch? I know I’m not your woman, but I ain’t no jump off either. You better start treating me right or someone else is gonna get this sweet pussy you say you love so damn much.”
Drink in one hand and cell phone in the other, J walked around her apartment in black thongs and high heels and continued to rage to Mitchell about how he treated her with disrespect. She was near tears but got it together before the waterworks started to fall.
This drama with J had been going on for a year now, so Mitchell knew the deal. He would let her vent, and then soothe her with the words that always got him through the door and into her panties. Ultimately, that was all he cared about. She was great in bed and gave great head. He would miss her pussy should he lose it, but there was always more pussy to be found in a place like New York. Some other man could have the rest of this drama, woman bullshit she was trying to lay on him. All he wanted was to bust a big nut, have his dick sucked, and then fall asleep. You would think that after a year, she would know this by now; some women need a building to fall on them to get the picture that they are nothing more than a piece of pussy to a man. Funny thing is, even after they know that a man is just sticking around for the pussy—they will try to change his mind. If it starts off as a pussy thing—it will end up the same way. A man can’t lose even when he fucks up. Pathetic.
“I’m sorry baby,” he said for the thousandth time. “There’s no excuse for my behavior especially since you’re always so good to me. I miss you baby and I need to see you.”
His voice had dropped to barely a whisper to emote sincerity and longing. J would fall for his bullshit every time. Mitchell knew how his words and dick affected J. He knew she was crying silently at his sincerity, and he promised to make it up to her as soon as he got there. Two hours later, he walked through the projects empty handed and headed to her apartment. From the corner of his eyes, he saw her looking out the window already naked, and she was probably having a pussy stroke at being kept waiting again. He would soon make her forget her anger and replace it with moans of intense passion. Mitchell knew the one thing that he needed to know, J had low-esteem, and he used it every time to get what he needed from her. It was like a pimp taking money from a hooker, every time it just got sweeter.
Slumming down to the projects about twice a month to fuck J had been a new experience for Mitchell. In this instance, the stereotype of what he imagined was all too real: the stench of weed permeated the air, music of the most profane kind filtered through the radios and rapped to precision by the young black men loitering in front of J’s building. With his IPod blasting the sweet sounds of Dave Matthews in his ears, he would hurriedly walk by them and exhale a sigh of relief once he was in her building. He never took the elevator because it was too slow and there was always a surprise of some disgusting kind waiting for his eyes and nose. The staircase wasn’t that much better. There were a few times he would have to navigate around a passed-out, drunken person, a drug deal going down, and even a couple in the throes of passion. He might as well have been invisible because they never paid attention to him. He was safe. They knew he was either slumming to get some project pussy or looking to score some weed. Either way, he didn’t care what they were doing so they let him go about his business in the projects.
A few minutes had passed and still she hadn’t opened the door. Every time I have to go through this shit with this girl, Mitchell thought to himself. Why the fuck do I keep coming back? It was the best damn sex and blowjobs he had ever had in his thirty-five years, and he wasn’t about to give it up that easily no matter how much a pain-in-the-ass seeing her could be at times.
He lived out in Long Island with his wife and three kids who were away visiting relatives in Connecticut. He loved his wife but in ten years of marriage, she had never once made him feel the way that J did when they had sex. The sex was good between them, but there was a comfort level that felt rehearsed and lacking spontaneity after a lifetime of marriage. It’s true what they say about a man wanting a lady in the street and a whore in the bed. The whore in his wife didn’t exist. She wouldn’t allow herself to just cut loose. On the few occasions when she would give him a blowjob, it often felt like a stranger was touching his dick and was inspecting it like a doctor and not a woman who relished sucking dick. She would make faces and look for a spot that was least offensive to her delicate sensibilities. She wouldn’t really suck it like a dick is supposed to be deep-throated. It was more like a tasting test. The whole thing was quite frustrating to Mitchell, and he would get more satisfaction masturbating before taking a shower.
He loved his wife, but sometimes he didn’t know if he was in love with her anymore. With J, the sex was the kind of sex you saw in porno movies. She would let him fuck her anywhere, at any angle; she moaned and screamed from the minute he entered her, and it made him feel virile. His wife behaved as if his dick was an intruder into her pussy
and mouth, but J welcomed it in all of her sweet holes. In some ways, he knew that he was addicted to her pussy, but would never admit or show it. He had to keep the upper hand in order to keep their relationship in balance.
“It took your black ass long enough to get here,” J said to him when she finally opened the door.
She had been standing there the whole time and wanted to make him suffer, but she was the one dying inside to feel him close to her again. She could see his juicy lips through the peephole of the door and was unconsciously rubbing her clit. Not wanting him to change his mind and leave, she finally opened the door and pretended to be upset, but she was happy that he came to see her again. Mitchell would smile at her and hug her, but it always felt distant to J as if it wasn’t a genuine hug of affection. More like something that felt necessary to get her into bed. It was only during sex would he allow himself to open up to her when she spread her legs—then he would become vulnerable and treat her with compassion.
She was far from a beautiful woman. However, she was sexy with her size two waist and small round Love and Basketball ass; but once men gazed up from her ass to her face; the look on their faces usually was a telling sign for J. There wasn’t anything discernibly fugly about her except that the lower right side of her face was slightly burned. An ex-lover in a weed-induced haze had poured hot water on her face forever scarring her dark skin. She wasn’t able to afford plastic surgery, so the alternative was make up and long weaves to hide her scar. In the year that she had dated Mitchell, he never asked about it and she didn’t volunteer any information. She sometimes wondered if it didn’t matter to him that she was scarred or maybe that he just didn’t give a shit, and all she was to him was a warm, tight pussy.
In the dark of her bedroom, Mitchell would shut his eyes and the only thing he could feel was the ecstasy rummaging around in his balls and aching in his dick. He might as well be blind because he kept his eyes shut the whole time and saw her with his hands, mouth, fingers and tongue. They were his eyes as he fucked and made love to her.
Dressed in a flimsy black thong and high heels, Mitchell imagined J as a streetwalker, and the erection in his pants shifted at the scent of pussy in his vicinity. Her apartment was dark and lit only by the light from the streetlights streaming through the windows. It was more than enough to give him a full view of her body. What she lacked in beauty was aptly made up with a body that screamed sexuality. Her breasts were a nice handful with dark nipples that always seemed erect; a line of soft baby hair ran down the middle of her flat stomach and led directly to her clean-shaven peach, which was always wet and ready for penetration.
“You see something you like, fucker?” J said with a smirk in her face. She was already wet from being angry, the liquor and the weed. Her pussy was horny and didn’t care if Mitchell was an asshole. He was an asshole with a crack dick.
“Bet you won’t be talking that shit in a minute when I’m fucking the shit out of my pussy.”
“Stop running your damn mouth and do it. If I wanted to watch a fucking talk show I would turn on Oprah. This ain’t your pussy by the way—motherfucker.”
J turned around to give him a look at the ass he’d been neglecting and started walking back to the bedroom. He grabbed her at the elbow and she spun into his body. Before she could protest, the heat of his tongue had snaked into her mouth and she swallowed her words. His erection pressed against the outsides of her pussy and made her clit throb with excitement. She turned to the side to avoid his penetration. She knew this would only make his dick harder when she resisted him. The fact that he was two hours late was slowly fading into her memory because she didn’t need to be angry right now. She needed to be pleasured. It never took much for J to forget how angry she was at Mitchell for often treating her like an after thought. She thought the least he could do was bring some flowers or candy to make up for his bad behavior, but now, candy and flowers were the last things on her mind. The only thought raging in her pussy was the need to be dicked down for hours, or until she couldn’t take anymore. Mitchell never left her unsatisfied, which in her book was a big plus. It was only after he left that she felt like a whore for letting him treat her like a jump off. For now, she just wanted his cock-of-pleasure to be buried like a bone inside her hungry pussy.
Mitchell never wasted any time when he came over. He was on the clock. Conversation was limited to the pleasantries and he would toss in a few soft compliments to feed her ego, but he never asked about her day, how her job was going, or just basic stuff that a man who cares about you would ask. Other than that, it was straight to the bedroom, or not unlike this very moment, up against the wall. J was a tiny woman; Mitchell could stand to lose a few pounds from his two hundred and seventy five pound, six foot frame, but J liked her men big like Mitchell.
She enjoyed the feeling of being lost in a man and overwhelmed by his physical presence and sexual prowess. The high heels had slipped off her feet and her underwear lay at her feet in a bunch. She had assumed the position for penetration: hands laid flat on the wall, head tilted forward, and ass cocked slightly in the air to receive Mitchell’s erect manhood; but the fucker always teased her by letting the head of his dick tease her enlarged pussy lips. That shit drove her crazy because it built up her frustration to a crescendo until he plunged his dick deep into her waiting wetness.
“Don’t tease me like that baby,” her voice was low and aching with passionate lust to feel him inside of her.
She was feening for his crack dick. Mitchell knew his dick was like crack to J because she repeatedly told him how addicted she was to it, and in the next breath, would tell him how much she hated him and wished that a building fell down on his black ass. J had good dick before, but the way Mitchell fucked her was the way a man should fuck a woman. He fucked her body, mind, and soul, and he wouldn’t stop even after she came—he would continue fucking her. She would lie in bed after they had finished fucking, her body physically unable to take anymore dick, but she still craved to feel it inside of her. She needed dick rehab in the worst way to wean her pussy off it, but she was too weak to even contemplate being without him. Right after he was finished spraying all of his cum inside of her pussy walls, sleep would take him away to Snore Land. While he slept, J would turn him over on his side and suck his flaccid penis. She felt pathetic for wanting him so desperately, but grateful to be the one on the receiving end of his dick.
After a brief half hour nap to recuperate, Mitchell would spread her ass open from the back and squeezed it so hard that J cried out in pleasurable pain. She loved when he did that before submerging his dick inside of her pussy. So forceful was his penetration that she almost literally climbed the walls like Spiderwoman until they rolled off the bed onto the carpeted floor. Mitchell wrapped his hands around J’s tiny spider waist, and with his dick still inside her pulsating wet pleasure; he lifted her off the floor with her back against his and her ass bouncing off his chest. J somehow spun herself around and jumped into his arms, landing directly on his erection. The force of her landing on his erection caused her to shudder and scream out like a cat being beaten by its master. Mitchell grabbed J’s ass like store bought melons, and fondled them knowingly while he continued to pile drive his dick inside of her crack dick addicted pussy.
“Fuck me baby,” she whimpered as she bounced up and down on his cock like a trampoline. “You fuck me like a dream!”
“Tell me it’s mine! Tell me you love me,” he ordered her as J’s pussy juice dripped down his shaft. He savagely fucked her and J bit down into his shoulders to stop from screaming. She didn’t want her neighbors to hear her coming with a force that would leave her weak and professing love for a man she didn’t even know. She knew his dick, but she didn’t know him.
“I love you baby,” she said in answer to his question. “You know this pussy is yours. It’s yours anytime you want it, daddy.”
The muscles of her pussy gripped Mitchell’s shaft and milked it until he erupted like a volcano
inside of her. J had already come multiple times, and feeling Mitchell’s geyser of hot cum exploding inside of her brought her to another one. They both laid down on the bed; Mitchell on his back still trying to catch his breath and J in a fetal position with her weave sweated out, and her pussy throbbing like a migraine headache.
“You want some water, baby?”
He nodded yes. A stupid smile of self-satisfaction was etched on his face. J glanced at Mitchell’s dick still semi-erect, and kissed it as she left the room. It didn’t take much to put him to sleep after sex. What is about men that one minute after sex, they suddenly lose interest in a woman? It’s as if all their strength is in their penis, and once it’s emptied of all its cum—they’re useless for everything else. It doesn’t take much too just hold your woman in your arms and let her know that you appreciate her as you fall asleep. Selfish bastards, the whole lot of them, J thought to herself as she bent over in the refrigerator butt-naked. The cold air felt good against her still hot skin. If she didn’t know any better, it felt as if Mitchell’s dick was still inside of her, and was being used as a third leg to prop her up. J cracked open a bottle of Corona, tilted her head backwards, and drank half the bottle in three swallows. Mitchell’s snoring had left the room and followed her into the kitchen. It sounded as if someone was choking him as he struggled for air. She finished off the rest of the Corona and walked slowly back to her room with a bottle of water.
J wondered what it would feel like to put a pillow over Mitchell’s face and suffocate him in his sleep. The thought made her smile as she watched him from the doorway of her bedroom. She was sure no one knew where he was, and he probably had never mentioned her name to any of his friends. She was a ghost in his life. The sudden realization saddened J and she knew once again that it was time to get this monkey off her back. She didn’t know where this man lived, his real name, or anything that could prove he existed in the world. Every time she would ask him anything personal, he would automatically change the subject and try to get in her panties. He had a one-track mind. There were worse men in the world than him, but he did nothing to dispel the notion that he possessed only one single, redeeming quality. She loved him and there was no use in fighting the truth—her heart and body were addicted to him and his crack dick.
The Pussy Whispers Page 16