by Noire
“I’m cool,” I whispered, staring between her legs.
“Good,” she said, pushing my body back and stripping me out of my clothes.
Before I knew it, her face was between my legs, tickling my clit almost as good as Telly. Her sex was so good. I just went with the flow, blocking out everything but the tingle crawling through me. I gapped my legs wider as she lashed me with a knowing tongue. I felt myself about to squirt, and I tightened my pussy muscles. I hadn’t been dicked down in weeks. I wanted this shit to last.
“Ooh,” I moaned.
“You like that, Star?” she asked, her whisper traveling from between my legs.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
Her dainty fingers opened my pussy lips, then slid in and out of me.
I gripped the couch when she licked me, then stuck something inside me. A dildo.
“You like that, Star?” she repeated, this time her words drifted directly into my ear.
What the fuck? How can she be in my ear and sucking, and fucking me with a toy at the same time? Better not be that damn dog! My eyes shot open.
Telly smiled. On his knees, he was between my legs feeding my pussy with the head of his dick.
I jumped up. He pushed me back down. Brooklyn massaged my temples.
“The best of both worlds,” Telly said. “Star, meet my wife.”
Brooklyn kissed my cheek, then licked my earlobe. She laughed. “We already met.”
I sat there, dazed, but not confused. I’d been set up, and it felt good as hell.
AYEESHA
Erick S. Gray
I woke up to my six-twenty alarm, only to hear my man taking a shower. I sighed and stared over at the empty space. That man just doesn’t sleep, I thought. He came in late last night after doing whatever the fuck he did out on the streets, and now he’s gettin’ ready to bounce outta this house again. This niggah is up before me every fuckin’ morning, and obviously makin’ that money is more important than fuckin’ his wife. But I kept my mouth shut about it. I didn’t have to be at work until nine this morning, so that gave me time to play around and to try to get me some dick—for what it was worth. But instead of lying next to me in the sheets, he was in the fuckin’ shower.
I’d had a crazy-ass dream last night, and I woke up with my pussy on fire. I’d dreamed that I was in a barn surrounded by huge black stallions that kept staring at me. I was encircled by at least a dozen long-dicked horses as I lay butt naked on a pile of hay. It was getting dark outside, springtime, and the wind softly skimmed my skin and sounded like it was faintly calling my name—Ayeesha—as it held me in my dream. I was in heaven for real.
That spot between my thighs was tingling in my sleep. I wanted to be touched. I was wet with excitement, so I rested my head against the spongy hay, then parted my legs and was just about to get it on with myself when something made me look up. Walking out of the circle of stallions came this tall, dark, and gorgeous guy. He had the physique of a well-sculpted ironman with a six-pack, buff arms, and firm thighs.
He was naked, and his dick hung down on him like an anaconda. Shit, he was packing just as much as those horses were. He didn’t say a word, and I couldn’t talk either. He walked up to me, then got down on his knees and parted my thighs, eating me deliciously while the horses watched.
His tongue swam around in me like he was trying to dig for something. I panted loudly as I fondled my breast with one hand and gripped his gleaming bald head with the other. I was loud, so loud that I began stirring up the horses as they watched this fine man eat me out on a pile of hay. The horses started leaping up in the air on their hind legs, but we kept going and paid them no mind. The guy ate me to death as he gripped my right leg strongly. He spread my legs wider as his head swirled between my thighs.
“Aaaaaahhh . . . aaaaaahhh . . . aaaaaahhh,” I panted, feeling myself sinking deeper into the hay.
He lifted his head up and stared at me with this strange dim gaze. He climbed on top of me and positioned himself between my wet thighs. We sank deeper into the hay as he pressed against me; I felt the tip of his big dick touching against my warm and inviting lips. His huge erection opening me up wide, and he pushed inch by inch of his vast size up inside me. I cried out.
“Ahhh . . . Oh, God!”
My nameless dream-man thrust and thrust into me as I straddled him and dug my manicured nails into his bare skin. I felt myself sinking lower and lower into the hay as he fucked me and fucked me.
Then suddenly I heard a voice call out . . . Ayeesha!
I opened my eyes, surprised that my dream had seemed so real. The sheet between my legs was damp, and I was horny as hell. I heard my husband in the shower and wished he was next to me, ready to fuck, just like I was right now.
I lay my head back against the pillow, and slowly moved my hand between my thighs, pulling up my silk-and-lace pink slip as I touched myself lightly. My husband had come to bed last night without even noticing what I had on.
I began to masturbate slowly, thinking about my crazy dream. I couldn’t see or remember the stranger’s face, but I definitely remembered his body.
I panted as I slowly dug two fingers into my pulsating pussy, closing my eyes and trying to recall those hot scenes from my dream. I’d been handling myself for at least ten minutes when the water in the shower was cut off and Tears shouted from the bathroom, “Ayeesha! Get yo ass up!”
I moaned, ignoring him as I continued to finger myself rapidly. Fuck! He had messed up my flow. I wanted to cum this morning!
Tears walked into the bedroom wrapped in a blue towel.
“Baby, come here for a minute,” I called out, my voice dripping with sex as I gazed at him.
“Yo, what you want, Ayeesha? I got someplace to be in an hour,” he replied. “Don’t you gotta be at work soon?”
I looked at him with disgust. Here I’m laid up in his bed fingering myself, horny as fuck and wanting some dick, and he’s worrying about work?
I watched him dig around in his dresser drawers looking for some clothes to put on. I got out of bed, approached him from behind and wrapped my arms around his waist, kissing his neck tenderly. He acted all nonchalant to my affection.
“Yo, baby, chill . . . I ain’t in the fuckin’ mood right now. I gotta get dressed. I told you I got someplace to be.”
“What?” I replied with an attitude.
He ignored me as he dug deeper into his drawer and pulled out a .45 automatic. He checked the clip and laid it on the dresser.
“Tears, what’s up?” I asked.
“Business.”
“I need to be your business right now,” I told him. Damn! I hadn’t had no dick in over a week. Shit, I’m dreaming about barns, strange men, and horses, and this niggah was walking around our bedroom half-naked and ignoring me like I wasn’t shit right now.
I sat at the edge of the bed and spread my legs to show him that I had no panties on. My pussy was shaved and throbbing and ready for some dick action.
Tears stared between my legs for a second, then his cell phone went off on the nightstand. He reached for it and started talking, and all I could do was sigh.
“Yeah . . . I got you . . . nah . . . not on the phone,” I heard him say.
He quickly ended his call, and continued to get dressed.
“You just gonna sit around all morning and not do shit? Yo, get your ass dressed,” he said to me.
I looked at my boo like, Niggah is you serious?
I sighed heavily. Fuck him! I stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. My pussy was still tingling and craving some dick, but that was all right. I could handle mines. I dropped my pink slip to the floor and gazed at my reflection in the mirror.
I was petite with silky skin and shaped like the letter S. My hair was long and black, and men always told me I had some beautiful hazel eyes. All of that and my niggah didn’t wanna fuck me this morning? What the hell was wrong with him?
I opened the bathroom door and shouted to h
im, “Tears, are you on the down low?”
“What you say?” he shouted back from the bedroom.
I said, “Do you like to take dick in your ass?”
“Bitch, what you say?” he shouted again. He must have been distracted by something, otherwise he would have heard me just fine.
I sighed and closed the bathroom door. His ass was out there.
As I stood in the shower trying to cool off, I thought about Tears and how we first met. We’d been together for two years and I was starting to wonder what was happening to us. Yeah, I loved the shit out of him, but lately he ain’t been giving it to me right. I thought maybe he was fuckin’ the next bitch, but why would he?
Tears knows I’m a freak—shit the niggah met me in a strip club and fucked me that same night. I was dancing topless at this club on Hillside Avenue called Dreams, and trying to get my Bachelor’s degree at York College. I grew up in the Baisley Projects over on Guy R. Brewer and Foch. I’d always dated thugs and drug dealers, and Tears was no different. I knew he was hustling. He made frequent trips back and forth from New York to B-More, moving product with his boy Rondo.
It was after midnight, and I was onstage twirling myself around the pole with a dozen or so men screaming and waving dollar bills. I was glistening with baby oil and clad only in a baby blue thong and six-inch stilettos. I made about three hundred that night, and was looking to make much more by the time I retired and went home.
I knew that I was the sexiest bitch in the club, ’cause I got countless requests for lap dances after my segment, and niggahs wanted to take me into the VIP room and feel me up, and some were willing to pay a little extra just to fuck me. But I wasn’t trying to fuck any of these dirty-dick niggahs in the club.
My song, “Honey Love” by R. Kelly played loudly in the backdrop, and I rolled around onstage, gleaming, moving around like I was making love to the floor.
“Damn, you sexy,” this middle-aged man stated, as he tossed a ten-dollar bill onstage at me. I smiled, moved my hand slowly across his face touching him soothingly, and then I grabbed his hand and moved it steadily across my breasts. I felt him squeezing my tits and groaning during the process.
“That’s enough,” I softly said, showing him a slight smile and moving his hand away from my goodies.
“Marry me,” he joked, looking content.
I continued my seductive routine onstage, and the DJ was doing me right by his selection in music. He continuously played one R. Kelly record after another. This time I moved my butt to “Bump N’ Grind.” I grabbed the pole and dropped down to the floor into a wide split—showing these muthafuckas my flexibility, and then I bounced my ass up and down against the stage.
“Oh shit!” I heard someone shout. Soon they were tossing tens and twenties at me like wild. I stood up on my six-inch heels clutching the pole, and moved to the beat with extreme passion, eyeing the crowd and looking at their reactions to my hot dance and fine body. I got excited just watching niggahs praise and rave over me in the club. I was the best.
I was about to end my dance segment, when I noticed Tears looming from the crowd. He was so fuckin’ sexy. I had noticed him around the way a few times, but never got at him like that.
He stood by the stage, gazing at me, wearing a clean white tank top, baggy Sean John jeans, fresh new Timberlands on his feet, and his bald head gleaming. Adorning his neck was a thick platinum chain and a diamond encrusted cross. I glanced at his right hand, and also saw him sporting a diamond encrusted pinky ring.
“What’s good, luv?” he said, pulling out a wad of bills from his pocket. “You know you look good, right? What’s your name?” he whispered in my ear as he leaned over me.
“Ayeesha.”
“I like that. You a shorty fo’ real.” He peeled off three C notes and tossed them at me. Ya know I had to continue dancing after that!
For the next ten minutes, I belonged to Tears on that stage. He had my undivided attention as he tipped me big, dropping fifties and hundred-dollar bills on me.
His touch was soft, confident, and enticing. He had me lying down on my back, with my legs spread wide as he ran his hands down my thighs. I felt his fingers brush against my pussy. I moaned lightly as I peered up at him.
Then he gave me this wicked grin, and I suddenly felt him tugging at my thong, trying to remove it.
I jumped, grabbing my thong and said, “Yo, chill, chill . . . we can’t get naked in here. You about to get me kicked out.”
He gave me an assuring look and returned with, “Don’t worry about the house rules; they know me up in here, luv . . . I got you. This is my treat.”
I was nervous and reluctant. What the fuck he meant, I got you, I thought. But Tears was persistent and continued to tug at my thong. I was on my back when he pulled it off and dropped it next to me. I was now butt-ass naked onstage in nothing but some stilettos, and I heard the crowd of men around me go stir crazy.
Tears ran his hand down my thighs and then pushed his middle and index finger deep into my pussy. I moaned as I glanced around nervously for the manager, and surprisingly I saw him looking on without barking or screaming on me. I guess Tears really did have connections in here, because usually if a girl flashed one pubic hair she got her ass chewed out later by Neo, the club manager.
Men started to crowd around the stage, as all eyes were fixated on me and him, and they watched Tears lean forward between my thighs and sink his full beautiful lips and tongue into my wet and throbbing pussy. I cried out with passion as he consumed my pussy like crazy. I was sprawled out on my back, had my legs straddled around him with my arms outstretched behind me, clutching the pole tightly and forgetting about who was watching.
“Ummmm . . . aaaaaahhh . . . ummm . . . ummm . . . shit, mutha-fucka . . . aaaaaahhh, eat that pussy, Tears,” I cried out.
The DJ had turned the music off, and everyone heard my loud cries. Niggahs started to chant, “Tears. Tears. Tears. Tears. Tears. Tears. Tears.”
That niggah went buck-wild between my legs, not missing a beat. He tore my ass up as he ate my pussy. He gripped both my thighs and pushed my legs back, and dug his tongue deeper into me. I felt his wet tongue swimming around in me, and I continued to clutch the pole. I just couldn’t let go.
Money was raining down on me like crazy, but that was the last thing I was worried about. I think I fell in love with Tears that night. He was raw and just didn’t give a fuck. And I loved that about a niggah.
After five minutes of putting a sistah in bliss, he finally stopped. He looked down at me with this content grin, and said, “Yo get dressed. We outta here.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I collected my things and walked offstage butt naked. I didn’t bother to put my thong back on. I just strutted through the crowd not giving a fuck, clutching countless big bills in my hand.
I made it to the changing room and quickly got dressed. I heard one of the girls in the room say, “That bitch is wilding. I don’t know why Tears picked her for.”
It was hate talking, but I ignored her jealous ass and threw on my shit and met up with Tears outside the club. I had counted up twelve hundred dollars, and most if it had come from him.
Tears stood outside in front of the club, leaning against his gleaming black Escalade that was parallel parked next to a few cars out front. I smiled and strutted up to him in my short denim skirt and heels and gave him a hug like I’d known him forever.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
I jumped into his truck and he drove off. It was like we connected. We went and got something to eat, and I ended up fuckin’ him in the backseat of his truck. We were parked by a grassy area and I straddled him in the backseat with my skirt pulled up to my waist and feeling his dick steadily moving in and out of me.
A month later, unexpectedly, he asked me to move in with him and I accepted. But before we hooked up like that he said to me, “Yo, when we do this . . . you my wifey forever, you feel me? I’m gonna
take care of you, Ayeesha . . . you know what I’m sayin’? But if you ever cheat on me, I’ll fuckin’ kill you. I mean it. Ain’t gonna be no conversation neither. I’m just gonna pull out my gat and your life will be over.”
He was so serious!
But I knew I loved him, and cheating on my boo was far from my mind at the time.
Tears promised to take care of me, and he did, without missing a beat.
Because of him, I finished paying for school and got my degree. A year later I was driving a brand-new Lexus. We might have been living in the projects but our apartment had everything money could buy. From a flat-screen TV, Gucci, and Donna Karan, to imported furniture and a Jacuzzi in the bathroom.
• • •
I stood in the shower thinking over my two years with Tears, some good and some bad. Surprisingly for me, I had never cheated on him. I really loved him and I was trying to make things exciting for us. But lately Tears had been making that impossible. He was too caught up in the streets, grinding, hustling, and forever across state lines moving weight. When we first got married Tears used to dick me down every fuckin’ night. Now I’ll be lucky if I get it once a week.
“Ayeesha, I’m out,” Tears shouted, knocking on the bathroom door.
“Ayyite, baby . . . be safe,” I shouted back. But I was still frustrated and still fuckin’ horny.
It was Thursday morning, and I was ten minutes late, but my boss always gave me some leeway. He’d had an innocent crush on me since the day I started.
I worked in Brentwood, Long Island, far away from my home in the Baisley Housing Projects in Jamaica, Queens. I had to travel, but I loved going to work every day, because it was a change of environment for me. I’d lived in the inner city all my life, and working in Long Island was the best. It was so tranquil out there that it made you forget that you were still in New York. And I enjoyed driving the distance to work. For me, it was the only way to escape the bullshit that I was putting up with at home. In the projects I was constantly surrounded by thugs and drugs. But at work, I was surrounded by white America, especially the corporate men who kissed my sexy ass every day, lusting for some dark chocolate.