The Man Handler

by Cairo

  I reached up underneath him, reached for his balls, touching them, stroking them, spreading my legs wider so that he could get lost in my pussy, bury his dick in my pussy, and never want to leave my pussy. I felt for his dick while he humped and pumped and banged and grinded and thrust in and out of me, feeling his hot, thick cum creeping out of my wet pussy, trickling down the center of my ass. Then…I woke up!

  Gazing out of my office window, I squeeze my legs shut and wonder why I would dream about Derek—of all people, after all this time. I haven’t seen or heard from him in years. Haven’t even given him any thought. The last I had heard, he was married with six kids, living somewhere in Houston. Damn, six kids, I think, shaking my head, remembering how good he stroked my pussy. I suppose if things had been different between us, if we hadn’t grown apart, I would have been the one bogged down with a house full of whining-ass brats. I shudder at the thought. I don’t know how some of these women do it. Pop out a bunch of babies like bunny rabbits.

  I wonder to myself what’s worse, not wanting to have a baby by someone you love or not wanting one by someone you have no emotional connection to. For either scenario, I come up with no logical answer. Is there really a difference?

  Someone taps on my door, disrupting my reverie. The door slowly opens before I can invite whoever is on the other side in. Everett peers his head in. “Hey there,” he says, smiling. “You busy?”

  “No, not at all,” I reply, motioning for him to come in. I silently watch him as he shuts the office door, then glides across the room towards me.

  Cool.

  Calm.

  Collected.

  His eyes are on mine, and there is a flicker of lust behind his pupils—and mine. But I dare not act on it. I will not. Everett has a confidence in his swagger that borders on cockiness. One that lets me know he’s a man who handles his business in and out of the bed. A man who knows what he wants, and goes after it, even if it means taking it. I find it, him, enticing. He sits in one of two leather chairs positioned in front of my desk.

  “You’re looking and smelling good enough to eat, as always,” he says, innuendo dripping from his thick lips as he sits back in his chair. He spreads open his legs. I try hard not to look in the center of his crotch. I shift in my chair, twirling a strand of hair. This delectable motherfucker is asking for trouble, I think, leaning forward in my chair, then steeple my fingers beneath my chin, taking him in. He looks deliciously fuckable sitting in front of me wearing a crisp, starched pink shirt, a chocolate-brown and pink swirled tie, and chocolate-brown dress slacks. His faded beard is neatly trimmed. Not a hair out of place. I breathe in his cologne. Silently hold it in, then exhale. Nice, I think, catching the glint of his one-carat diamond in his left ear.

  He smiles, flashing straight, white teeth. Then tilts his head, studying me.

  “What?” I ask, fumbling with the diamond pendant hanging around my neck.

  “You’re glowing.”

  I nervously shift in my seat. “So, what brings you to my side of the world?” I ask, dismissing his comment.

  You, I hear him say in my head. I shift in my seat.

  A mischievous grin forms on his lips as he eyes me seductively. “I don’t think you’re ready for the answer to that,” he says, his grin turning into a wide smile. “So I’m going to give you the politically correct response, and say I was only stopping by to see how life is treating you.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I reply. “You could have called me for that.”

  “Yeah, you right,” he offers, still smiling. “But it wouldn’t have been the same as seeing your beautiful face.”

  Despite myself, I smile, shaking my head. “Everett, you are a mess.”

  “I’m trying to be your mess, but you keep running from me.”

  “Okay, here we go with this running foolishness again. Think what you like. But I’m not going to keep having this conversation with you.”

  He leans forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his thighs, cupping his hands together. His eyes lock on mine. “Why can’t two consenting adults who happen to work in the same building spend time together outside of work when they both are obviously attracted to each other?”

  I stare at him, consider him without being too obvious. Summa Cum Laude Morehouse graduate; third ranking at Wharton School of Business; chiseled, athletic build, smooth cocoa-colored skin with high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes; succulent, pussy-eating lips; ruggedly handsome; well-spoken; and impeccably dressed.

  “What makes you think I’m attracted to you?” I ask, raising my brow.

  “Oh, you’re not?” he asks, feigning hurt. He sits back in his seat with his legs gaped open, then breaks into laughter. I stare at him. Count the number of times he fans his legs open and shut in my head. Eight. I force myself not to look at his bulging crotch. I shift in my seat, keeping my eyes locked on his.

  “Not at all,” I lie. “Don’t get me wrong. You look good and all, but definitely not my type.”

  He lets out another hearty laugh.

  “I’m glad you find me so amusing.”

  He gets up from his seat, places the open palms of his hand down on my desk, leaning forward. His face is inches from mine. He stares into my eyes, and I feel myself becoming flushed from the heat of his breath. But I do not blink, do not shift my eyes from his gaze. I refuse to become undone.

  “Amusing, you are not,” he says, licking his lips, “but beautiful and incredibly sexy you are. So, why don’t you stop fronting and let me take you out to show you how a real man treats a woman?”

  “Everett, sweetie, sorry to bust your bubble, but there is nothing you can do for me that I can’t do for myself. I pamper myself. And I already know how to treat myself the way a woman should be treated without the offerings of a man.”

  “Is that so?” he asks, smirking. He softly brushes the back of his index and pointer fingers across my cheek. “Then perhaps I can offer you something else.”

  I sigh, pushing my chair back from my desk and getting up. I walk around my desk to where he stands. He turns and faces me, and I step in front of him—closing the space between us. I look up into his piercing eyes.

  “I see how you look at me,” I say seductively, pulling on his tie. “The way you undress me with your eyes, licking your lips every time I’m in your space. So, it’s no secret that you want me; that you want to run your dick up in me. Want me to wrap my soft lips around your dick and suck it nice, and slow and very wet, then gulp down your nut…”

  He grins.

  “Yeah, you like that don’t you, big daddy? You like it when a woman talks nasty to you. Gets your dick hard, doesn’t it?” I move in closer, reaching between his legs, feeling the length of his dick as it thickens. “Yeah, you gotta nice big dick…”

  He is up against the edge of the desk. “Why you fucking with me, baby? Don’t you know you’re looking to get yourself in a heap of trouble?”

  I continue stroking his dick. He looks over my shoulder, watching the door. “Oh, trust me. I’m not fucking with you, big daddy. And I’m not scared of trouble. Isn’t this what you want me to have?”—I lick my lips—“All of this long, juicy dick.”

  He sits on my desk, allows me to knead and pull at his dick over the fabric of his pants. OhmyfuckingGod his dick is big! I feel my panties getting soaked. If I didn’t stand by my rules of never fucking anyone from the job, I’d pull his dick out of his pants, drop down on my knees and suck the nut out of his ass.

  Everett grabs me by the shoulders, pulls me into him, and brushes his lips against my left ear. “Let’s get out of here and take an early lunch so we can go somewhere more private.” His voice is low and sexy and full of lust, but sounds almost pleading. “You got me real fucking horny now. I’m ready to beat that pussy up, baby.”

  I smile, pulling away from him. “That won’t happen,” I say, abruptly letting go of his dick. I walk over to the door, feeling his gaze on my ass. And I throw an extra shake in my hips. I o
pen the door, turning to face him. “Thanks for the visit, but I have a lot of work to do. So, if you don’t mind, it’s time for you to go.”

  I walk back over to my desk, and sit down.

  He is looking at me with a dumbfounded expression on his face, glancing down at the massive imprint of his dick. When he finally realizes what has happened, he shakes his head, smiling. “Ain’t this a bitch?” he mumbles, getting up and adjusting the front of his pants, trying to conceal his bulging cock, to no avail. “Give me a minute,” he says, walking over to the window and looking out.

  He is silent for a moment, thinking, searching for a distraction along the busy streets to ease the swelling in his pants.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask, grinning.

  He shakes his head, bringing his gaze in my direction. He straightens his tie against his shirt. “You have no idea,” he replies, walking towards me. He plants his hands down on my desk, leans in and speaks in almost a whisper. “You’ve awakened the mighty beast, and it will not rest until I finally have you in my arms, and in my bed—where we both know you wanna be. Make no mistake, pretty baby. I will finish what you’ve started. I just hope you can handle it.”

  I cock my head to the side. “Is that so? Well, I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you, or your beast.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, beautiful. I’m a very patient man. I’ma have you, if it’s the last thing I do. And when I do, I’ma fuck the shit out of you real good, baby. Enjoy the rest of your day.” He winks at me, then heads towards the door, gently closing it behind him.

  I swivel in my chair, leaning my head back, fanning myself. Replaying what I’ve done has me heated, and wanting to fuck or—at the very least, suck down a dick. “Bianca, are you nuts? What the fuck did you just do?” I think aloud in my head. “You were actually playing with his dick in here. Anybody could have walked in on your ass.”

  Well, then they would have caught me with a handful of dick, I muse, breaking out in uncontrollable laughter.

  My cell phone dings, snapping me out of the moment, alerting me that I have a text-message. I hate being texted!

  My BlackBerry vibrates. I ignore it, pulling my phone out of my bag, then reading the message. When can I slide my dick up in that hot pussy again?

  Ugh! It’s Barry. I think to ignore it and delete the shit, but decide against it. Shifting in my chair, I stare at the screen, then reply: You can’t.

  Ten seconds later, he replies back: Stop frontin’. You know you want me to fuck you.

  I text back: LOL. Get over yourself.

  He replies: C’mon, baby. I wanna feel those soft, pretty lips wrapped around this big dick.

  I text back: Barry, go to hell, nigga!

  My phone rings. It’s him. “What part of go…to…hell don’t you understand?” I ask.

  He whispers into the phone, “Why you fucking with me? You know what it is.”

  “I don’t know shit, nigga. Why are you calling me?”

  “I want some pussy.”

  “Get it from your woman. Mine is no longer available to you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Uh, because I said so; because the last I checked, it was my pussy and I fuck who the hell I want, when I want. And it’s not you.”

  “What, you got some other nigga hitting that shit?”

  Oh my God! This nigga has the fucking nerve to sound jealous. How typical is that? Nigga got a woman at home, and still trying to check for me like I’m his or some shit.

  “Listen,” I say, sighing. “I’m not doing this with you, okay? I’ve tried to keep this shit short and sweet, but you are really trying to work my nerves. I done told you once, and now I’m telling you again, Stop calling my motherfucking phone. I already warned you before, if you keep fucking with me I am gonna blow your spot up. Is that what you want? ’Cause if so, you are on your way to getting it.”

  “You know what,” he says, sounding agitated. “On some real shit, fuck you.”

  I laugh. “And sweet dreams to you too, boo-boo.”

  He hangs up, fuming I’m sure.

  Twenty minutes later, my BlackBerry vibrates again, alerting me that I have received more new emails. I pick up the device, and look at the various email accounts. I scroll over to my Nutcracker69 email address, then press to open. There are six emails, but the one of interest at this moment is the one from Dickudownallnight. I smile, knowing he’d do precisely what I knew he would. I read the note:

  Call me, anytime. 908-555-1313.

  Now the question is, do I call him now to squelch my curiosity, or do I make his ass wait a few days. Hmmm. Never let a nigga think you’re too eager, even when you are, I think in my head. That settles that. He waits.

  I glimpse up at the clock hanging on the wall. It’s almost noon so I decide to get out and grab lunch. There’s nothing worse than staying cooped up in an office building all day. Cold outside or not, I need some fresh air. Just as I’m gathering my things, my cell rings. I glance at the number, rolling my eyes. It’s Andre. Another dismissed fuck charm. Now Andre is one handsome dude. I must give him that. He’s five-eleven, two hundred ten pounds of mocha-colored man with deep, piercing, hazel eyes and a sexy-ass smile. And it definitely doesn’t hurt that the nigga has a thick, seven-inch dick with the biggest set of balls I’ve ever seen on any man. But the problem with his ass was he lied too damn much for me, just one lie after the other. Why, I could never understand. At first I would entertain the lies, like the time he told me he owned all this property, yet his ass was bouncing from spot to spot, sleeping on floors and sofas.

  “Umm, and why aren’t you staying in one of the places you own?” I asked him.

  “Oh, because they’re all rented out,” he answered, looking me dead in my face.

  “Hmmm, they’re all rented out, I see. Well, sounds like you should be sitting on serious paper.”

  “Yeah, I am. But it’s all tied up in investments.”

  I laughed.

  “What, you don’t believe me?”

  “Actually, I don’t. But if you say so.”

  “Oh, you think I’m lying?”

  I tsked him. This motherfucker must have gotten the wrong memo to believe I’d believe the shit he was tossing out. I read his ass. “Yeah, nigga, I think you’re full of shit. How the hell you gonna own all this property, but you don’t have your own shit to live in? How you gonna have all this money, but you running around borrowing other people’s cars ’n shit? What kind of shit is that?”

  “Yo, fuck it,” he snapped. “I don’t have to answer to you, or prove anything to your ass. You’re just like the rest of these scheming-ass bitches, always tryna get up in a nigga’s pockets.”

  “Oh, you got the wrong one,” I snapped. “If I wanted to dig into your pockets, the only thing I’d be pulling out is lint, nigga. So, don’t get it twisted. All you do is lie. And I’m sick of it. You’re not my man; you are someone I fuck. There’s no reason for you to hit me with a bunch of fucking lies. So do me a favor, if you don’t know what the truth is, keep your damn mouth shut when you’re around me. Hell, the only thing you really should be doing when you come here is eating and fucking this pussy, then getting the fuck out.”

  Needless to say, I had him eat my pussy. And after I came all over his mouth and tongue, I kindly put him out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Let me ask you something. Do you think men cheat more than women? Or is it that men simply get caught more often than women? Well, if I had to take an educated guess, I’d say that it’s probably sixty/forty. Men cheat more, but women are much better at doing it. See. With women, unless they are a trick off the bat, most are going to be faithful to their men no matter what, but when they start to feel slighted or have had enough of their men’s neglectful ways…watch out! A woman might start to look elsewhere, but it won’t be with just any ole Tom, Dick or Harry. And she’s definitely not going to be impulsive about it. She is going to weigh her options. She’ll mediate on it, and may
even attempt to communicate her feelings of concern with her mate before she makes her move. But when her cries for attention and affection fall on deaf ears, she’ll take matters into her own hands. And when she finally does decide to creep, trust and believe it’s going to be a calculated, and well-planned event.

  Whereas, a man will jump at the opportunity to have sex with another chick even when there’s nothing amiss in his relationship, as long as he thinks he can get away with it. And most men are extremely impulsive when it comes to sex. Get a man’s dick hard, and he’s ready to fuck on the spot if and when possible. It’s the thrill of the chase (or the possibility of getting caught) that gets him off. And it’s an ego booster. That’s not to say that women don’t push their men into another woman’s arms with their post menstrual-nitpicking-histrionic-drama-queen bullshit, because they do.

  However, I do believe that men and women typically cheat for different reasons. But at the end of the day, no matter what the reasons, men and women (both) want to feel appreciated, needed and significant in their relationships. And when they don’t, it makes it a whole lot easier to justify their cheating ass ways.

  But, the bottom line for me is, people are going to be who they are. A person who isn’t invested in or committed to his partner, who doesn’t believe in—or understand the concept of—monogamy, is going to cheat no matter how many times, or how many ways, he is fucked by his partner. He is never going to be satisfied with what he is getting at home, and he is always going to be scheming about how he can get it without getting caught. And, yes, it is really fucked up.

  I am not in a relationship—yes, ironic I know, a ho giving relationship advice—go figure. Still, I have fucked enough men to know that in order for any relationship to work, both parties have to listen to each other. And when I say listen to each other, I am not only talking about verbal cues. I mean, listen to each other’s breathing, pay attention to their movements. Trust me, it will tell you all you need to know. If a man hits a spot on a woman’s body, or licks/sucks her pussy and clit a certain way that makes her ribs rise, and a gasp escapes from the back of her throat, he should remember that spot, make a mental note of it. If a woman is sucking her man’s dick, or riding his dick, and he starts to wiggle underneath her, starts moaning, that means he’s enjoying how she’s giving it to him. That doesn’t mean stop what you’re doing; keep the rhythm going. When she/he no longer responds, then change up. On that note, I’m moving on…