The Man Handler

by Cairo

  I glance over at the clock again. 4:10 a.m. In three more hours, it will be time for me to get up and get ready for work. I let out a sigh. The last thing I want to think about is work. “Fuck,” I say out loud as I lay back in bed and spread open my legs.

  I don’t feel like fucking; but I definitely feel like being on my knees licking some big black balls, running my tongue along the veins on a thick, juicy dick. Hell, I might even let the nigga slap his dick across my lips and face, while I moan and beg him to feed me his cock as I play in my pussy. I want him to run his hands through my hair, pump his throbbing shaft in and out of my mouth, and talk dirty to me, while I deep throat him, gulping down every inch of him, wrapping his dick with my soft lips, burying it down my throat, submitting to him on my knees, sucking, and licking, and slurping, willing and eager to make him feel good until he nuts that sweet dick cream. Oh, shit. Just thinking about it has my pussy aching.

  I pull open my pussy lips with my right hand, then take my left hand and slip my index and pointer fingers into my mouth and wet them up, before placing them on my clit. I work my clit, pressing down in slow circular motions, making it swell to an aching knot of flesh. I am rubbing my pussy, winding my hips to a beat that causes my pussy lips to swell with excitement and get slick. When I can no longer take the yearning that is building up inside of me, begging for an escape, I reach for my Ben-Wa egg and slide it inside of me. My pussy greedily slurps it in. Then I take my Mini-Tongue and turn it on high and allow it to lap at my pussy and clit. “Oh, oh, oh…Mmmm… Mmmm…” I moan. It doesn’t take long before I can feel a nut roaring inside of me. Between the vibrations of the egg inside of me, and the vibrations of the Tongue on my clit, my hot juices spurt out of my pussy like hot lava from an erupting volcano, spilling down the crack of my ass and onto the sheets. I scream and moan to the high heavens, sweat and cry, and cum a hundred more times until I am practically weak. After my earth-shattering adventure, I pull the egg out of my wetness, suck off my sweet juice, then drift back into a peaceful sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Tonight, I’m really not in the mood for this shit. I take a deep breath. Now, when a man breaches the rules of engagement, like continuously coming here unannounced, putting hickeys on my damn body, trying to check for me, catching feelings, or getting sloppy with his creep, then he has to be shut down, quick, fast and in a damn hurry. Bottom line: A careless man is an absolute liability.

  I have no time or patience for a raggedy mofo who has the potential to bring me drama. And this is exactly why I like to stick to my ninety day rule of simply fucking ‘n dumping them. But, every so often, as you already know, I seem to get swooped up in the funnel of bullshit, like right now.

  “Listen, stop buggin’,” Jamil says, huffing. His ear is pressed to his cell, and I can hear screaming on the other end—a female’s voice, which tells me this conversation is a domestic dispute. Now, normally, when I’m in the mood for some fast, rough, furious fucking, I like it when there’s a little trouble in paradise because then the men I’m fucking will try to take their frustrations with their women out on my pussy. But, today, I am not in the mood for having my snatch beat up because shit isn’t going right at home. And here lately, Jamil seems to be caught up in a lot of home drama. “I already told you no, so why you keep asking me the same bullshit. Look, I gotta go.” He hangs up, tossing his cell on the sofa. I eye him, watching him kick off his boots, then removing his shirt. “Always fucking bitching,” he mumbles, stripping off his jeans. He doesn’t have on any underwear, so his dick swings freely.

  “Is everything all right?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, waiting for him to start his whining. He eyes me. I smile to myself, knowing he doesn’t want to have a repeat of what happened a few weeks back when I tossed him up out of here.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” he says. “Ole girl bitching again. C’mon”—he walks up and grabs me by the hand—“let’s go upstairs. I don’t feel like talking about it. I really want some pussy without all the extras, feel me?” His cell phone starts ringing again. He ignores it, pulling me by the hand. “I ain’t beat.”

  All of a sudden, my cell starts ringing. My first thought is that it’s one of my sex charms, or one of the strays I straddle from time to time. But, the number is restricted, so I don’t answer. I let it go into voice-mail. Two seconds later, it rings again. The number is still restricted, but for some reason I pick up thinking maybe it’s important.

  “Hello?” I say.

  All there is on the other end is a bunch of heavy breathing, then silence. I hang up.

  “Yo, you tryna wet this dick up or what?” Jamil asks in back of me, clearly annoyed that I am not already naked and pouncing down on his dick. “You standing there bullshitting. I gotta get home in an hour or so. And you know how I like to put work in when I come through.”

  “Wait a minute,” I say, placing a hand on my hip. “I understand you pissed and all, but don’t take that shit out on me. You get this pussy on my time, not yours. You don’t like it, then get up and take your ass home. Right now, I’m trying to figure out who—”

  My cell rings, again. I pick up. “Hello?”

  Whoever it is hangs up. I take a deep breath. Now, I don’t know much, but one thing I do know is when someone keeps calling your house, or your cell, and hanging up, it’s usually the work of some nutty-ass bitch.

  My cell rings again. This time the caller is bold enough to reveal their number. “Hello?” I say, getting agitated. Now, I know I could easily ignore the call, but I don’t want to. My intuition tells me that it’s a woman who is calling me—just like the last time, and I want to know who she is, and which one of the men I’m fucking is the cause behind this foolishness—again.

  “Bitch, I know you been fucking my man, and when I find out who you are, I’m gonna beat ya motherfuckin’—”

  “Um, who is this? And how’d you get my number?”

  “I’m Jamil’s woman,” she snaps into the phone. “That’s who da fuck I am, bitch! And I know that motherfucker’s over there. So, put him on the phone.”

  “Oh, really? Well, that’s nice to know.”

  I cut my eye over at Jamil, who is sprawled out in the center of my bed, playing with his dick and rubbing his balls like he has no care in the world.

  “So are you fucking Jamil or not?”

  “You said you knew I was. So if you know that already, why you asking? But since you asked, yeah, I am.” There was no sense in lying. Please, he’s not my man, so what do I care. Besides, they all know if they don’t want to get aired out, then don’t get sloppy. Apparently, Jamil’s retarded ass didn’t pay attention to the memo.

  “Well, I tell you what. You fucking with the wrong bitch’s man, ho. And I’ma serve that ass when I catch you.”

  Here we go with this “when I catch you” shit again, I think, rolling my eyes.

  “Listen, sweetie,” I calmly say, taking another deep breath, “I don’t know how you got my number, but I’m going to ask you nicely not to call me again.”

  “Or what?! Bitch, I’ma call you as many times as I want. As a matter of fact, I’ma call you every fucking day. And when I find out where you live, it’s on, bitch. Believe that! So, if Jamil’s there, you need to either put him on the phone, or tell him to bring his sorry ass home before I cut up all of his shit and toss it out on the streets. And he has fifteen minutes to get his ass home.”

  Getting caught up in a back and forth argument with another chick over, or about, her man isn’t serious for me. There’s always more dick where his came from, so she can have him. That’s my thinking. So, getting all nasty and stressed out by cursing the chick out is usually not necessary. But from time to time, I allow myself to get sucked in, then have to bring it to ’em. And I can already tell this bitch’s the type that’s going to keep pushing the envelope and force me to eventually serve her.

  “Well, I appreciate the warning,” I state sarcastically. “And after I’m finished with hi
m, I’ll be sure to pass the message along and send him on his way. You have a wonderful night.”

  I hang up, then turn the phone off.

  “Who was that?” Jamil asks.

  No, this motherfucker did not just part his lips and ask me no shit like that. Now, normally, I would simply throw a mofo out, but I want my pussy ate, and I want it done by Jamil. So that when I do throw him up out of here, he goes home with my nut on his breath. I shake my head and remove my silk robe, prancing my naked ass over to the bed. I climb in, ignoring his question.

  “It’s ’bout damn time,” he says, leaning up on his forearms. “You so worried about who the fuck’s calling you when you got a nigga in ya bed with a hard-ass dick ready to clock in.”

  I smile, taking a bottle of lotion from off of my nightstand and pouring a glob of it into my hand. I grab the base of his dick. I squeeze it, then glide my hand up and around the head of his dick while working his balls with my other hand. I decide to give him a nice hand job. I lean in and swirl my tongue around his nipple, then lightly pull it with my teeth until it hardens.

  “Oh, shit,” he moans, reaching between my legs and rubbing my pussy lips. “Damn, I want some of this.” I ignore him. I continue jacking him off with deep, fast strokes. “Ah, shit, you ’bout to make me cum.” He tries to pull my hand off his dick, but I tighten my grip. I bring him to the edge of pleasure, then I abruptly stop. I lap around his balls with my tongue a few times, while slowly stroking his cock. “Damn, baby, why you fucking with me? C’mon and put them pretty lips on this dick, and stop playing.”

  “You want me to wet this dick up?” I ask, gliding my lips along his shaft, then replacing my lips with my hand, stroking it.

  “Yeah,” he grunts, pumping his hips, “but you fucking playing ’n shit. C’mon and get up on this dick, girl.”

  I lower my voice to a sensual whisper, “Your dick feels so big in my hand, Daddy. I can’t wait for you to ram this hot cock all the way up in me. I want you to make me scream, baby. Can you do that for me, big daddy?”

  “Yeah,” he says, panting. “I’ma fuck you good.” I deepen my strokes on his dick. I press up into the fleshy part between his balls and ass and massage the area. His breathing becomes raspy and quick. “Ah, shit…”

  “You wanna feel how wet you make this pussy?”

  “Yeah, baby…I’m ready to fuck…”

  “Put your tongue in my pussy, first,” I say, swinging my legs around over his body, then straddling him with my back facing him while still jerking him off. I lower my pussy down on his face. He sticks his tongue in, and I commence to riding it like it’s a runaway train. He’s lapping and licking all around my pussy, then he mounts his mouth onto my clit and sucks on it like it’s one of the sweetest, juiciest peaches he’s ever eaten. “Oh, yes,” I moan. “That’s right, eat this pussy all up, Daddy.” Munch, munch, nigga! ’Cause as soon as I nut in your motherfucking mouth, I’m putting you the fuck out!

  Between you and me, I wish I were on my period ’cause I’d serve Jamil a nice bloody treat without giving it a second thought just for being so fucking stupid. Trust me. I would serve this nasty, no-good mofo the red rag special all night.

  Jamil pulls open my ass cheeks and devours my whole pussy. My clit throbs, and I can feel the beginnings of a nut building up inside of me. That’s right, gobble that shit up you stupid-ass fuck ’cause it’ll be the last time you get it.

  “Uh, uh, uh…Oh…oh…Mmmm…” Jamil’s long tongue is giving my pussy and clit a good licking, and it is causing me to hyperventilate. I grind down on his mouth and rock my hips back and forth. “Oh, yes…Oh, yes…like that…keep sucking on my pussy,” I whisper, squirting warm juice onto his tongue, rolling my eyes up into my head. He obliges and slurps it all up. I lean forward and brace myself on his legs so that I don’t topple over onto the bed. I steady my breathing, then lift myself from off his face, getting off the bed. His cock is rock-hard. And I ignore its bouncing want for attention. I slip into my robe, then stand in front of the mirror and brush my hair.

  “Where you going?” he asks, raising his body up on his forearms.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I answer, looking at him in the mirror as I speak. “You are.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Uh, duh, it means get up and get out, that’s what.”

  “Oh, hell no!” he huffs. “Not this shit again.”

  “What shit is that, Jamil? Me putting your black-ass out again?”

  “I ain’t going nowhere,” he sulks, defiantly flopping back on the bed as if he’s about to have a tantrum. “Fuck that. I done ate your pussy and you got my dick hard as hell. Hell, no! I want some pussy, some head, something.”

  I turn to face him. His dick is pointing upwards awaiting a long, wet ride. I decline. In all honesty, I hadn’t give much thought beyond getting my pussy eaten by this long-tongued idiot. I really didn’t factor in what might happen after I toss him out, since this is the first time I’ve had to actually deal with a chick calling me when her man’s ass is actually here while I’m trying to get it in with him. Please don’t make me have to pull out my chrome on your ass, I think, pulling in a deep, exaggerated breath.

  “Well, I’m sure you do want some of this tight pussy, or this wet throat. But you’re not getting it here, especially after your chick called my cell talking shit. Yeah, that’s who I was talking to earlier. So, take your happy ass on home to wifey before she cuts up your shit. Her words, not mine.”

  “Oh, so what…That’s it? You get yours and it’s fuck me? Is that how you doin’ it?”

  “Yep,” I state, leaning up against the dresser and folding my arms across my chest. I stare at him for a few seconds, then walk out the room and go downstairs where I wait for him to bring his silly ass down to get his clothes on—and get the hell out! I glance at them strewn on the floor near the door, and roll my eyes.

  Now don’t ask me what the hell is taking him so long to come down the stairs ’cause your guess is as good as mine. But five minutes have passed, and that’s five minutes too damn long.

  “Jamil, what the hell are you doing up there?” I yell up the stairs at him. No response. “Jamil?!”

  “What? I was using the bathroom,” he says, finally bringing his ass down the stairs. He glares at me. “Damn, you really buggin’.”

  “Bugging? No, you got it wrong, baby. I ain’t bugging. I’m done with you—big difference.”

  He sucks his teeth, picking up his jeans, then slipping them on. “Yeah, whatever,” he huffs as he stuffs his dick down in them, then zips them up. I’m standing by the door waiting to open it to let him out. He takes his time putting on his shirt. But, it’s fine with me. I have all night. I fold my arms and wait.

  “So, just like that you gonna flip the script, is that what you saying?”

  “Jamil,” I say, sighing. “I told you from gate I don’t play that shit with women calling me about their men, and that I expect any man I’m fucking to keep his shit tight. You failed to do that. So, yeah, I’m done. Now, hurry up; get the rest of your clothes on and get up out of here.”

  He is staring at me like he’s clueless. “Yo, ma, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, for real.”

  I roll my eyes and snort. “Oh, really? Well, answer me this: how the fuck did your girl get my phone number, Jamil?”

  “Fuck if I know,” he says nonchalantly, slipping his size eleven feet into his Timbs. “Yo, this is some fucked up shit. Word up. You get my dick harder than a muhfucka, and you just gonna up and put me out.”

  “Yep. Take that dick back home to that crazy-ass chick of yours ’cause it’s obvious she needs it more than I do. Now, tell me. How the hell she get my number ’cause I know I didn’t give it to her?”

  “Well, don’t look at me. I didn’t give it to her. She probably went through my damn phone again.”

  I blink, blink again. She probably went through my phone again, I repeat in my hea
d. I raise my brow. Now, I’ve always known most men were real stupid when it comes to women. They are damn good liars, but when it comes to cheating they are about as dumb as they come. Hell, Forrest Gump has better sense, and we all know he wasn’t the brightest light. And Jamil is a prime example of what stupid looks like. Why the hell would this silly mofo have my number programmed into his phone? And now his damn chick has all the incriminating evidence against his dumb-ass, which is why she was on the phone beefing with his ass earlier. Now what kind of shit is that? What a fucking idiot! And I’m telling you, if by some strange chance she comes here ringing my fucking doorbell, Jamil is seriously going to need plastic surgery ’cause I’m going to gut his brainless ass.

  I swing open the door. “Jamil, get the fuck out of my house.” He snatches up his keys, then steps up in my space. I tilt my head and stare him down. “Is there something you wanna say to me?”

  The muscles in his jaws are twitching.

  “You really fucking up a good thing over nothing,” he says.

  I laugh in his face. “A good thing? Nigga, please. Get out, Jamil. And take that bullshit back to your woman ’cause I’m not the one. Good day.”

  “Yeah, aiight,” he says, walking out the door. I slam and lock it.

  “Good riddance!”

  Now help me understand why in the hell would an already involved man have another chick’s number programmed in his phone or be saving emails (in the first place) when nine times out of ten, he’s fucking with some nutty, insecure chick whose going to go snooping through his cell, start prying through his email file cabinet, or rummaging through his wallet looking for any signs of infidelity. Don’t these fools know that most women (who are already one pill away from crazy, and seriously dick whipped) have nothing but time on their hands, and will spend all day trying to figure out phone codes and email passwords? Unless he simply doesn’t give a fuck, only a nigga sucking on paint chips would be retarded enough to leave a trail of evidence. Of course, this is only my opinion.