Daddy Long Stroke (51 page)

Cherry pulls up to the curb in her Jag. The top's down, and she's lookin' like a million bucks. I toss my bag in the backseat, openin' the door. I get in, then lean in and kiss her on the lips. Slide her some tongue.

“What's good, pretty baby?”

“You,” she says, grinnin'. She's wearin' a short denim skirt, showin' her smooth thighs. “It's good to see you.”

“It's good seein' you, too. You got on panties?”

“Nope,” she says, pullin' off.

I lean over, kissin' her on the neck as I slide my hand between her thighs and start caressin' her clit. She moans. “OhmyGod, you're gonna make me have an accident.”

“Relax, baby. I got this. You just keep ya eyes on the road and drive.” She relaxes, lets her legs open wider, moanin' as I slip my
fingers into her pussy. “Yeah, baby. I'ma get this pussy nice 'n wet.”

“Oooh…aaah, shit,” she moans, swervin' on the otherside of the highway, “you're gonna make me cum.”

“Yeah, baby…nut all over my fingers. You want me to put this hard-ass dick in you.”

She swerves again. “Aaah, aaah…yes…”

“What's my name, baby?”

She presses her foot down on the accelerator. She's hittin' ninety. “Aaaaaaah…aaah…I'm cummin'…”

“What's my name?” I ask, pumpin' two fingers into her wetness while usin' my thumb to flick her clit.

She starts to shake, clutchin' the steerin' wheel. She's doin' a hunnid. “Aaaah…Daddy Long Stroke…aaah, shit…I'm cummin'.”

She screams and zigzags her whip in and outta traffic as she nuts. I pull out my hand, bring my sticky fingers to my lips, smell her cunt juice, then slip 'em into my mouth. “Damn, baby, you taste good,” I say, slurpin' her syrup up. I grab my hard dick. “Fuck! I can't wait to get you back to the crib, so I can beat that ass up wit' this heavy-ass dick.”

She smiles, reachin' over and rubbin' my bulge. “And this is exactly what I need, baby.”

Yo, ya'll can look at me any kinda way you want. But be clear. Don't hate the player, baby. I didn't make the game. I made the rules,
my
rules. To serve a ho this dick and rock her box 'til she stutters and forgets her name; to run this tongue all up in her pussy and ass 'til she tosses me the keys to her whip, begs me to move in, lines a nigga's pockets wit' paper, and the list goes on— one stroke, one slurp, at a muthafuckin' time. And if a bitch gets all caught up, then that shit's on her; she gets what she gets. But no matter what, I'ma do me. Still fuckin', still nuttin', still makin' the bitches hot and the pussies pop 'cause I'm Daddy Long Stroke, muhfuckas…don't forget it!

Cairo is the author of
The Manhandler
and
The Kat Trap
. He resides in New Jersey, where he is working on his next literary creation,
Deep Throat Diva.
His travels to Egypt are what inspired his pen name. You can email him at: [email protected] Or visit him at
www.myspace.com/cairo2u
,
www.facebook.com/CairoBlack
, or
www.blackplanet.com/cairo2u

T
HOUGHT
“D
ADDY
L
ONG
S
TROKE” WAS HOT
?

C
HECK OUT THIS
S
NEAK
P
REVIEW OF

“Deep Throat Diva”

BY
C
AIRO

C
OMING
M
ARCH 2011 FROM
S
TREBOR
B
OOKS

ONE

You ready to cum? Imagine this: A pretty bitch down on her knees with a pair of soft, full lips wrapped around the head of your dick. A hot, wet tongue twirling all over it, then gliding up and down your shaft, wetting that joint up real slippery-like, then lapping at your balls; lightly licking your asshole. Mmmm, I'm using my tongue in places that will get you dizzy, urging you to give me your hot, creamy, nut. Mmmmm, baby…you think you ready? If so, sit back, lie back, relax and let the Deep Throat Diva rock your cock, gargle your balls, and suck you straight to heaven.

I reread the ad, make sure it conveys exactly what I want, need, it to say, then press the Publish tab. “There,” I say aloud, glancing around my bedroom, then looking down at my left hand. “Let's see how many responses I get, this time.”

Ummm, wait…before I say anything else. I already know some of you uptight bitches are already shaking your heads and rolling your eyes. So I know that what I'm about to tell ya'll is going to make some of you disgusted, and that's fine by me. It is what it is. And I know there's also going to be a bunch of you closeted, freaky bitches who are going to turn your noses up and twist up your lips, but secretly race to get home 'cause you just as nasty as I am. Hell, some of you are probably down on your knees as I speak, or maybe finishing up pulling a dick from out of your throats, or removing strands of pubic hair from in between your teeth. And that's fine by me as well. Do you, boo. But, let me say this: Don't any of you self-righteous hoes judge me.

So here goes. See. I have a man—dark chocolate, dreamy-eyed, sculpted and every woman's dream—who's been in incarcerated for four years, and he's releasing from prison in less than nine months. And,
yes
, I'm excited and nervous and almost scared to death—you'll know why in a minute. Annnywaaaay, not only is he a sexy-ass motherfucker, he knows how to grind, and stack paper. And he is a splendid lover. My God! His dick and tongue game can make a woman forget her name. And all the chicks who know him either want him, or want him back. And they'll do anything they can to try to disrupt my flow. Hating-ass hoes!

Nevertheless, he's coming home to
me.
The collect calls, the long drives, the endless nights of sexless sleep have taken a toll on me, and will all be over very soon. Between the letters, visits and keeping money on his books, I've been holding him down, faithfully. And I've kept my promise to him to not fuck any other niggas. I've kept this pussy tight for him. And it's been hard,
really
hard—no, no, hard isn't an accurate description of the agony I've had to bear not being fucked for over four years. It's been excruciating!

But I love Jasper, so I've made the sacrifice. For him, for us!
Still, I have missed him immensely. And I need him so bad. My pussy needs him, aches for the width of his nine-inch, veiny dick thrusting in and out of it. It misses the long, deep strokes of his thick tongue caressing my clit and its lower lips. I miss lying in his arms, of being held and caressed. But I have held out; denied any other niggas the privilege—
and
pleasure—of fucking this sweet, wet hole.

The problem is: Though I haven't been riding down on anything stiff, I've been doing a little anonymous dick sucking on the side from time-to-time—and, every now and then, getting my pussy ate—to take the edge off. Okay, okay, I'm lying. I've been sucking a lot of dick. But it wasn't supposed to be this way. I wasn't supposed to become hooked on the shit as if it were crack. But, I have. And I am.

Truth be told. It started out as inquisitiveness. I was bored. I was lonely. I was fucking horny. And tired of sucking and fucking dildos, pretending they were Jasper's dick. So I went on Nastyfreaks4u.com, a new website that's been around for about two years or so. About a year ago, I had overheard one of the regulars who gets her hair done down at my salon talking about a site where men and women post amateur sex videos, similar to that on Xtube, and also place sex ads. So out of curiosity, I went onto their site, browsed around on it for almost a week before deciding to become a member and place my very own personal ad. I honestly wasn't expecting anything to come of it. And a part of me had hoped nothing would. But, lo and behold, my email became flooded with requests. And I responded back. I told myself that I'd do it one time, only. But once turned into twice, then twice became three more times, and now—a year-and-a-half later, I'm logged on
again
—still telling myself that
this
time will be the last time.

I stare at my ring finger. Take in the sparkling four-carat
engagement ring. It's a nagging reminder of what I have; of what I could potentially end up losing. My reputation for one—as a successful, no-nonsense hairstylist and business owner of one the most upscale hair salons in the tri-state area; winner of two Bronner Brothers hair show competitions; numerous features in
Hype Hair
magazine, one of the leading hairstyle magazines for African-American women; and winner of the 2008 Global Salon Business Award, a prestigious award presented every two years to recognize excellence in the industry—could be tarnished. Everything I've worked so hard to achieve could be ruined in the blink of an eye.

My man, for another, could…will, walk out of my life. After he beats my ass, or worse—kills me. And I wouldn't blame him, not one damn bit. I know better than anyone that as passionate a lover Jasper is, he can be just as ruthless if crossed. He has no problem punching a nigga's lights out, smacking up a chick—or breaking her jaw, so I already know what the outcome will be if he ever finds out about my indiscretions. Yet I still choose to dance with deception, regardless of the outcome.

As hypocritical and deceitful as I've been, I can't ever forget it was Jasper who helped me get to where I am today. He's been the biggest part of my success, and I love him for that. Nappy No More wouldn't exist if it weren't for him believing in me, in my visions, and investing thousands of dollars into my salon eight years ago. Granted, I've paid him back and then some. And, yes, it's true. I put up with all the shit that comes with loving a man who's been caught up in the game. From his hustling and incarcerations to his fucking around on me in the early part of our relationship, I stood by him; loved him, no matter what. And I know more than anyone else that I've benefited from it. So as far as I'm concerned, I believe I owe him. He's put all of his trust in
me, has given me his heart, and has always been damn good to me. And, yes,
this
is how I've been showing my gratitude—by creeping on the internet.

He won't find out
, I think, sighing as I remove my diamond ring from my hand, placing it in my jewelry case, then locking it in the safe with the rest of my valuables. Jasper had given me this engagement ring and proposed to me a month before he got sentenced while he was still out on bail. He wanted me to marry him before he got locked up, but I wanted to wait until he got released. Having a half-assed wedding was not an option. But, they'll be no wedding if I don't get my mind right and stop this shit, soon!
I'll stop all this craziness once he gets home.
This is what I tell myself; this is what I want to believe.

How many dicks have I sucked over the last year? Ummm, honestly, I wish I could tell you. Truth is I try not to give it much thought. Thinking about it would make me feel guiltier than I already do. Every time I walk back up in this spot and crawl back up into bed with thoughts of Jasper, every time he calls me and tells me how much he misses me and loves me and can't wait to get home to me, every time I sit in front of him at a visit, or when he looks into my eyes and he kisses me—it fucks with me. It eats away at my conscience. But, is it enough to make me stop? It should be. I swear I had hoped, wished, it would be. But it hasn't. Something keeps luring me right back on my knees sucking down another nigga's dick.

I sigh, remembering a time when I used to be so obsessed with being a good dick sucker that I used to practice sucking on a dildo. I had bought myself a nice black, seven-inch dildo at an adult bookstore when I was barely twenty. At first, it was a little uncomfortable. My eyes would water and I'd gag as the head hit the back of my throat. But, I didn't give up. I was determined to
become a dick-swallowing pro. Diligently, I kept practicing every night before I went to bed until I was finally able to deep throat that rubber cock balls deep. Then I purchased an eight-inch, and practiced religiously until I was able to swallow it too. Before long, I was able to move up to a nine inch, then ten. And once I had them mastered, it was then, that I knew for certain I was ready to move on to the real thing. And I've been sucking dick ever since.

Funny thing, I've always prided myself on being a phenomenal head giver; on knowing how to take care of a man's dick—to not only suck it, but to make love to it. To slob it because I love it; because I adore it. There's something about slobbering all over a dick, twirling my tongue all over it—its slit slick with sweet precum, gliding my lips and mouth up and down its length, engulfing it—that makes my pussy wet.

The only difference is, back then I only sucked my boyfriends, men I loved; men who I wanted to be with. But now…now, I'm sucking a bunch of faceless, nameless men; men who I care nothing about. Men I have no emotional connection to. And that within itself makes what I'm doing that more dirty. I know this. Still—as filthy and as raunchy and trifling as it is, it excites me. It entices me. And it keeps me wanting more.

As crazy as this will sound, when I'm down on my knees, or leaned over in a nigga's lap with a mouthful of dick while he's driving—it's not him I'm sucking, it's not his balls I'm wetting. It's Jasper's dick. It's Jasper's balls. It's Jasper's moans I hear. It's Jasper's hands I feel wrapped in my hair, holding the back of my neck. It's Jasper stretching my neck. Not any other nigga. I close my eyes, and pretend. I make believe them other niggas don't exist.

The
dinging
alerts me I have new Yahoo messages. I sit back in front of my screen, take a deep breath. Eight emails. I click on the first one:

Great ad! Good looking married man here: 42, 5'9”, 7 cut, medium thick. Looking for a discreet, kinky woman who likes to eat and play with nice, big sweaty balls, lick in my musty crotch, and chew on my foreskin while I kick back. Can't host.