Dirty Heat (15 page)

It's wrong. I know it is.

But the thrill of it all pushes me over the edge. I am coming again. Soaking him. He fucks me with all his might. “Aaah, aaah, aaaah, aaah. Here it comes, baby. Aaah, aaaah…” And seconds later, Kyree roars over and over as scorching come erupts inside of me, coating my walls.

With ragged breaths, we both shudder and kiss hungrily, clinging onto the each other as he empties the last drop of his seed into me.

Bodies spent. I am dazed as we continue kissing and softly riding the wave, thrusting through heat and come, stirring into our mixed orgasms.

I know it's gotten late. Real late. And I should be scrambling out of his arms, but here I am. Still straddled over his lap in his mother's truck, my cum-soaked folds still pulsing for more.

I kiss him one last time before saying, “I better go.”

He stares into my eyes, holding me down onto him by the waist. “Nah. Not yet. Feel that?”

I swallow. “Yes,” I rasp as his dick begins to swell inside of me again. “Oh, yes. I feel it.”

His lips curl into a seductive grin. “Good. That's what you do to me.” He pulls me into him by the neck, kisses me on the lips again. “I want some more of you. I
need
some more.”

His desire-soaked mouth pressed against mine, tongues caressing, the kiss causes me to momentarily forget that I have a husband at home; that I am old enough to be this boy's mother. That he is my son's best friend.

Clit throbbing, I let out a soft moan, feeling his dick stir and come alive inside of me. And now those things that weigh heavy on my mind are no longer important as I say, “Then take all you need.”

“You sure?”

Heartbeat pounding in my ears, I nod. “Yes. It's yours for the taking.”

Kyree accepts my invitation. The palms of his hands rub over my ass, caressing and pulling my cheeks open until my pussy is spread wide as he moves himself up into me. His curved dick brushes over my uterus, while sweeping over my G-spot. And just that quick, I am shutting my eyes, biting into my lips, giving into rippling pleasure cascading over my trembling body.

“I wanna fuck you in the ass.”

“Uhhh…oooh…”

“You gonna let me get in that ass, huh…?”

Fire blazes through my veins at the thought of feeling him stretching my ass open. He'll be my first; and, most likely, my only.

“Yes. Yes. Yes.”

With each thrust, his curved dick grazes my most sensitive spot,
hitting every angle of my pussy. Again and again, he nudges me closer to the edge of another orgasm. Oh, God, he feels so good.

“Mmmm…”

“Play with your clit,” he whispers, his warm breath fanning over my face.

Chest rising and falling, I reach between my legs, and sweep shaky fingers over my clit. I gasp for air as pleasure swells and grows inside of me. Deeper, faster, wetter, hotter, he's pushing me over into a black abyss so deep…

Squeezing, pulsing, squeezing, pulsing, the tidal wave of arousal rushes over me so quickly that I can't breathe, can't think. I am lost inside a bubble of aching want and need, of lust-induced desperation. There's no denying it. Kyree has me turned out. And this wet pussy's gone wild for his young hard dick.

I squeeze my eyes.

Allow the swell of my own desires to take control. And surrender to the ecstasy.

“A
aaah, shit, baby…oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah…Goddamn, this pussy's so good. I'm getting ready to bust, baby. Aaaaah, shit…oooooh, yeeeeeeah…!”

Lord God, why?
I think, rolling my eyes up in my head.

The headboard slaps loud and frantic up against the wall as Roosevelt pounds away, his thick ten-inches deliciously stretching my pussy.

Too bad I won't get a chance to enjoy it for long.

Aside from the fact that Roosevelt is grunting and growling and has kindly announced his looming release, I can tell by the swell of his dick that he's nearing the end of his rope. I turn my head and glance over at the digital clock on the nightstand. Eight minutes in.

Oooh, this quick-nut motherfucker's dick feels so good in my pussy.

But I'm so goddamn disgusted.

Disgusted that I can't even enjoy the wet sounds of my pussy for much longer, the clickety-click-click noises that shamelessly turn me on, because Roosevelt will soon rob me of its hypnotic melody.

Goddamn him.

Big dick. Big loads. But, sadly, he's a waste of a good fuck.

Yes, my man's a Godforsaken minuteman, figuratively speaking that is. I mean. He doesn't actually come in two pumps and a hump. But most times it feels like it.

The longest he's been able to hold out has been twenty minutes. No. Wait. Twenty-three minutes and forty-seven seconds. I know, because I timed it.

Like I always do.

And, yet, he seems to think that because he has a big dick that this is acceptable. That somehow this—him pounding away for under twenty minutes—is him beating the pussy up.

No goddamn it.

Beating this pussy up is leaving me feeling sore and raw. It's fucking me until I am babbling and slurring and tears are springing from my eyes, and I am seeing stars. It's having my pussy weep and cry out. It's having me walking with a limp, feeling the pounding throb of a dick days after it's been pulled out.

Oh, my man might stroke it up and stir the juices, but he damn sure hasn't beaten shit up in years. And I don't know when was the last time I've tapped out, with him, anyway.

Hell, I do know. In the beginning of our relationship, when he used to fuck me like I stole something from him, when he'd gut this pussy and have me howling like a wounded wolf, begging him to stop. Back when he'd have me running from the dick.

Pussy sore from a long fucking, throat sore from crying out, Roosevelt used to serve me the dick like it was nobody's business.

But now?

Mmph.

Twenty minutes of reckless, disrespectful pounding and then it's over.

And I'm left with a soppy-wet pussy still clenching for more dick.

“Uhhh, oooooh, shit…aaah, Roosevelt, baby…this dick is so good…”

Well, shit. It is. That's one thing I can't lie about. The dick. Is. Goddamn. Good.

Sadly, only for a very short period of time…

“Lord, God…ooh shit, oooh, shit…uhh…please, baby, don't!”

He's about to gyp me of a good fuck. My pussy needs more. Goddamn him!

I swear I don't want to kick Roosevelt's back in. I love him. Lord knows I do. Shit. You'd have to love his ass in order to put up with this level of disrespect. Yes. You heard me right. Disrespect.

He disrespects my pussy every time he pushes the head of his dick inside me, inches himself in, stretching my pussy and getting it all wet and juicy, then nutting in a roaring growl long before I do.

Yes, he licks my clit and tongues my kitty fabulously. And trust me when I tell you. I love listening to him lick my pussy. The sounds of his warm velvety tongue lovingly lapping into my wetness are always so erotic. They send me over the edge, having me clawing at the sheets, coming hard, and begging for the dick.

And he gives it to me.

The dick.

Thick and ribbed with veins.

Because that's what my pussy craves, that's what my body aches for. Dick.

Big juicy dick, like Roosevelt's!

But, uh, all I can expect from him, on a good day/night, is a maximum of twenty-three-maybe twenty-five goddamn minutes of hard dick.

It's so disrespectful for him to do my pussy like this. Slight me the dick. Leave my pussy stretched open and greedy and needy for a good long, hard fucking.

Still, I love him. Yes, yes, yes, I do. Even though he typically can't handle the heat more than fifteen minutes, on most days.

He says it's only when I talk dirty. Only when I moan for him to
fuck me
that he loses focus and can't hold out.

So what am I supposed to do? Lay still and keep quiet like some muted stroke victim, just so he can fuck me a few extra minutes longer?

Oh, no, boo. I don't think so!

I'm a shit talker.

I'm a shaker and mover.

I'm a hip roller and a pelvis thruster.

I'm an on-all-fours kind of woman who loves throwing my ass up on the dick, clapping my ass cheeks, while having my hair pulled and my head yanked back as I talk a bunch of shit. I love throwing my legs up over a set of broad shoulders, looking my lover in his eyes, clenching my pussy around the dick, or having my nipples licked by a wet tongue and grazed with a set of teeth, while I'm being choked and fucked.

So, there is no damn way I'm able to simply lay here and let Roosevelt pound my wet pussy with his big, hard dick and I not cry out and tell him to…
fuck me.

But, because I love him so, I allow him to hold onto the lie. The lie that that's the reason he prematurely coats my insides with his thick cream every time he gets up inside my wet heat.

I know I got that good-good. And most of the men in my past have also struggled to hold on to their man juice, like Roosevelt, when I spread open my pretty kitty lips and welcome them into paradise. And don't let me get up on my knees and give it to them from the back, using my walls to suck them into my pussy, milking them, while this ass claps around their dicks.

Mmmph.

So I get it.

This pussy is certifiable.

Still…that doesn't mean I have to like these fast fucks Roosevelt dishes out.

And it doesn't mean that I'm satisfied with the outcome—a quick nut, because I'm not. I am tired of being let down. Tired of having to wait for him to recharge before he can go another round. What am I supposed to do while he's taking his power nap, snoring and drooling, like some well-fed pooch, while my cunt is left wet and agitated?

Play in it?

Mmph.

I want to be fucked long and hard, whenever, wherever.

I want Roosevelt to exercise goddamn nut control!

And this feeling of being sexually unfulfilled is…

“Oooh, ooh, ahhh…that's it, baby. Ooh, yesss…” Roosevelt hits my spot, and a loud moan rips from the back of my throat.

It's goddamn sinful for a man—
my man
, to have all this big, thick dick and not be able to give me at least thirty minutes of pussy-pounding, toe-curling pleasure.

And to make matters worse, egotism keeps Roosevelt from using the vibrating cock ring I bought him two Christmases ago. Even after I told him the benefits of wearing one, this damn man still won't wear it.

His excuse?

His balls are too big.

All I could do is give him a blank goddamn stare.

And, that's not the rest of it. Roosevelt's pride forbids him from even trying any of the stay-hard maximum-strength climax control gels I've bought over the years to prolong his ejaculations.

Are you kidding me?

He says he doesn't need that shit.

Yeah, okay. More lies.

A few times I seriously considered applying some of that Benzocaine inside my kitty hole on the sly, but the thought of having
my pussy numb made me reconsider. All I kept thinking was, “dead cunt weeping.”

In my mind's eye, all I saw was my pussy lips drooping and drooling, like I do when I'm at the dentist getting my teeth worked on.

No, God, no!

A numb, wet pussy is
not
it for me.

Soooooo…I suffer in silence.

Roosevelt claims that before he got with me he could fuck all night. Uh, okay. I'm still waiting for him to make me a believer. But, okay. That's what he says. So I let him run with it. Truth is, I don't know what it was like with him in the sheets when he was fucking them skinny bitches. I only know what it's like now. And, after five years of being together, you'd think he'd finally master how to handle this fat pussy.

But, nope!

If I get on top and ride him, it's a wrap. If I give him the back shot…oh, it's definitely lights out. Forget it. Ten minutes in, and he's splattering the inside of my guts.

I'm starting to think that maybe these big bouncy titties, and these thick hips, and this big, juicy ass, and this wet pussy are too much for him.

No, wait…I
know
they are.

Lolita Singleton is too hot to handle, boo. Okay?

Shit. I know I'm a bad, full-figured bitch with a wet, juicy pussy.

Hell, I'd fuck the shit out of me, if I could.

And probably nut fast, too, I muse.

But I'd at least want to try to extend my performance. Shit. Roosevelt isn't even forty yet and he's suffering from premature ejaculation, by my own definition, of course. Maybe it isn't that premature, but it's still an inconvenience. And puts a hardship on my throbbing cunt.

I told Roosevelt he should start doing some pelvic exercises to get this situation under control.

“Like what?” he asked suspiciously.

“Kegel exercises,” I calmly stated.

He just laughed.

I gave him another one of my blank stares, thinking, “Nigga, there's nothing funny about you half-fucking me, leaving my pussy growling with hunger!”

Hell, I even bought a book on Tantric techniques. Told him it would help deepen our connection. And help maximize our pleasure. Code for: help keep your dick in my pussy longer. But Roosevelt, bless his heart, just wasn't able to connect the dots. So, as usual, I let it go. I know I have a good man. So, of course, I'd never make him feel any less of a man. I'd never want him to feel inadequate. All I could do, all I ever do, is gently encourage him to give it some thought, for us.

I let him know Kegel exercises aren't only for women; that men can benefit from them too, that many need to, like him.

But, being the stubborn man he is, he doesn't see his quick spraying of his man milk as a sexual problem, the way I do. So without, making him feel emasculated, I keep encouraging, keep nudging, keep hoping…that one day, soon, he gets it.