Zane's Sex Chronicles, page 13
One man after another took the stage and did his thing. I must say there is no way any woman who even remotely loves herself some dick wouldn’t be drowning in her own pussy juice up in the Black Screw. There was a stage right smack in the middle of the club, like a boxing ring in the middle of an arena, with tables surrounding all four sides of it so all the women could get a little look-see. In addition, there were circular risers in the four corners of the club with male dancers, who had already performed and taken it all off, on them getting mad freaky. I’m telling you, the shit was all that! They were so naked the only place they could put the dollars women tipped them was in their boots. I noticed they were all wearing some sort of boots, mostly cowboy ones. Cash-and-carry, I suppose.
As much as I loved it, it was getting pretty late. Two A.M. was rolling around, and the wedding was at noon sharp. I told the gurls we should bounce and thanks for taking me there. My maid of honor, Shari, told me the party wasn’t over and then called the fine waiter over and whispered something in his ear. I sat there nervous as all hell because I figured they were planning on having some guy come over to the table and freak me or something. I had managed to keep my hands to myself all night, even though the temptation was killing me.
About five minutes later, the waiter returned with three other waiters and a cake. While our waiter set the cake—which, by the way, was chocolate and shaped like a huge dick—on the table, the other three clapped and recited some rehearsed congrats-on-your-wedding verse. I was relieved that the cake was the surprise and loosened up a bit.
My relief turned to panic when the finest guy in the place walked up to me. If Mother Nature made anything better, she kept him for her dayum self, because the man was hitting. He was about six-four, 210 or 215 pounds, dark-skinned, with jet-black curly hair and deep brown eyes. He stood out in the club because he was clothed with stonewashed wide-legged jeans, a suede vest, and of course, cowboy boots.
He leaned over the table, reached for my hand, and I was likely to faint. Shari told me, “You better get your ass up!” I asked her, “What the fuck is going on?” She replied, “Just a little something extra I have planned for you! This is your last night of freedom. Now, GET THE FUCK UP!”
You could tell from the expression on her face that she could barely prevent herself from breaking out into a full grin. I was drunk, and his hand was still reaching out for me. I threw caution to the wind and took it.
A couple of minutes later, he and I walked through a set of double doors into the rear of the Black Screw. He had yet to say a word to me. I figured Shari had paid him to give me a private dance, sort of like a male lap dance. To be honest, I was still nervous as shit, though. If he had been just average, cute, or even remotely fine, I would have had no problem whatsoever. The problem was, he was past all those, and I was tore up. My pussy was throbbing and shit for him just by the hand-holding alone. I was getting the distinct feeling my ass might get in some serious trouble once he did his little show. I should have stopped it right then. I should have told him I felt uncomfortable and was about to rejoin my friends so we could leave. But I didn’t, and before I knew it, we reached our final destination.
There was a long hallway in the back of the club with several rooms. All the rooms had neon signs over the doorways. He led me to one called “The Red-Light District” and held the door open for me to go in.
The room was dimly lit with red lightbulbs, and there was a slow jam playing. Much to my surprise, there were four couches in the room, one on each wall, and two of them were occupied. I tried to pull my hand loose after I saw what was going on in the room, but he held onto it tightly and spoke to me for the first time: “Don’t run away, baby. At least let me do my dance for you. Don’t worry about them!”
He had the deepest, sexiest voice, and when he looked at me with them there eyes, I was at his beck and call. So, I didn’t worry about them and went and sat on the couch farthest from the door while he walked over to the compact shelf stereo system and changed the CD. Them referred to the two other female customers in the room with male dancers. There was absolutely no dancing going on, and when my private dancer was putting on his performance music, I could hear them moaning and shit. Not to mention the fucking and sucking noises.
You see, one sister was over on the couch by the door, and her ankles were pressed up over her shoulders while a big, Mandingo-looking brother was fucking the shit out of her. The other was not quite as bad. However, she was sitting on the couch on the left wall sucking another brother’s dick like a Hoover vacuum cleaner. Apparently, the lap dances they received were slamming, because they were all about knocking boots.
All sorts of shit started going through my mind faster than the speed of light. I know I should have been thinking about my baby, my boo, my husband-to-be, but he never crossed my mind. In fact, looking back on it now, I don’t feel guilty because I know about all the shit that goes on at bachelor parties. His ass probably fucked some hoochie that night too.
He put on his music, “My Body” by LSG, and began his dance. He told me, “My name’s Warren, by the way. What’s yours?” I told him, “My name’s Mira,” as he began to do his thing, grinding all in my face while I sat there on the couch with a serious case of locked knees.
Warren slowly removed his vest, and like I had suspected, he was perfect. I tried to keep my eyes fixed on him, but it was hard with all the other shit going on. The other two couples had done some shifting, and the one who had been sucking dick was now bent over getting fucked doggy-style. The other one, who previously was shaped like a pretzel, was now in the sixty-nine position getting her freak on.
I began to feel light-headed as Warren started to break out of his jeans. I recuperated fast when I saw his dick protruding out his black thong bikini. Just like I like them: big, long, thick, and chocolate. That was the very moment I knew I was gonna fuck him if he was down. Judging by the way he was looking at me, I suspected he was.
Warren confirmed my suspicions when, once naked, he knelt down and pried my knees open with his strong hands, exposing the black lace panties I was wearing underneath my black knee-length skirt. I wore no stockings with my heels because it was midsummer and extremely hot out, so it was easy for Warren to run his fingers all over my smooth, creamy thighs. He began to kiss my kneecaps. All I could do was look, being I was overcome by a desire I had never known, a desire to make love to a complete stranger. A desire, it appeared, I was destined to fulfill the night before I married the man of my dreams.
That is exactly what I did. I fulfilled the desire to make love to a stranger, and I have not regretted it a moment since. In fact, I think the night with Warren has significantly helped my married life. I know that sounds sick, but I was able to open up more sexually with him than I could previously do with my boo. Because of the events of that one night, I have become a much better lover for my man.
Warren started running his tongue up and down the inside of my thighs, spreading my legs wider with his hands. My pussy was soaked by that time. He pushed me back on the couch, so I was lying down, pulled my panties off, and then lifted one of my legs up so it was resting on the head-rest of the couch.
He wasted no time getting his eat on with my pussy as the main course. I thought I had died and gone to heaven because I came like crazy. The wild part is that I didn’t even give a fuck what the other people in the room were doing. That’s totally uncharacteristic of me, because I tend to be very inhibited. At least, I was before that night.
His warm, thick tongue played magnificent tricks within my pussy walls, and I got lost in the music and the red lights while he did the thing he does so well. He reached up, with his head still buried between my thighs, and caressed my tender breasts through the white poplin-sleeve blouse I was wearing with the black skirt. I took the initiative, unbuttoned it for him, and unfastened the clasp in the front of my bra, letting my hard nipples escape their prison.
Warren moved his tongue from my pussy, over the material of my skirt, which was up around my waist at the time, and started sucking on my nipples. I went fucking berserk. I’m not sure whether it was the liquor or the fine-ass nucca licking me all over, but I just kept cuming and cuming.
I’m not sure when the other couples got up and left the room. I didn’t see them because I was too busy sucking Warren’s dick, which was, by the way, extremely pleasing to my taste buds. I sucked him so good he exploded in my mouth twice before we moved on to the main event—the main event being knocking boots.
The man fucked me every which way but upside down. If time had permitted, we probably would have gotten to that position eventually. I needed about three days to fuck him the right way. Instead, I only had about three hours. We made good use of them, though, and he tore my coochiecoo up. He gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “dickwhipped.”
Never before, or since, have I ever begged a man to stop fucking me because it was too much for me, but I begged his ass to stop grinding his dick into me in such a fashion. Warren didn’t let up, though, and ended up giving me the fuck of a lifetime.
When I rejoined my friends, after quite some time, they were about the only ones left in the entire club. Some of the gurls had left already. The only ones remaining were the ones I was riding with, including Shari, my maid of honor. They were all laughing and grinning at me. I didn’t even attempt to fake the funk because there was no way they would have believed I had been back there talking for the past three hours plus.
I did the next best thing and told them all about it on the way home in the car, blow by motherfucking blow, and they were all ears, probably envisioning every second of it the way I related the story to them.
By the time we got back to my hotel suite, the sun was coming up over the horizon. I only had an hour to get to my hair appointment, so I showered and dressed and headed for the land of hot-ass hair dryers and curling irons. At noon on the dot, I walked down the aisle of the church I had attended since I was baptized in it and married my boo.
I exchanged vows with him and meant every word of them. I love him dearly and would never forsake him for another man again. Like I said earlier, though, I think the night with Warren improved my bedroom skills, and therefore has helped keep my marriage together. My boo thought he was marrying his shy, conservative baby, but on our wedding night, he found out he married a sexual diva.
I can’t say for sure what men do at bachelor parties, but I can say this. Any woman who has her bachelorette party at the Black Screw is in for one hell of a great time!
The Pussy Bandit
I was always told to eat everything on my plate.
Well, the bed is my plate.
Ladies, may I fellate?
—the Pussy Bandit
No one knows his name or what he really looks like. In the middle of the night, he sneaks into his select choice of the evening’s dorm room, ready to strike. He feasts on his meal and then leaves as quietly as he came. He bequeaths a single long-stemmed rose on the pillow of yet another woman who’ll never be the same. The small New England university for women I attend is his hunting ground. Every student is his potential prey. No one ever complains, though. In fact, most women want him to stay.
We sit in our dorm rooms at night, giggling and wondering who’ll be next. We always make sure our coochies are clean in case it’s our turn to pass his taste test. It’s like jury duty. You never know when you’ll be called. Many of us lie awake at night listening for footsteps in the hall. Some call him crazy, others call him fine. I used to just hope and pray he would hurry up and get to mine.
You see, there are not many eligible black men in our small New England town. Often we find a few good men and have to pass them all around. Lots of women at the school wait their turn, saying, “Dammit! Hurry up and suck on this, you Pussy Bandit!”
I first heard of the Pussy Bandit my freshman year. I thought he was imaginary, an old wives’ tale, something for the freshman students to worry about, laugh about, joke about. It wasn’t until I was returning home late one evening from a midnight movie that I gave any credence to his existence. My roommate freshman year, Kelly, and I saw a man in black clothing climbing out the second-floor window of an upperclassman dorm. His face was covered with the kind of mask ninjas wear. He jumped from the window and landed on his feet behind a bush. He raced off into night, and to say the least, we were horrified. We rushed to the front door of the small dormitory and banged on it as loud as we could, almost knocking a glass pane out with our fists.
A girl on the bottom floor came out of her room with a short nightie on and opened the door for us. We both started yelling at her simultaneously, telling her what we had just witnessed and running down the hall toward the stairwell. She chased after us as we bounded up the stairs, rushing to the aid of what we just knew was a victim of some sort on the second floor. All sorts of bad things were rushing through my mind. Rape, robbery, even murder.
When we reached the second floor, I couldn’t help but notice the upperclassman who had opened the door was very calm while she followed behind us. She appeared to be giggling when she said, “Oh, calm down! It was just him!”
Kelly took the time out to ask her who she meant by him while I walked the hall, looking for the door that matched the window we saw him leap out of. I found it and started banging on it. A woman’s voice came through the door saying, “Just a second!”
She opened her door with a smile on her face, saying, “I’ve just been had by the Pussy Bandit!”
Kelly looked as if she might faint, and I said, “What the fuck?”
The upperclassman who opened the front door for us hollered out, “You go, gurl!” She pushed her way inside the other girl’s room, sat down on the dresser, and asked, “Was he all I have heard?”
Kelly and I went in too, sat down on the bed, and didn’t utter a word. We wanted to hear what happened as much as the other girl.
The girl, who was named Mandy, started telling the tale of how the Bandit had crept into her window and eaten her out like all hell. She was so graphic and excited about all the details, I could have sworn she looked like she was under a spell.
After that night, I was no more good. Having my pussy eaten is like winning the grand prize on a game show. Just about every other day, I would hear about a girl who was eaten in this dorm or that dorm. I knew my chances were slim, since all freshmen have roommates. I spent the remainder of my freshman year taking long walks in the courtyard late at night, hoping he would change his pattern and suck on me under the moonlight. Nada!
I went to summer school just so I could stay around campus, figuring my chances would be better, since most women had gone home. Boy, was I wrong!
He seemed to hit every coochie-coo on campus but mine. Kelly finally got eaten, afterward telling me she told him, “It’s about dayum time!”
Sophomore year came and went faster than the speed of light. I had my own dorm room then, and a lot of sleepless nights. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t say a thing if he would just suck on my bones like a chicken wing. Still, nada!
I went home that summer ’cause I had a work-study job. I worried about who was getting eaten while I was gone. Geesh, my clit was so hard.
Junior year rolled around, and on my face there was always a frown. I started trying to calculate how much pussy there could possibly be in such a small town. I knew I would be much more healthy, wealthy, and wise if I could just get his lips between my dayum thighs. Still, nada!
It was halfway through my senior year when he finally got to me. It’s time for the real deal, so fuck all this poetry!
It was winter break, and most of the students had already left for the holidays. I was one of the few left. I decided to stay and complete a term paper one of my English lit professors was sweating me for.
I worked on the paper until about 4 A.M. and finally had to lie down. I couldn’t keep my eyes open another second without propping them open with toothpicks.
I had been asleep about thirty minutes when I was awakened by the smell of his cologne. When I opened my eyes, I realized there was a slight breeze coming in from the open window he used to come in. I never locked my window. I didn’t want him to waste any time prying it open, if and when he ever got around to me.
I knew who he was right away. He was dressed very similar to the way he was the night Kelly and I saw him years before. He had on black jeans, boots, and a turtleneck. His face and head were covered with a ninja hood and mask. The only things visible were his eyes. They looked so serene and sensitive in the light of my desk lamp, the one and only light on in the room.
I spoke, even though I had sworn to myself I wouldn’t. “Are you really the Pussy Bandit?”
He put his finger up to my lips, and I could smell the scent of aftershave lotion on his mocha-colored hand. All he said was “Shhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
He reached into his rear jean pocket and pulled out two black silk scarves and a black blindfold. I eagerly raised my hands above my head so he could tie my wrists to the head-board posts of my bed. All the years I had heard about him made me feel comfortable around him, like an old family friend who showed up unexpectantly for Christmas dinner. Ironically, it was almost something like that.
He covered my eyes with the blindfold, making sure I wouldn’t be able to see his face once he removed his mask. He obviously couldn’t eat my pussy through the mask, so the blindfold was no surprise. I had heard the details from enough women to know what the deal was.
I could feel his soft hands on my skin as he gently pulled my black lace panties off. The only other thing I had on was a big T-shirt with an athletic brand label on the front.
