The Stud Palace Read online

  THE STUD PALACE

  CAIRO

  STREBOR BOOKS

  NEW YORK LONDON TORONTO SYDNEY NEW DEHLI

  My pussy’s so fucking wet and slippery. My thick, chocolate nipples are erect and ready for gentle licks from a soft, warm tongue. Oh God, how I need to be made love to. I’m so goddamn horny for more than what I’ve been getting. I love sex—lots of it. But I am sooooo not enjoying this shit. My neglected cunt lips and clit ache for more than some half-assed tongue lick. God, what did I do to deserve this shit? I ponder as two thumbs spread open my slit and Kareem’s tongue flicks inside a few times, then . . . just like that . . . it is over!

  This niggah has got to be kidding me! Why, Lord? I was never a whore or a cheat. I have always respected my pussy. Never, ever letting every man who wanted to fuck get up in it, and this is the thanks I get? A lousy, three-lap pussy lick! What lesson am I to learn from being sexually deprived?

  I press my eyes shut. I am desperately trying to keep from looking into the handsome face of my on-again, off-again man of five years—as he lifts my legs up over his broad, chocolate shoulders and swiftly pushes his thick, eight-inch dick in, then rapidly pumps in and out of me. Oh God. there was a time when this dick felt so good to me, and in me. Long before . . .

  I moan.

  My sweet, tight pussy deserves so much better than this shit! I peer at Kareem through half-closed, lashed slits.

  “Mmmm . . . yeah, you like that shit, don’t you? Aaah, shit . . . pussy’s grabbin’ this dick! Ooooh yeah . . . .” His warm, pussy scented breath blows in my face as he says this. “Aaah, fuck . . . I love how this wet pussy soaks my dick, baby . . .”

  I cover my face with an arm to hide the rolling of my eyes. Oh please! He thinks my wet pussy is due to all of his rapid pounding when another moan escapes from the back of my throat. But I dare not tell him otherwise. I dare not mention to my overzealous lover that my mind is occupied with delicious thoughts of something more than this—his grunting and groaning and incessant pounding and contorted facial expressions. Kareem’s all dick and no rhythm. And no creativity! Just non-stop pounding like he’s trying to stomp out a fire on a runaway train. Then he offers up an occasional tip drill here and there, sprinkled in with a few slaps on the ass and a tongue dipping inside my ear every so often—like that shit is supposed to turn me out—and he thinks he’s delivering the most spectacular fuck of the century.

  “Oh, yesssss,” I push out in a forced whisper, grabbing him by the ass. Kareem has a beautiful ass. It’s smooth and muscled with a trail of hair along the edges of his crack. So many times while sucking his dick and lapping at his balls, I’ve wanted to taste his ass, flick my tongue across his hole. But he’d never go for that. So now I imagine my tongue flicking across my imaginary lover’s hot asshole, then dipping into her pussy.

  Yes, I fantasize about other women. About the taste and feel of their sticky cunts in my mouth, on my fingers, brushing and bumping against my own wet, horny pussy. It’s been a fantasy that has ignited my curiosity to no end for the last eight months or so. But it’s been a fleeting desire for years. One that I’ve kept hidden from Kareem because of how grossed out he’d be, as proven when he’d given me a look of disgust when I gently broached the subject of us having a ménage à trios about four years ago. His exact words to me were, “You have got to be fucking kidding me if you think we’re gonna be doing some nasty shit like that.” I know. Blank stare! What man wouldn’t want to have two mouths, two sets of hands, two wet, horny pussies to pleasure him, and his woman welcome it? Not Kareem, that’s for sure!

  Anyway, I knew right then that telling him about my fantasies of having another woman’s face between my legs, her tongue caressing my cunt lips and slit; or her hard, chocolate nipples in my mouth; or her wet, swollen clit pressing up against my own would have him bolting out the door, stamping me a lesbian—which I am not. Well, at least that’s not what I consider myself. I am bicurious. Well, at least I think I am. I mean, although I have these sexual fantasies, I do not know if I would ever act on my desires. The visions in my head are enough for now to take me to the edge of an orgasm, then cause my pussy to erupt in delight.

  Like my fantasy of being stretched out on the bed with my legs spread wide, thick pillows tucked under my hips with my firm, round ass perched upward, my asshole glistening from my lover’s tongue-fuck, it buried deep in my ass—its snugness gripping each stroke of her tongue. A wave of heated desire sweeps through me as she slides two fingers into my wet cunt as it beckons to her. Instinctively, I reach behind me and pull open my ass cheeks, giving her all of me. And, before long, my ass and pussy are lovingly stuffed with tongue and fingers; both holes excitedly twitching and gripping her.

  Kareem grunts, then groans, causing me to look up at him. He is ruining my fantasy. Sweat drips from his face. “Goddamn, this pussy’s motherfuckin’ good. . . . Aaah, fuck . . . pussy’s squeezing all over this dick. Shitgoddamn . . .!”

  Ohgod, I gotta get him to hurry this up!

  I clutch Kareem into me, nails digging into his flesh, urging him to hurry the hell up so I can finish myself off in the bathroom. “Fuck me deep, baby . . .” My hand goes back to my clit, then to my dick-stuffed pussy, allowing juices to splatter over my fingers. I pull them to my mouth and suck on them, imagining my juices to be that of my lover’s tangy sauce. In my head, positions have changed. We are in the sixty-nine. She is eating my pussy. I am eating hers. And we both moan and cum and cum some more.

  “Yeah, baby, take this dick,” Kareem growls in my ear, jolting me from my fantasy. “. . . fat, deep pussy all wet for Daddy, huh?”

  Not! But ohhhkay . . . if you say so!

  With my left hand, I use my forefinger and middle finger to rapidly press on my clit, then swirl my fingertips over it. My right hand goes up to my left breast. I pinch my nipple between my fingers, imagining my lover lightly pulling it with her teeth. Instantly, my cunt becomes a hot, steamy volcano spurting out creamy lava.

  “Ooooooh, yesssss,” I moan as I squeeze my eyes shut again to the memory of my imaginary lover. Kareem plunges in deep, then pulls out to the head, then plunges back in. He repeats this four more times, taking my moaning as an indicator that he’s dishing up the dick. I continue on, “Oooh, yes, I’m so wet for you, baby! Uhhh, fuck me . . . mmmmm . . . you make my pussy feel so good, baby.”

  It’s all a lie. Well, not the part about being wet. I am wet; so, so very wet. My pussy lips are sloppy and drenched in my juices; just not from him. Fact is, I am bored to death, sexually. No seriously. The last three years, three months, ten days, and twelve hours have been hell, filled with absolute frustration and being tired of trying to teach Kareem how to satisfy me to no goddamn avail! Don’t get me wrong, I love him. No, really I do . . . with all that’s in me. But I don’t love shit about his sex game. Well, not anymore that is. More lately than not, Kareem’s become a dud in the sheets! And, sadly, I’ve come to realize that he’s simply not freaky enough for me.

  For instance, I always let him nut in my mouth after a dose of good dick sucking and I swallow him clean. Yet he won’t kiss me afterwards unless I brush my teeth and tongue, first. Like really? Are you serious? So, guess what? I’ve stopped sucking his dick as often. And now, when I do suck him off, I no longer swallow or let him nut in my mouth. Nope. Now he has to nut on my titties or on my face. Then he won’t eat my pussy after he’s splashed his cum inside of it. He thinks it’s nasty. Whatever! Then he won’t wear a cock ring, or let me finger or rim his asshole while I suck his dick. He says, “That’s some gay shit.”But it’s what I want to do, to my man, because it turns me on. But he doesn’t see it as that. And on top of all tha
t, he doesn’t like to fuck me in the ass, either. Again, “That’s some homo shit,” he insists. “Ain’t no real man thinking about fucking his woman in the ass unless he’s on some down-low shit! So stop askin’ me to do some nasty shit like that. What, you want some fag fucking you?”

  And the list of what he won’t do goes on . . .

  I cringe at the thought of Kareem being so damn closed-minded and one-dimensional when it comes to sex. I try to recall if he’s always been this way. Boring. Yes, I’m certain he has. But I didn’t take notice until recently. It never really mattered . . . well, it did, but not as much—until now. When all of my suppressed lesbian desires found their way to the surface and started consuming me.

  Pump, pump, pump!

  Choo-choo!

  “Aaah, shit, baby . . . goddamn . . . shit’s so good. Mmmph . . . tell Daddy how you like it . . .”

  Pump, pump, pump!

  Choo-choo!

  “Mmmmm . . . motherfuckin’ pussy so wet; so tight . . .”

  “Will you shut. The. Fuck. Up! You’ve said this shit already!” I hear myself screaming at the top of my lungs. Instead I grunt. And groan. And this only encourages him to pound harder, causing the headboard to slap mercilessly against the wall. I start counting in my head. One, two, three, four . . .

  I remind myself that Kareem is a good man. He’s hard-working. Articulate. He’s good-looking . . . no scratch that. He’s fine as hell in all of his chocolate glory! He has a beautiful body and a nice, thick, smooth chocolate dick to match. He’s never beaten me, or disrespected me. And, as far as I know, he hasn’t fucked anyone else. He’s thoughtful and generous with his time and money. But . . .

  Five, six, seven . . .

  “Oooh, yesss . . . fuck me with that big dick, baby . . .”

  Usually talking dirty gets him off quick, but today he’s determined to make sure I get mine. And I will, not because of him though. It is my imagination that will cause my pussy to spasm and explode. In my mind’s eye, I am being fucked and made love to, simultaneously—if that‘s even possible—by another woman.

  Eight, nine, ten . . .

  My female lover is faceless. But her skin is like smooth, dark chocolate wrapped around a toned, well-defined frame. She is not muscular, not manly. Not butch. No, definitely not! She is feminine and pretty, yet—at first glance—traces of masculinity cause one to pause to wonder her sex. Androgynous, that’s what she is. Sexy and alluring.

  In my mind’s eye, I am back on my knees, wiggling my perfectly-shaped apple-bottom ass back and forth, clenching my pussy and ass as my lover’s tongue caresses my crack in slow, wet licks. “Ohgod, yes,” I push out in a deep, hot, sensuous purr. “Fuckmefuckmefuckme . . .”

  Eleven, twelve, thirteen . . .

  My lover and I have changed positions again. I am back on my stomach. I imagine Kareem’s thick, black dick being replaced by delicate fingers. One finger, then two, then three plunge deep into my pussy. I am so wet. Each time my imaginary lover pumps into my wetness with her hand, my pussy makes a delicious, slurping sound. Her knuckles slap against my cunt juices as it splashes out. She fucks my pussy as hard as she can, leaning forward and slipping her tongue between my parted cherry-glossed lips. I have never kissed a woman on the mouth before, let alone having her tongue in my mouth. But I imagine it being a hot, hungry, sweet-tasting kiss. I moan again. Her soft lips caress my skin as she kisses her way down my neck, leaving a trail of wet desire—and an even wetter, more urgent need, between my thighs.

  Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen . . .

  My eyes snap open as Kareem practically yanks his cum-slicked dick out of me, leaving my pussy open and restless. I am almost on edge with excitement that, maybe, he is finally finished. That he’s going to shoot his thick, hot load all over my stomach and titties, then roll over and pass out snoring. To my dismay, he isn’t and he doesn’t.

  He glances up at me. “I’ma eat the fuck out this pussy, baby.”

  Oh really? When?

  To keep from saying what I am thinking, I grunt, again, as he buries his face back between my legs, slides two thick fingers into my slit while flicking his tongue across my clit. There was a time when this was enough. Before the fantasies invaded my mind, before curiosity robbed me of my senses and had me longing for something more.

  “Damn, baby, your pussy tastes good.” Kareem’s hot breath tickles the opening of my pussy as he speaks. “You so wet and juicy.” His tongue goes in deep, brushing my walls with a swirling lick. I shudder as his tongue becomes her tongue. His touch is now hers. My pussy lips are wet and swollen. My clit engorged with electrifying excitement as her tongue flicks over and over. And, for the first time in a long time, my toes curl. My body feels flush. My cunt aflame, I reach between my legs and rub my clit harder and faster as Kareem—no, my imaginary lover—licks my pussy. Blood races to my head as another wave of pleasure shoots through me.

  I scream. Clutch the sheets. I am on the brink of coming. Kareem’s tongue is replaced by his cock. He lunges his hips forward, the head of his curved dick enters me. I welcome him back in as he pushes the length of it all the way in, then pounds, and pounds, and pounds. He beats my pussy, causing me to yell out. “Ohgod, yes! Uhuhuhuh . . . oooh . . .!”

  Nonstop grunting, he reaches beneath me and squeezes my ass cheeks together. My pussy squishes and splashes against each rapid stroke.

  Choo-choo!

  Choo-choo!

  I scream again. I am coming!

  “Aaaah, fuck yeah . . . you like that shit, don’t you . . .? You like how daddy’s fat dick’s fuckin’ them guts . . .?”

  “Yesss! Oh yessss, baby . . . fuck this wet pussy! Fuckmefuckmefuckmeeeee . . .”

  Kareem grunts. Two-hundred-and thirty-six dick strokes later, and it’s finally over. He thrusts in deep, one last time, digging his fingers in my ass, filling my cunt with his cum. A few seconds later, he rolls off of me, lies on his back panting. He turns and faces me. A grin stretches across his sweaty face as he runs his hand over my ass and gives it a squeeze. God, he’s so fine. “Damn, Tavia,”—my name’s Octavia, but everyone calls me Tavia for short—“your pussy was wetter than usual. My baby musta been extra horny for this dick.”

  I glance down at my man’s thick, wet cock, then stare into his brown eyes. He loves me. He’d do anything to protect me and provide for me. I just wish he satisfied me in the sheets. Still, he is the man that I have had more than my share of ups and downs with—knowing that our love, or perhaps our obsession, for each other is what always brings us back to one another. I don’t have the heart to tell him that my juicy pussy isn’t because of him. I simply lean over and kiss him lightly on the lips, then roll over on my side and allow myself to get lost in his strong arms as he pulls me into him, grinding his sticky dick into my ass. I close my eyes and smile as sensual thoughts of another woman—her sweet, pungent aroma mingling with my own juices—takes shape in my mind. I breathe in the image, slowly drifting off to sleep.

  ***

  “Octavia, giiiiiirl,” Sheena, one of my nearest and dearest friends, says popping her gum in my ear. “I am so damn stressed. I need to get out of this damn house and away from Dante’s black ass before the cops have to escort me up out of here.”

  She must have caught him cheating on her again, I think, glancing over at the clock. It’s a little after seven in the evening. Kareem is out playing ball with some of his boys down at the rec center. And I’ve been lounging around the house, reading this book, Brick, by one of my favorite authors, Allison Hobbs. And, truthfully—BFF or not, I’m a little pissed that she’s disrupting my reading time with this nonsense again. Every six months or so, she catches Dante with his dick buried in someone else’s holes, they argue, she smashes up his shit, throws him out, then miraculously he finds a way to maneuver himself—and his things—right back into her space. Th
e crazy thing is, it’s no secret that she’s not leaving him anytime soon. I’ll never understand why she puts up with it. Then again, no one would ever understand why Kareem and I break up as many times as we have to only end up right back together. So who am I to judge? I keep my mouth shut, as always.

  “I’m so sick of this damn nigga and his bullshit, it’s ridiculous. I’m telling you, girl, I’m ready to punch him dead in his face and stab his ass up.”

  I shake my head. “Calm down, girl. Put the weapon down. There’s no need for violence, or you getting all psycho. Now tell me. What—or should I say, who—did Dante do this time?”

  “I’m so pissed right now I could spit fire.” She huffs in my ear. “I found an opened box of condoms in this nigga’s car, with three rubbers missing.”

  “Oh, wow. And what did he have to say when you confronted him about it?”

  “His lying, black ass told me they weren’t his. Then he had the nerve to say I’m always somewhere looking for shit. Talking ’bout I’m always starting shit and acting all paranoid. So I asked him if they weren’t his, then why the fuck did he have them hidden in his trunk under the mat where the goddamn spare tire is.”

  “Ooops and what did he have to say about that?”

  “Girl, please. What could he say? Not a goddamn thing. He stood there looking like he had shit in his drawers. Then the nigga tried to flim-flam his way out of it by asking me what the hell I was doing snooping around in his trunk. I told his ass that it’s my job to snoop ’cause his black ass is so goddamn sneaky. ”

  I frown. “A mess.”

  “Yeah, and it’s all his; dumb ass. I’m not even mad about the fact that he cheated. I’m pissed that the nigga can’t be honest about it. Shit, why can’t niggas stick to the script? As many times as I’ve brought home other women for him, he knows I’ll let him fuck all the extra pussy he wants as long as I know about it. So why this nigga gotta be sneaky and lie like he’s getting over or some shit is beyond me.”