Between the Sheets (9781476775807) Read online

  She groans. Her hand glides up and down my shaft. Her head bobs. Her mouth gets wetter, hotter, as it stretches over me. She wets my dick, soaks my balls. I can feel spit sliding down into my crack. My dick moves inside her mouth, fucking into a wet river of hungry need.

  Marika is sucking the shit out of my dick. She strokes it with her hand as she sucks my balls into her mouth. Twirls her tongue around them. Licks them. Every so often, her tongue sweeps around the crack of my ass.

  I slide a hand between her legs. Reach for her pussy. But she grabs my hand and brushes it away, shaking her head no as she sucks me.

  “Hold up, baby…wait, wait…wait…aah, shit…”

  I feel tingles brewing at the base of my spine. The head of my dick brushes against the roof of her mouth as she slides it in and out of her throat.

  God, how I love the way my dick feels in her mouth. So fucking hot. So fucking wet. “Aaaaah, shiiiiiiiit, baby. Oh, baby, baby…oooh, fuck. Aaah, shit. Baby, wait…hold up…”

  Marika ignores me. She’s caught up in a dick-sucking zone. Determined to make me crack this nut. And as hard as I’m tryna fight it. As hard as I am tryna hold back this surge of sensations. She’s taking me there. She has me right at the edge. Ready to explode. I can feel it. Rolling up and crashing like a tidal wave. My dick is pulsing. My balls are swelling tight. I feel my tongue starting to thicken. Feel it sliding out of the side of my mouth.

  I groan low in my throat. “Oh, fuuuuuuck…” I hear the words tumble out of my mouth, but they sound almost slurred as I pump into Marika’s mouth, as she sucks and siphons out every last bit of my thick nut, leaving me dizzy and spent.

  SIXTEEN

  Marcel

  “Yo, what’s good, my beauties, cuties, hookers, hoes, pimps, and playboys…this is ya boy, MarSell, coming at you live with another steamy Thursday night of Creepin’ ‘n’ Freakin’ After Dark. You already know how it goes down here at 93.3 The Heat: hot, raw ‘n’ ohhhh so nassssy. I hope everyone had a hot cum-filled week with lots of toe-curlin’ sex. I know I did.

  “But ya boy’s back ‘n’ now we’re about to get it in. So drop them drawz, sit back…relax…light a candle…pour yourself a glass of your favorite wine…pull out your favorite lube…your favorite toy…or hit up that special someone…and prepare to be stimulated beyond your own imagination. Let me mentally lick you into climax as we get into part two of last week’s hot topic: Cunnilingus.

  “That’s right, my freaky peeps. Oral sex. Eatin’ The Peach. The Cooter. The Twat. The Penis Fly Trap. Whatever lil’ name you call it. Puttin’ ya face up in it is the name of the game. And like I said last week, I don’t care if you’re a man or woman. It’s not an option. It’s a requirement. And tonight we’re gonna pick up where we left off last week. On our last segment of Creepin’ ‘n’ Freakin’ After Dark, we had the beauties call in, letting us know how they get down poppin’ the top. Giving that Becky. Tonight, I’ma need the fellas to get at me.

  “If you’re puttin’ in that tongue work, if you know how’ta make her toes curl ‘n’ her uterus shake, if you’ve got her clutching ‘n’ clawing at them sheets, if you have her speaking in twenty-seven different languages ‘n’ her body vibrating, if you have tears springing from her eyes ‘n’ have her squirtin’ ‘n’ shoutin’, holla at ya boy. 1-212-FreakMe.”

  Within seconds all the phone lines light up. Now, on some realness, I know that most of the mofos who call into the show are more than likely lying about their stroke games. Most of ’em aren’t even knocking down half as much pussy as they get on the air and claim they’re getting. Most of ’em just wanna hear themselves talking on the radio. But what I care? At the end of the night all I care about are the ratings. And as long as these numbers stay up, this show stays up.

  “Yo, what’s good…you’re on the air with ya boy, MarSell. Whom am I speaking to ‘n’ where you calling from?”

  “Yo, what’s goodie, fam…this ya boy, D-Dot, from Newark. I tried to get at you last week, but, yo, you had them lines on fire, bruh. But dig, I’m sayin’…I need one’a them dic—bleep—suckin’ hoes to hit me up, for real, for real. I need me a nasty, sloppy, dome-lickin’, ball-suckin’ broad whose head game is real live ‘n’ messy, feel me, bruh? I’m talkin’ spit bubbles, strings of drool ‘n’ watery eyes from gaggin’ ‘n’ getttin’ that skull-fuc—bleep—ed. I just need a slutty whore to suck the meat juice outta this thick six-inch.”

  I frown. “Six inches? Damn, fam. You hanging like a horse, knocking teeth loose.”

  He laughs. “No doubt, no doubt. I beat the neck up.”

  I roll my eyes, glancing over at Nina, who is in the booth cracking up. Instead of moving on to the next caller, I decide to fuck with this delusional short-dick muhfucka. “That’s what it is, bruh—six inches of tonsil strokin’ ‘n’ throat-guttin’. I bet you gotta long tongue, too, to match that long dong.”

  “No doubt, no doubt.”

  “Oh, aiight, aiight. So you love doing them tongue laps up ‘n’ down ‘n’ around them sweet, puffy kitty lips, then dippin’ it deep into that wet slit, huh?”

  “No doubt, no doubt. I gotta tornado tongue that’ll have a ho climbin’ the walls. Not scared of the pus—bleep—sy. Love the taste ‘n’ will pretty much suck the skin off that thang, feel me.”

  “No doubt, no doubt. And there you have it, my freaky peeps. You heard it right here, Long Dong with the tornado tongue is ready to wreck shop. Yo, thanks for callin’ in, my dude. Next caller, you’re on the air.”

  “Yo, word is bond, son. Hahahahaha. Yo, you dead wrong for gassin’ B’s head up like that. You got that niggah thinkin’ he a daddy long stroke now. Hahahahaha.”

  “Hey, I do what I can to keep hope alive. Who am I speakin’ to?”

  “Hahaha. I heard that. Yo, this is ya boy, King, from East Orange.”

  “What’s good, King. So you lickin’ the gumdrop?”

  “All day; every day, fam. I love eatin’ the snatch, bruh; word to mother. All baby girl gotta do is lay back ‘n’ hit the blunt while I get all up in that. And, nah, we don’t have to get it in, but if chick gets horny enough from the head, then no doubt I’ll beat dat back out for her if she wants this thick nine; ya heard?”

  “Loud ‘n’ clear, my dude. Next caller.”

  “Yo, fam, this Whalik from Elizabeth. What it do, yo?”

  Muhfucka, you called me. Fuck you mean what it do? You eatin’ pussy or not, niggah? “You tell me, bruh. You puttin’ in that tongue work or what?”

  “Hell naw, man. I ain’t eatin’ no broad out. That shit nasty, yo.”

  Then what the fuck you callin’ in for? “And what makes it nasty, playboy?”

  “Yo, pus—bleep—sy’s made for fuc—bleep—ing, not lickin’. That shit’s dirty, feel me?”

  This whack-ass mofo. “Yo, my dude, you ever try it?”

  “Ugh! Yeah. Once. And it was disgustin’, yo. I couldn’t get past the smell or the taste. It was fishy.”

  “Fishy? Bruh, I don’t know what kinda foul punanni you had ya mouth up on, but sounds like maybe you had a bad batch of tuna. Unless her diet is real crazy or her insides are rotted, that thing-thing should be real tasty. And it damn sure shouldn’t smell or taste fishy. Real spit, bruh, if a chick spreads open her legs ‘n’ she’s leakin’ shit that looks like clam chowder, you need to hop up ‘n’ run for the door. Mmph. Sounds like the chick you had ya tongue in needed to invest in some antibiotics ‘n’ a douche. My advice, next time do the two-finger test. Slide them fingers up in ’er. Play with that thing-thing. And, if them fingers come back missing, covered in slime, or smellin’ like the back of a garbage truck, then you already know what it is. Baby girl got some hazardous waste in them drawz.”

  “Nah, fuc—bleep—that. There ain’t gonna be no next time. My mouth ain’t goin’ no where near a ho’s hole.”

  I glance over at Nina, giving her my “what-the-fuck” look.

  She shrugs, shaking her head.


  “Bruh, sorry ya first experience was a bad one. But, yo, you need to get ya mind right ‘n’ face the clit tongue-on. Try again, playboy. Thanks for callin’ in. Yo, my freaky peeps. Before I take my next caller, we’re about to go into a quick break, but let me say this to all the beauties out there listenin’ right now. Check this out. If you’re with a mofo who is pressin’ you to drop down on his top, but dude isn’t ’bout that tongue life, then baby, you need to shut that slurp shop down. If he ain’t suckin’, then neither should you. Unless you’re not beat ’bout gettin’ head ‘n’ only enjoy giving it, then do you. But if you want some face-time, too, then it should be an equal opportunity suck-a-thon. And if dude tells you he only eats his girl or wifey out, then you need to tell him to take his ass on back home to her ’cause the head doctor is on leave.” I laugh. “Yo, let me shut these clit lickers before I get some’a you dudes tossed up outta ya cribs. Don’t let me disrupt y’alls’ bed-flow, I’m just sayin’…You gotta know a place where you can kiss to bring ya baby to bliss. You want the key to her heart, you gotta go down low, nice ‘n’ slow…”

  I pull back from my mic as Mariah Carey’s “Bliss” bellows over the air, which means I have about three minutes or so to hit my baby up with a few nasty texts before I’m back on the air. I reach for my phone and hit her up, letting her know I’m thinking about her and can’t wait to crawl up in bed and caress her clit with my tongue, then slow-lick her pussy lips, before sliding my tongue into her slit.

  I set my phone back on my desk, then look over toward the glass booth and grin at Nina as Mariah sing-whistles about taking it slow and letting the feeling grow. Nina smiles back at me, knowingly. She always knows what to play next. Real shit. We’re a perfect fit. She feeds off my energy and knows exactly what songs to play to tie into the heat. And it’s been like this ever since I stepped foot through these studio doors and took my seat at this desk. We just clicked.

  She signals me that we’re on in five…four…three…two…one…

  I press my legs shut, pressing the swelling in my balls. “Aiight, aiight, aiight…what it do, my people. I hope all of my beauties out there in radio-land are somewhere ridin’ down on a face as I speak, glazin’ some wet tongue ‘n’ horny mouth with them sweet juices. Next caller…you’re on the air with ya boy.”

  “Yo, what’s good, MarSell. This Q from East New York, yo. Why mafuckaz be stylin’, yo? How you not eatin’ the twat? Man, that mafucka who called in earlier is mutha—bleep—ing whack, yo. Tell that niggah I said it’s snack time, niggah! I love givin’ head, yo. Give me a hairy wet hole ‘n’ I’m feastin’ on it ’til she passes out. I love them bald beavers, too. But a lil’ fur is mad sexy, yo. Work between them sexy thighs ‘n’ spread open them juicy wet lips ‘n’ go to work suckin’ that puffy clit; word to mother, yo. Tell that whack-azz mafucka he can send his girl on over to me. I’ll eat her out, suck her insides out. Flip her over on all-fours ‘n’ eat that shit from the back, tongue all up in that slit ‘n’ bootyhole, then run this big-azz di—bleep—up in ’er. Then after I bust up in her guts, I’ll lick my nut out ‘n’ send ’er home to his corny-azz.”

  I lick my lips. “Damn, son, sounds like you stay gettin’ it in.”

  “Word to mother, yo. I gets it in, fam. I’m real ’bout mine. Them niggahs out there frontin’ on that good-good better wake up. They can sleep on it if they want, but it’ll be a horny mafucka like me givin’ his broad the business, then climbin’ outta his window at night. That’s real shit, yo.”

  “I heard that. Keep on lickin’, playboy. Yo, y’all heard it here. If ya man ain’t lickin’ it, there’s someone else out there—willing ‘n’ ready—who will. Next caller.”

  “Oh, yassss, daddy,” the raspy-voiced caller says, sounding like the character Sheneneh from the old sitcom Martin. “This is Princess from Bushwick. No tea, no shade. But you give me life. I live for Thursday nights.”

  “Oh, word? That’s wasssup. So you puttin’ in that tongue work?”

  The caller coughs. “No hunty. I’m allergic to fish.”

  I blink. What the fuck?! “Yo, then why you callin’ in, my dude? Wait. Yo, you are a dude, right?”

  “No. I’m transsexual. And I gets my kitty tongued down. I keeps me a piece of trade on speed dial to handle this cat. And I love sucking dic—bleep. Oral sex is my ish. And for all them lazy non dic—bleep sucking fish who ain’t giving head, they best believe I’m more than willing to give their men what they need. A tight, wet throat. Trust. Mmmph. I’ve probably already had most of ’em anyway. But they know their secret is safe with me ’cause I don’t kiss ‘n’ tell.”

  “Oh, aiight, aiight. Well, Princess from Bushwick. Thanks for callin’ in.”

  “Wait, daddy. I’m not done. I wanna know would you ever get head from a dude?”

  I blink. Shift in my seat. What the fuck this muhfucka think I’ma say, “Hell yeah. I dig seeing a masculine muhfucka on his knees sucking the nut out this long-ass dick”? This niggah buggin’ if he thinks I’ma admit some shit like that on live radio.

  “Nah, my dude,” I tell him. “I’m good on that.”

  Dude pops gum in my ear. “Well, I feel like each gender should get head from the same sex at least once.”

  I glance over at Nina behind the glass. She’s looking at me, smirking and shaking her head. “Oh, word? And why is that?”

  “Why else? Because same sex give head way better.”

  Yo, you ain’t lying about that shit. I lick my lips. Although I’ve gotten some premium head from multiple females, and Marika knows how to suck the hell out of a dick. But damn…there’s something about the way another muhfucka locks his jaws and sucks on this dick. For a quick second G-Money’s mouth wrapped around my dick flashes through my head. The way he’d flick his long, wet tongue out and lick my big-ass, meaty balls before sucking them into his mouth. The way he’d use his tongue like a paintbrush and make long, wet strokes up and down the length of my veiny shaft, leaving wet, hot streaks while he massaged my nut sac. The way I’d pump deep into his mouth and he’d suck ‘n’ swallow this creamy nut, then have my muthafuckin’ head spinning.

  I shake the memories.

  “Nah, partner…I’m good on that. But, yo, thanks for hittin’ me up.” I end the call. The next three cats who call-in all profess to be pussy-eating specialists going into full details of how they put in that tongue work and slay the pussy. My dick doesn’t stretch, pulse, jump, or get hard as they share their skills, so of course I’m only half-listening as they gas themselves up.

  We go into a quick commercial break, then kick shit up with an old R. Kelly joint, “Seems Like You’re Ready.” I shoot a look over at Nina, smiling and shaking my head.

  This shit is one of the joints I love eating pussy to. And on some real shit, I’ve been snacking on pussy since I was thirteen. My oral instructor was a twenty-five-year old, hot-in-the ass, neighborhood oral-freak named Alyssa. She was the first older chick I’d rocked with. Alyssa had a thing for young, hard dick. She felt it was her duty to break all the young cats from around the way in. To get ’em ready “for the next bitch.” And she was serious about getting her nut off. She wouldn’t let you fuck her, but she had no problem sucking a young cat’s dick and glazing his mouth with her cream.

  Alyssa rode my face and sucked my dick every day for two weeks straight until I got that shit right. She showed me how to turn this tongue into a weapon of clit and slit destruction. Showed me how to whisper my hot breath against her pussy, and hum while I sucked in her clit. She coached me how to lap at her pussy lips and lure her whole cunt into my mouth and coax orgasm after orgasm outta her with deep strokes of my tongue. Then once she felt I had mastered the art of eating her pussy, she shut shop down and moved on to the next. And I’ve been eating pussy ever since.

  Nina taps on the window from behind the booth, breaking up my trip down memory lane. I adjust my headset. We’re back on in five…four…three…two…one…

  “Ai
ight, my freaky peeps as we make our way to the top of the hour, let ya boy stretch out ya mind ‘n’ take ya imagination to a place way beyond what you’ve ever imagined. Spread them thighs ‘n’ let me lick ya spot, get it real hot as we rap up another segment of Creepin’ ‘n’ Freakin’ After Dark. Next caller, ya on the air with ya boy, MarSell…”

  “Yo, whadddup,….this Shawn from Marshall Street in Irvington.”

  “What’s good, playboy. You eatin’ the cookie?”

  “Word to mother, yo. I got them deadly tongue skills. I’m like R. Kelly, yo. I turn up ‘n’ lick the middle like an Oreo. Gobble that thang up. Make a broad forget her name, feel me?”

  “Oh, aiight, aiight, Cookie Monster. That’s what’s up. Gobble that thang up, playboy. Thanks for callin’ in. Yo, we have time for one last call. Next caller. What’s good? You’re on the air…”

  “Mmmm…I’m so wet for you, papi,” purrs a female voice on the other end. “I would love to give you a taste of this sweet, juicy fruit.”

  I grin, shaking my head. “Oh, word? Who’s calling?”

  “Oooh, I can’t believe you’ve already forgotten my voice and it’s only been a few days since my last call to you.”

  I lean up in my chair. “Oh, aiight, aiight. What’s good, Anonymous?”

  “Haciendo dulce el amor para mi es lo que es bueno with that big, long, black…uh, it is big…and loooong, right?”

  I chuckle. “Yo, ma-ma, you talkin’ mad filthy right now. I don’t know what you just said, but it sounded mad sexy.”

  “I saaaaid, papi, you making sweet love to me is what’s good.”

  “Oh, word? Yo, hold on for a minute.” I place the call on hold, then close out tonight’s segment with some shit about doing what you need to do to spend a lifetime pleasing and being pleased. Then sign off. Maxwell’s “Lifetime” comes on the air as I remove my headset and pick up the phone to get at this lil’ Spanish mami who has my dick bricked.