Man Swappers Page 2

  I love my pussy. No, seriously...I adore it. The way it looks; the way it feels; the way it smells; the way its muscles constrict and contract—gripping and tugging at a finger, or tongue, or a neat little battery-operated gadget—when being teased, taunted and toyed with. Oh, how I love the way my cunt drips with its own sweet, sticky, delectable honey as it whines and begs and pleads for a deep fucking by a deliciously thick, pulsating cock. Too bad—for him, tonight, there will be no fucking...by choice.

  Emerson, uh Sammie, lets out another moan, keeping his eyes glued to my weeping pussy. He knows my cunt cries for his touch. Knows it begs for his thrusts. And I see the yearning in his eyes to give it what it needs, wants, and craves—his tongue, his fingers, his thick, veiny dick!

  Porsha slides a hand between her legs, rapidly smacks her pussy and pops her clit a few times while throating Emerson’s cock.

  Persia removes his left nipple clamp, then twirls her tongue around it. She flicks her tongue over it, then nibbles on it before moving over to his right nipple and doing the same thing. I know she is about to allow him to bust his nut. And he knows it, too. She walks in back of him, drops down and starts nibbling and biting on his swollen ass cheeks. She kisses and licks where she has bruised. I watch as she parts his ass open, then runs her tongue in his crack.

  “Oh, fuck...goddamn...y’all freaky-ass bitches fuckin’ my head up...”

  “Did I tell you to speak, you dirty, little maggot? Do you want me to paddle your tight ass until he bleeds?”

  “No, Pain.”

  “Then you speak when spoken to. You understand?”

  “Yes, Pain.

  “Muhfucka,” Porsha says, stroking his dick, “you can say what you want. You know you ain’t ever gonna find another set of fly, freaky bitches like us who’ll fuck you stress free. So you better shut the fuck up and ask Pain if you can feed us your nut.”

  “Pain, baby, may I have permission to bust this nut?”

  Persia stops what she’s doing. “You think you deserve to cum, you naughty little fucker?” she asks, smacking him on the ass again.

  “Yes, Pain.”

  She walks around to the front of him, grabbing him by the neck, then pulling him into her and forcefully kissing him. I rapidly finger myself. My pussy explodes, watching him greedily suck the scent of his ass off of Persia’s tongue. She pulls back from him. “You like how your ass tastes?”

  Porsha wets his dick with more spit, then slips it back into her hungry mouth.

  “Aaaaah, shit...”

  “Answer me, motherfucker,” Persia says, pinching and twisting his nipples.

  “Mmmm, aaaahhh...yes, Mistress. I like how my ass tastes on your tongue. I love it when you eat my ass.”

  “Of course you do, you nasty little sonofabitch.” She kisses him again, then walks in back of him, again, and squats down. “Keep fucking her horny mouth real good and I’ll let you cum.” He grunts as she pulls open his cheeks and blows into his hole. “You want my tongue back in your horny, tight ass?”

  Porsha rapidly sucks and gulps his cock.

  “Ohhhh, shiiiiiit...yessssss, baby. Fuck my ass with your tongue.”

  “Don’t you nut, yet,” Persia warns as she buries her face back into his ass and fucks him with her heated tongue.

  He dips at the knees, grabs the sides of Porsha’s head and face-fucks her relentlessly, moaning. It is all music to my ears. When he can no longer take the intense dick-sucking and ass-licking my sisters are giving him—or watching me play in my wet abyss, his body begins to shake. I watch as his head drops backward and his eyes roll up to the ceiling. He lets out a load, rumbling moan. His body starts to quiver.

  It is time.

  I smile, wiping my drenched pussy with my panties, then get up and walk over to him. I lick his left nipple, pull him by the neck toward me, then slip my tongue into his mouth. I suck on his tongue, his lips. Wipe his face with my cum-stained panties, then stuff them into his mouth. He greedily sucks and chews on them.

  “Clean my panties, you nasty nigga,” I say, running my hands along his chiseled chest. I allow my nails to lightly graze across his skin. I whisper in his ear, pulling my panties out of his mouth. I smell them. “Mmmm, my pussy smells so good. What do you think my son would say if he caught you fuckin’ his sister’s pretty little face and watchin’ his mother play with herself?” I reach between his legs and grab his balls while Porsha continues bobbing back and forth on his cock. I roll them in my hand, then lightly squeeze.

  “Aaaah, fuuuuck...he’d tell me how fucked up I am.”

  “He sure would. You ready to show him how fucked up you are?” I ask, dropping down to my knees next to Porsha. He will feed the two of us his milk while Persia eats his ass.

  “Oh, yes...aaaaah...” Porsha releases his cock from her throat. He grabs it and rapidly jacks it, moaning. I am anxious to feel his hot cum splash up against my lips and tongue. He has two sets of eyes looking up at him, two wet tongues wagging in anticipated delight, waiting to be drenched by his cream.

  Porsha and I both lap at his balls, then pull one into each of our mouths. “Aaaaaah, fuuuck...Yeah, suck them balls...aaah...you pretty bitches got a nigga’s head spinnin’...aaaah, shit...I’m cummin’... ooohhh...here it comes...open ya mouths...come get this nut...”

  He scoots back as Porsha and I open our mouths, and say, “Aaaaaaah,” wagging our tongues, and flicking them at the tip of his swollen mushroom head. His body shudders as he pumps out a gushing stream of hot creamy nut. He swings his dick from side to side, sprays us with his sticky cream. Persia removes her tongue from his ass, then comes around and tongues him down again. He continues stroking his dick, squeezing out more nut, then allows me and Porsha to take turns sucking out the last few drops of his salty and sweet nectar.

  “Daaaaaaaaaaaaamn...” he says, trying to catch his breath. “That shit was good as fuck. Y’all got a muhfucka’s head spinnin’.”

  Porsha and I swallow his nut, standing up and licking our lips. We both take turns kissing him, then push him back on the sofa. “We ain’t finished with you, nasty boy,” Porsha says, rolling a condom down on his dick, then straddling him. “You fucked my mouth; now it’s time to fuck my pussy.” She reaches under for his still-hard dick. She strokes it at the base, allowing the head to brush up against the back of her pussy. She will not allow him to enter her until I am in position. I stand up on the sofa and look down into his glazed eyes. The eyes of a man seduced and pleasured by three beautiful women—sisters identical in every way imaginable.

  Porsha slips his dick into her smoldering hole, then gallops down on his shaft. Persia is now on her knees, sucking on his balls.

  He moans.

  I straddle his face. Allow my smoldering slit to hover over his seeking mouth. He sticks his thick tongue out, rapidly flaps it back and forth. I lower my pussy, barely allowing the tip of his tongue to touch it. He reaches up for me with his hands. I grab them, pushing them up over his head. Pin them against the wall. Then slowly mount his mouth; give him access to my wetness. Grind on his mouth until I cum in it.

  Tonight, we have brought this man before us to heightened bliss. We have taken him on a sexual journey like no other. And have allowed him to explore a hidden desire without guilt or shame. Our motto is simple: What one has, the others share—including men. Yes, Porsha, Persia, and I have given this hunk of man a night he will soon never forget. And, together, we are man swappers—three sisters, three insatiable libidos—who share the same man, with one mission in mind. To fuck him—together, and take him to the edge of ecstasy, taunt him, then toss his ass over.

  Porsha

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Girrrrrrl, I almost shitted my drawers and gagged on Emerson’s dick last night when Persia’s crazy ass told him to call you a whore,” I say to Paris, shaking my head at Persia. We’re sitting in a booth at Je’s restaurant in downtown Newark waiting to order their slamming breakfast. It’s busy. But, fortunately for us, we pi
cked a good day to come ’cause usually it’s packed tight up in here, and the line is wrapped around the building to get in. “Baaaaaby, the look on your face was priceless.” I crack up, knowing how much she dislikes being called that. Whores are sleazy and gutter-like to her.

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Thanks for reminding me, heifer. Besides, you didn’t have on any drawers, you were bare-assed with a mouthful of dick, remember?” I keep laughing. She glares over at Persia. “Yeah, bitch, you coulda at least told him to call me a ho. Damn.”

  Persia flicks her wrist at her. “Whore, ho, what’s the difference? It was all a part of the fantasy.”

  She huffs. “Noooooo, the fantasy was Emerson having his boy’s sister suck his dick while their mother watched; not you referring to her, me, as a whore.”

  “Ummm, excuse me. I know what the fantasy was. I was there. Or did you forget?”

  “No, obviously you did,” Paris snaps, picking up the menu and looking it over. She eyes Persia over the edge of the menu. “Don’t call me that shit again.”

  “I didn’t call you that, boo. Emerson did. And, technically, it wasn’t you who was the whore. It was his boy’s mother. The role you played.”

  “You know what the hell I mean,” Paris snorts.

  Persia smirks. “Oh lighten up. No need in getting your panties all twisted around your clit. It’s only a name. Don’t let it have so much power over you.”

  Paris sucks her teeth. “Whatever. Next time, use another word.”

  “Okay, then. How about slut? Would that work for you?”

  I shake my head, knowing that this little situation is about to turn nasty if I don’t intervene. For us to be so identical in our looks, mannerisms, and body-types, yet have three such distinctly different personalities is mind-boggling—and, at times, messy. Oh, wait...you don’t know. We’re identical triplets. Yes, who share each other’s men, something we’ve been doing since freshman year in college. And as long as we don’t open our mouths, we can fuck a man into oblivion and he’d never know which one of us he was fucking, first.

  Anyway, Persia is clearly the most antagonistic and mean-spirited of the three of us. And she’s a lot more aggressive with men than Paris and me. Whereas, Paris—who is so much more like our mother—is the calmer, more laid-back of us all. She’s also the sneaky type who’d rather sit by the fire and sip chardonnay with a chenille throw draped over her shoulder while curled up reading a good novel. Then—in the still of the night, shimmy her fast-ass down the balcony when she thinks everyone is fast asleep to guzzle down a dick. And I’m the mixture of the two. Cool, calm, collected and...oh so refined, one minute. Then ready to swing a bitch into a wall the next. And, when it comes to men, shoot, ain’t no shame in my game. I’ll fuck ’em every which way the sun shines.

  “Okay, ladies,” I say, waving the white table napkin in the air. “Kiss and make up. This is not the place, nor the time, for getting catty.”

  “Oh shut up,” they say in unison. “You’re the one who started this mess.”

  “Well, excuuuuuuse, me,” I say, looking at Paris. “I’m not the one who called you a whore and said your pussy was a big-ass mess.”

  Persia snickers, “Girl, you are such an instigator. You know damn well I didn’t say no shit like that. Well, not about her pussy being a mess.”

  Paris grunts, glancing over at Persia. “Mmmph, well, shit. You might as well have. You told him to look at my big, wet pussy; same difference.”

  “Oh, right. I sure did, didn’t I?”

  “I’ll have you bitches know I have a nice tight pussy. I do kegel exercises twice a day.”

  I look at her, amused. “Oh, that’s what you were doing when I walked in on you spitting out that big-ass tennis ball the other day?”

  Persia and I laugh.

  “Both of you hookers can kiss my sweet ass,” Paris says, leaning up on her forearms. She whispers through clenched teeth the way our mother used to when we were getting on her nerves.

  “’Cause I’ll whip both of y’all’s asses. Now try it.”

  We bust out laughing, knowing damn well fist-fighting each other isn’t what we do. We tease, we talk shit to each other, but that’s where we draw the line. And it’s always done with a whole lot of love.

  “Anyway, speaking of Emerson,” Persia says, placing her elbows up on the table. “Have either of you noticed how funny style he’s been acting lately?”

  I shake my head. “Not really, why?”

  Paris purses her lips. “Well, I didn’t sense him acting funny, but I did notice he seemed a little preoccupied the last few times he was with us, but I didn’t really pay too much attention to it.”

  “Well, I have,” Persia says. “And you do know what that smells to me, right?”

  “Another woman,” I say.

  Persia smirks, raising a brow. “Exaaactly.”

  “Neither one of you know that for sure,” Paris says, glancing at the both of us. “So let’s not go there, yet. At least not until we have something more specific to go on.”

  Persia rolls her eyes. “I’ll tell you this. We may not know for sure what or who he’s doing, but he’s doing something with someone, trust me. And he has one time to not return a call, or deliver the dick, and his ass is chopped. You know...”

  She stops talking when our waiter finally comes over to our table. He stares at us, blinking his eyes. He’s a tall, lean, mocha-colored cutie with deep, spinning waves and almond-shaped eyes. He’s shocked at how identical the three of us are, and how similar our voice patterns are. The way he looks at us, tells us what we already know—he’s mesmerized by our beauty, like so many others. We smile at him, slyly nodding at each other. We are all thinking the same thing: he’s fuckable.

  “Good morning, ladies. My name is Royce and I’ll be your server today. Can I get you something to drink?”

  Damn, I’ve never seen his fine-ass here, I think, eyeing him. I am pleasantly surprised at the sight of our waiter. And I can tell Persia is also. Paris tries to act disinterested. We’re usually greeted and waited on by one of the females who either come off a little rough around the edges or look like they’ve been around the block a few times and back. Shit, a few of them look as if they’ve just been released from a jail cell. But, the food is good as hell. And judging by what’s standing before us, today is definitely our lucky day. There’s a hint of a Caribbean accent that makes my clitoris jump. I tightly press my thighs together to pinch off the flow of excitement swelling between my legs. There’s something about hearing a Caribbean man talk low and dirty in his dialect that makes my pussy overheat. We exchange pleasantries, give him our drink orders, then watch as he walks off.

  “Damn, he has a nice ass,” Persia says, leaning in and lowering her voice while fanning herself. “I’d like to clamp my legs around his waist and dig my nails deep into that plump, golden-brown booty.”

  “And I’d like to suck the skin off his dick,” I say, seductively licking my lips at the thought of being down on my knees sucking him senseless. “I bet he has some real good dick, too.”

  “Mmmp, mmph, mmph,” Persia says, patting her chest, “there’s nothing like some good ole juicy, Bajan cock.”

  An older gentleman wearing a Yankees fitted overhears us and smiles, shaking his head. Persia shoots him a look, and he turns his nosey ass back around. We keep on talking as if we’re the only three in the restaurant.

  “Yeah, but he looks too damn young,” Paris offers thoughtfully.

  “Chile, please,” I say, flicking my wrist at her. “As long as he’s over twenty-one, is single, and ain’t packin’ a little-ass dick, he can get it.” We give each other high-fives, laughing.

  “I know that’s right,” Persia agrees. Truth is our rules are simple. Any man we fuck has to be: one, single. Now we’ll share a man amongst ourselves, but we ain’t sharing another bitch’s man; two, willing to fuck all three of us either together, or separately; preferably with us in the same room since that�
��s what turns us on the most; three: he must be over the age of twenty-one; four, he must be able to nut more than one round; and, five: be open and honest about his sexual desires. If his ass can’t be honest about what it is he wants and craves, then he’s probably going to have a hard time being honest about other shit in his life.

  “You ladies need a few more minutes, or are you ready to order?” our waiter asks.

  “Is your family from the Caribbean?” I ask, allowing my eyes to roam the length of his body. I clasp my hands in front of me. He says he’s from Saint Lucia. I smile, imagining him standing here naked with his long West Indian cock dangling in front of him, eager to be sucked. Shit, in my head, he’s lying naked up on this table and I am drizzling warm maple syrup all over his nipples, down the center of his chest, and all over his dick and balls. My sisters and I take turns licking every inch of his sticky body, then mount his cock and face, and fuck him senseless.

  “Ooooh, we love Saint Lucia,” Persia coos, snapping me out of my mini-daze. “So, tell me, Royce from Saint Lucia, how old are you?” She’s eyeing him like he’s a thick, slab of juicy baby back ribs. She licks her lips.

  “Twenty-three,” he says, rubbing his dimpled chin.

  “You involved with anyone?” I ask.

  “Nah, not at the moment.”

  Persia grins. “Well, in that case,” she says flirtatiously, “we’ll have you to go.”

  He laughs.

  “I’m dead serious,” Persia says, tilting her head. She keeps her gaze locked on his. “Have you ever fantasized about being in a foursome?”

  He shakes his head, blushing and visibly caught off-guard, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He nervously glances around the restaurant to make sure no one is hearing this. But, of course, the nosey-ass fart across from us has his hairy ears all pressed into our conversation, ear-hustling.