For loving you

The beginning

I don’t know how I got so lucky. Tracy and Peter working two different shift at the Skycargoltd factory was like celebrating Christmas and new year every f*****g day. And every day was a “f*****g day”

“ okay,let me break it down for you. Peter and I are in a committed relationship for two years, and everything was copacetic. He was fine, sweet, romantic, and he had a scrumptious d**k you know what I mean.

Peter was the man…. My man. But here’s the thing. No matter how terrific he was I still needed a little variety and extra spice/d**k in my life.

When I was younger, I believed in the fairy tale kind of love.

One woman per man and vice Versa. Then, by the time I was in the tenth grade, I realized that s**t like that really only happen in fairy tales. Men were dogs—- straight up pit bulls, Rottweilers, and Doberman pinschers. Either there were a new breed, different from previous generations, or people swept a ton of s**t underneath the rug back then. Personally, I assumed it was a combination of the two, surely, women stayed and endured a lot of drama, cheating, and abuse because they were scared, destitute, ashamed to have to admit to a failed relationship. A ton of women still did that, but a lot of chicks decided to stay single.

I was single—-meaning unmarried—by choice. I was so sick of all the articles, blogs, and news stories preaching and whining about how the majority of African American women would never get married. And? What was the point of getting married? If a man was going to f**k around on you, disrespect you, and possibly bring some incurable s**t home to your ass, you were better off running a game on him while he thought he was running one on you. It is going to get to the point when women will have to ask themselves the question, what man will you prefer to die for because he cannot keep his d**k in his pant?

The only exception was if the brother was paid—-majorly paid. Men with money could always get it. Women of all ages, races, and walks of life were willing to drop their drawers and spread them for the right amount of money and prestige.

All except for my best friend, Mira. She was on some unrealistic mind bending s**t.

She had it all in the palm of her hand and ruined it. Well, I kind of facilitated the drama—truth be told. I didn’t have a choice. If I’d kept a secret like that from her and she found out later on that I’d been privy to it, our friendship would’ve been history. Mira was not the forgiving type or forgetting one. Those two words were simply not in her vocabulary. So I told her the proverbial s**t hit the fan.

It was a new day though. Clement was back in Chicago and Mira needed to wake the f**k up and smell the coffee. She needed to hook back up with him before some other chick p***y whipped him. Clement was a pro baller who had suffered a knee injury that had ended his career but not his bankroll. He’d decided to move back to the area and the town council was having a big shin dig for him the next night. I hadn’t seen him yet, but the hoochie grapevine had alerted me that he was finer than ever.

All of us had seen photos of him throughout the years, and I’d even watched several Yankees games to see what he had been up to. He’d dated all of the top celebrities divas; he’d run through them like they’d been on a diamond. It had seemed like he’d been tied to a different woman every other month. That hadn’t really surprised me. All of that p***y had been thrown at him, but clement wouldn’t have settled down with anyone but Mira. Too bad she didn’t get that memo.

Those were the very thoughts running through my mind as Peter was sucking the lining out of my p***y—-my juicy, delectable p***y. My p***y was like sunshine on a rainy day. Like fireworks in the middle of a snowstorm. Like flowers in the middle of the desert. Like……..never mind. I’m sure you will get the picture. My p***y was off the f*****g chain.

“””hmmm, your p***y is off the chain, Peter said, reading my mind and coming up for air. “ I can’t get enough of these cookies.””

“”You’re not done eating the cookies until you drink your milk along with it.” I love talking dirty. “”Until I bust in your mouth, you’re still in the clock.”

“”Hell yeah!’i will put in the work!

Peter went back to servicing me and I glanced at the clock. It was a little past noon. Cassian got off at two, the same time that Peter started his shift. I was playing a dangerous game, but it felt so damn……good. Did I mention that cassian Nd Peter were best friends?? Ooopz, guess not. Peter, clement and cassian were like the three musketeers. They could literally fit right into their footprints, even though the novel was written in Spanish nearly 180years ago and the setting was way back in the seventeenth century.

Cassian was athos. Even though he was the same age as Clem and Peter, he acted a lot older than them……….and looked it. He hit the whiskey hard, a side effect of living in a small town without s**t else to do. Peter was handsome but very secretive and drowned his sorrow with alcohol I do not have to listen to his problem just f**k him.

Peter was damn near porthos twin. He was a bit extroverted, extremely honest, and slightly gullible.he could also eat a sister out of the house and home, like porthos. But instead of being a bit chunky, he worked out religiously to get ride of excessive calories he inhaled. He never actually ate; he would inhale that s**t…..real talk.

That meant clement was Aramis jr. in the novel, Aramis was portrayed as ambitious and unsatisfied. He was arrogant and loved intrigue and women. If that wasn’t clement, my name wasn’t Tracy .

I had this way of allowing my mind to wander to the strangest places while I was f*****g. Somehow, imagining the three musketeers, along with their side chick, d’Artagnan, f*****g me in a barn back in nineteen century made me climax all over peters face. Athos had me bent down on my kneels, slobbering all over his d**k as he lay in the hay, while porthos was hitting it doggie-style and slapping my ass like a true swashbuckler. Aramis was standing over us, jerking of and shooting a load on my back. And d’Artagnan was stroking an elephantine d**k, moaning and waiting on his turn to ram his Billy club up my ass.

“”Oh s**t!! I screamed as I exploded. My thigh were shaking with the aftershocks as Peter lapped up all of my juices like a good little doggie.

“” can I pond you with this big c**k now? He asked when he was through.

“”A c**k is a chicken’I said. “”Only ducks can enter my temple of immense s****l pleasure.”

“c**k. Dick.zipper ripper. My ram burglar. Whatever you want to call it, I’m about to blow your back out with it,”

“”Damn, make it bounce, Daddy!”

The nasty talk was really what turned me on the most about Peter, cassian would not even send a sexy text message, much less say that kind of stuff to me in person. Plus, even though cassian could definitely put a pounding on my p***y, he always wanted to be on top. f**k that I love to ride.

I pushed Peter over onto his back and climbed on my saddle. “Hee haw!” I exclaimed as I started riding him cowgirl fashion.

I didn’t give a damn about what anyone said. I could c*m the hardest when I was on top. A man hitting it from the back could give it a lot of depth, unless his d**k was shaped like a candy cane, he was not hitting the G-spot in the reverse cowgirl position, but I recognized what it felt like when that part of me was touched, and it wasn’t happening with a d**k.

Now when I was on top, it was all good. All the right ingredients were there. I was in complete control and, nine times out of ten, he could last longer on his back. Besides, I didn’t want dude sweating all over me;hell to the triple no. If anyone was going to drop that sweat it should be me. It was bad enough that I had to put up with that from cassian.