Daddy Long Stroke полностью

While I’m standin’ there waitin’ for my food to heat up, when I sit down to eat, up until the time I finally finish my food, the only thing she does is stare at me. Lips twisted, eyes squinted, starin’ through me—in disgust. Yeah, I’m kinda pissed that she’s actin’ all funny-style ’n shit. But I ain’t gonna sweat it. I get up from the table, wash my dishes, take out the trash, then walk over to her and kiss her on the cheek, then dip. I get into my car, spark the rest of my blunt and head the fuck back to my crib down at the shore. I glance at my watch: 8:15 P.M. I feel like gettin’ this dick sucked tonight. Maybe I’ll hit up Crystal’s fat ass and see if she feels like wettin’ it. “She just needs to keep her muthafuckin’ socks on,” I say aloud.

I dial her number. “Hey, baby,” she says, “I was thinking about calling you.”

“Oh, word? Wassup?”

“You left your boxer briefs here.”

I frown, shakin’ my head. What the fuck?! I rocked her box three weeks ago and she’s tellin’ me this dumb shit, now. Why didn’t this bitch hit me up before? I knew I left ’em there, but I wasn’t pressed. “Yo, you can toss them shits,” I tell her, takin’ another pull off my blunt.

“Oh, no, I’ma hold onto ’em.”

Why the fuck you wanna hold onto a muhfucka’s worn drawers? I think. Whatever! I let it go. “Did you wash ’em?”

“No,” she says.

I frown. “Why?”

“Because I love to sniff ’em,” she whispers, “while I’m playing in my pussy. I can still smell you in ’em.” What a nasty bitch, I think, shakin’ my head. Sniffin’ a nigga’s crotch like a dog in heat. When you got a bitch sniffin’ yo’ dirty drawers, beatin’ her pussy, you already know you gotta nut on ya hands. But, I knew why she kept her nose pressed up in ’em. Sometimes, when I know I’m ’bout to lay this pipe, I mix a little Egyptian Musk with some baby oil, then rub it into my pubic hairs, underneath my balls, and the crack of my ass. Other times, I just dab coconut oil on. The way I like to fuck and get sucked, a nigga gots to keep his dick ’n balls fresh at all times. Well, that is, unless I’m leavin’ a ho’s cum juice dried up ’round my balls for someone else to clean off, feel me? Then it’s straight musk and pussy funk.

“Listen, baby, you feel like suckin’ on this dick tonight?”

“I feel like doing a whole lot more than just sucking. I wanna fuck, too.”

Damn, why the fuck can’t I just get a fuckin’ dick suck wit’out the extras? I sigh. Decide to go the fuck home. “You know what, forget I called.”

“Why?”

“I’m not checkin’ for pussy tonight.”

“Well, damn. Can you at least finger-pop me?”

You suck.

You swallow.

You please me ’til I’m satisfied.

You ask no questions, ’cept, “May I suck you, again?”

That’s the kinda mood I’m in. “Nah, I want my dick wet, that’s it. So don’t sweat it. I’ma head home and watch True Blood instead.”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?”

“I sure am.”

She sucks her teeth, then the phone goes dead. Bitch musta hung up, I think, slowin’ down at the toll booth, then tossin’ four quarters into the bin. I take the last pull off my blunt, then toss it outta the window.

As soon as I get in the house, I take off my clothes, then hop in the shower. I lather up my body, soap up my dick, then start strokin’ it, cuppin’ and yankin’ my balls and dippin’ at the knees. I work my nut up to the tip of my dick, then abruptly stop. I let it roll back down into my balls, then work it back up again. I repeat it three more times ’til my balls start to swell and ache, then let it blast out all over the shower walls. “Gotdamn, that shit was good,” I say, steppin’ outta the shower and wrappin’ a towel ’round my waist, lettin’ water drip all over the floor as I go into the bedroom. I oil my body, slip on a pair of boxer briefs and a wife beater, then head downstairs.

After I hit up Papa John’s and order a veggie pizza, I flip on the flat-screen, spark another blunt, then wait for True Blood to come on. My cell rings. “Hello?”

“We need to talk.”

Fuck! “Yo, I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ you,” I tell her. Akina’s been hittin’ me up for the last two days and I’ve been iggin’ her. But today she got on some slick shit and called me from another number. “There’s nuthin’ else we need to say. You said what you had to say, then you fucked up and put ya hands on me, so it’s a wrap, boo.”

“Nigga, you put ya hands on me, too.”

“Bitch, are you on crack or some shit? I was fuckin’ tryna get you off of me. I wouldna punched the shit outta you, if you weren’t tryna bite my damn arm off.”

“And you grabbed me by the throat.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And? Nigga, you coulda killed me.”