Dirty Heat (22 page)

“Mmm, I can't wait to feel you sink your big, hard cock between my warm, wet pussy lips.”

“Aaah, shit, yeah, baby. Put this dick all up in between them pussy lips. Stir your juices all over my head, then rub it over your clit. Tease your clit with my dick.”

“Mmm, yes. My clit is so swollen, so full of lust.”

I hear a wet, smacking sound.

I swallow.

She's smacking her pussy.

Then starts moaning. “Mmm, mmm, mmmmmm…you hear that…? That's my wet pussy. It's so juicy for you.”

“Yeah, baby. Smack it harder.”

Whap!

“Harder.”

Whap!

She moans.

“Harder.”

Whap! Whap! Whap!

She cries out.

“You want me to fuck it?” I ask, squeezing the head of my dick. Precum seeps out. I swipe the pad of my thumb over it, then start jacking my dick in deep, fast strokes.

“No, no,” she says breathlessly. “Not yet.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to kiss it. It's all red and swollen. And hot. It's so, so, hot, baby. I want you to kiss the sting away.”

I give it a kiss. Then another. Then another.

“Mmm. Your lips feel so soft. So good.” I ask her where she wants them now. She tells me kissing her clit. I make more kissing sounds.

“I'm kissing you clit, then nipping it with my lips, before licking it.”

“Ooh, yes. Ooh, yes. Mmm. Now I'm rolling over on my stomach and hunching up on my knees. Now you're kissing me, again—kissing all over the humps of my ass cheeks. Mmm. I love feeling your soft lips all over my ass, baby. You like kissing my ass?”

I moan. “Yeah. I love kissing that fat-ass.”

I don't know if her ass is fat or not. It could be iron-board flat for all I know. But in my head, that's what she has: a fat, bouncy ass. I pucker my lips and start making more kissing sounds.

“Mmm. Yes. Kiss it. Kiss it. Now catch my juices with your tongue and lick in my crack. Oooh…I wanna feel your long, sweet tongue in my crack. Mmmm. Lick in my ass, baby…”

I rapidly stroke my dick, stretching out my long legs, opening and closing my toes. I'm on the verge of busting this nut. I feel it filling up in my balls.

I groan. Feel myself on the edge of a nut. “I'm reaching between your legs, playing with your clit.”

She moans loudly. “Mmm. Pull open my pussy, and put your tongue in it.”

“Yeah, baby.” I flick my tongue in and out of my mouth, making
licking sounds. “Aaah, yeah, that pussy tastes good. Wet, juicy pussy.”

“Ooh yes, yes, yes…lick it, lick it. Uhh, uhhh, uhhhh…”

“Yeah, come all over my tongue, baby. Look at that pretty pink pussy. Aaah, uhh…tastes so motherfucking—”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! I'm com—”

“Hello? You still there?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

Hard dick in hand, while hanging on the precipice of popping a big, thick nut, I frown.

The motherfucking line is dead.

“Fuck,” I mutter as my nut spurts out of my dick, splashing on my stomach and over my hand. I keep stroking until another nut spurts out. I grab my dickhead and squeeze out the last bit of my nut, before grabbing a towel and cleaning myself up.

“Shit.” I lift up in my seat and pull my sweats and underwear up over my hips. I stretch out in my chair, removing my bluetooth, then leaning my head back on the headrest.

Damn that was a good nut.

I guess you're wondering what's my deal. So I'll tell you straight up. I'm a thirty-five-year-old man in a loveless marriage. Stuck in an unhappy situation with the mother of my daughter. Nah. Actually, it's a fucked-up one. I hate this bitch. Excuse me for calling her out of her name. But that's what she is. Well, that's what she's become. A bitch. Not that I've ever called her that to her face. She's still the mother of my daughter, even if I don't have any respect for her. Still, on many occasions—when she starts with her shit, I've come real close to it, calling her a
bitch
. And I think it. All. The. Time.

Every waking moment that I'm around her, I feel it.

She's a fucking spiteful-ass
bitch!

I never thought I'd ever call a woman the
B
-word. Never had. Until recently. Until this mood-swinging, bipolar bitch showed me who she really is.

Fucking miserable!

A lazy-can't-hold-a-job paranoid piece of ass!

We've been together, unfortunately, for nine years, and the longest she's held on to a job is like, two, maybe three, months. Then she either quits or gets fired. But she's never the problem. Everyone else is.

It's always the blame game with her.

Poor Stephanie. Everyone's always picking on Stephanie. Bull-shit. It's her shitty-ass disposition that keeps her from holding down a job, and no one wanting to fuck with her. Yeah, on paper she looks good, and she can sell herself in the interview, but then she gets the job and they start to see what type of broad she is.

Always late.

Always defensive.

Always calling out sick.

Always making excuses.

So they write her up. She curses them out. Then they show her to the door.

Shit, her own family stopped fucking with her because of her attitude. Her sister
and
her mother, both have a restraining order against her. They literally want nothing to do with her ass.

Man, if that doesn't scream craziness, I don't know what does. I should have known then that there was something wrong with her. Nah, nah, if I'm really being honest, I should have known she had a screw loose when I saw her with a hammer chasing down some cat she used to mess with in broad daylight.

Dude was literally running through parking lots and around parked cars trying to get away from her, yelling for someone to “come get this crazy bitch.”

And the cops didn't do shit.

But, nah, I still fucked with her. Let myself get caught up into thinking that she'd never come at me like that. Thinking my dick game—and the fact that I'm a good fucking man—would keep her satisfied.

But then I met the real Stephanie.

And now I know.

The bitch needs meds and a straitjacket.

No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, you can't make a miserable bitch happy. Sadly, I've had to learn that shit the hard way.

Nine years too late!

I swear to you. If I could turn back the hands of time, I wouldn't be in this shit. I would have fucked her, just to see if the pussy was as good as the word on the streets said it was, then kept it moving. Then again, I would have kept my hard dick in my draws, and run in the other direction. And I damn sure would have never married her.

But here I am.

Trapped.

And these last few years have been nothing but h-e-double-l.

Her sister and mother were smart as hell to cut her off, especially after I learned she'd pulled a knife out on her sister and threatened to slice her face, all because she didn't like her sister telling her she was useless.

Well, shit. It's the truth. She is fucking useless.

And I married her ass!

And it's been a fucking nightmare trying to get rid of her. She's like a fucking roach. You kill one, and five more appear.

All I can do is shake my head. And let her play victim all by herself.

In the beginning, I used to feel sorry for Stephanie when I didn't
know better, that is. But now I don't feel shit. No. Scratch that. I do feel something. Disgust. This broad doesn't do shit. Won't cook. Won't clean. Won't even go out and get a fucking job. Or keep one. Some days, I don't think she even washes her ass. Not that I've smelled her. She just always looks like a funky-ass mess to me.

Yet, she's always so quick to call me stupid for only having a GED, then throw up in my face, to remind me, that she has a master's degree; that she's college educated. Like I give a fuck about her bullshit-ass degree.

Whoopty-
fucking
-doo!

I stare at her long and hard every time she starts talking that dumb shit, thinking,
Yeah, bitch, whatever. So what, you went to college and got yourself a few degrees, you're not doing shit with 'em. So that shit doesn't mean shit if all they're doing is collecting dust, or somewhere buried under a dresser drawer full of ugly-ass cotton panties and raggedy-ass bras.

Just because she can string a bunch of big words together doesn't mean shit. Yeah, I dropped out of school, and got a GED instead. But I'm the one with a job. I'm the one with a pension. I'm the one with a few dollars stashed. I'm the one with good credit. And Stephanie's ass can't get shit. So who's really the stupid one here?

This educated bitch is.

The only thing she
will
do is, keep her feet and nails done and make sure our daughter's hair is combed and she's dressed and ready for school. Other than that, she doesn't do shit. Well, except sit on her ass and be all up on Facebook and Instagram, practically all fucking day, while watching shit she's taped on DVR, burning up unnecessary electricity. And if she's not doing that, then she's got her face pressed into the pages of some nasty fuck-book.

I don't know why the fuck she's reading that nasty shit for 'cause it's not like she's ever tried to do any of that shit she's reading with me.
Hell, maybe if she would have done more sucking and fucking and less shit popping, we might have still had a shot at making shit work.

But not now.

And thanks to her always being parked in the same spot day in, and day out, we have a lopsided sofa and a cushion with her ass print stamped in it.

I used to snap on her. But then she'd start with the crocodile tears, or the “I'm depressed” bullshit. Other times if I pushed too far, she'd start yelling and name-calling, then start with the “Motherfucker, get off my back before I stab you” craziness.

A few times she's actually jumped up in my face with a knife and my daughter got caught up in the middle of our drama, trying to keep us from tearing each other up. And once, about three years ago, she called the police on me
and
lied telling them I tried to choke her. I told the police, “I'm not gonna lie. I've thought about choking her ass plenty of times. But I've never put my hands on her.” But they still arrested me after she was the one who put her hands on me.

Amaya was hysterical. And this bitch had the nerve to be smirking.

That did it for me.

I don't want Amaya seeing that shit. And I damn sure don't want her thinking, or
feeling
, like she has to play referee because her crazy-ass mother can't keep her hands to herself. I'm not putting my daughter through that.

Hell no.

I said I'm here for Amaya. And that's that.

So now I let the bitch do her. Sit on her ass all day, then lay up in bed late at night eating boxes of Entenmann's cookies, bags of Doritos, then washing the shit down with wine most nights, vodka on other nights. Weed on the weekends.

Always that good shit.

Hell, I smoke, too, just to deal with the stress of living under the same roof with this crazy bitch. A blunt a night, that's all I need to keep the edge off. Oh, and one before I step through the door and have to look in her face.

Hell yeah. I gotta be high to deal with her. Being around her is stressful as fuck. Her mouth. Man, listen. Her mouth is so fucking reckless. Sometimes I really wanna put my fist through it and knock out all her fucking teeth. That's how bad it gets. Well, it had been. The last three weeks or so, things have been kinda calm. She's not bitching as much. And she's even asked me to sleep in the bed with her.

Not.

But I've given her some of this dick and fucked her to sleep, just to keep the peace. Still, wet pussy doesn't mean shit if it's attached to a fucked-up, crazy-ass bitch.

Now, she's scrambling trying to figure out what she can do to make up for all the shit she's put me through. Not. A. Goddamn. Thing.

I guess she sees I really don't give a fuck. That she's a nonfactor. I get up in the morning, do what I gotta do, drop my daughter off at school, then head to work.

Most nights I'm home from work by six, only because I need to make sure Amaya's homework is done and that she isn't being fed McDonald's or some other fast-food bullshit. So I cook. Do the dishes. Get Amaya ready for bed. Then come into my man cave and lock myself in.

Now all of sudden it's fucking with her that I make her ass invisible. But when I was sweating her, practically begging her to not give up on us, she gave me her ass to kiss. Now she wants to try to make things work. So she's being
nice
.

Bitch, bounce.

It's too fucking late. Her disrespect has done too much damage. Now I've emotionally checked out. All I am now is a physical body in this crib, and an unhappy participant in this shithole of a marriage.

Hold up.

I know what you're thinking: Why am I still here? Why don't I leave if I'm so miserable?

Stephanie's even told me to get out. Then the one time I did attempt to leave, she blocked the door and started fighting me for leaving, accusing me of wanting to go off “to fuck some other bitch.”

I laughed in her face and that only pissed her off more. She spat in my face. And the only thing that stopped me from breaking her jaw was Amaya. She begged us to stop. And I did.

Stephanie, on the other hand, wanted to keep shit going. She always does. But now when she comes at me with that dumb shit, I give her a blank look. Fuck that. Me leave? Is she fucking kidding me? Why should I? Why doesn't she go? The lease is in my name. And I'm the one paying all the bills around here. So I'm not going any-motherfucking-where.

Well, not until this lease is up.

Still, as far as I'm concerned, this is my shit. So I'm gonna ride this storm out until I can get rid of her, for good.