“Wait,” John says, reluctant to leave Paula.
Paula pushes back into John. She peers back over her shoulder and I catch the look, the look of entrapment. She’s snared him and she knows it. John is of two minds on what to do and takes no time in coming.
“You’re disgusting,” Delight says to John. “I wouldn’t work for you if you paid me a fortune.”
“Wait,” John says. “I want you to be the new star in our movie.”
“What?” Paula jumps up angrily.
Prime Piece of Property
Nadia
I am sitting here with my husband and this real estate agent trying to negotiate a price for this beautiful house, but I can’t stop my pussy from pulsating at just the thought of fucking the shit out of this agent.
My husband and I have what most people would consider an ideal marriage: nice house with the picket fence, expensive cars, excellent careers, a set of beautiful twin girls, and even a great sex life, so why in the hell am I sitting here flooding like the Mississippi River from just being in this stranger’s presence? This agent is picture-perfect, though—he has skin the color of milk chocolate, a baritone voice that would put the Allstate insurance guy to shame, a nicely shaped bald head, and a well-groomed goatee. Fuck, if my husband wasn’t sitting here with us, Mr. Milk Chocolate and I would probably be screwing on his mahogany desk by now.
Having these types of thoughts running through my head was unlike me because I had never been this type of woman. A year and a half ago my husband decided he wanted to cheat on me with the water girl down at the gym. The fucking water girl! He confessed to me and we talked about it and all that shit. I forgave him since it was his first slipup, but I never forgot it. And ever since then every fine-ass man that crosses my path, all I can do is think about how he could please my walls in bed. I know two wrongs don’t make a right but I was like fuck it, I’m still going to get mine, at least once!
“While your offer sounds good, I would like a few days to talk this over with my wife, Mr. Johnson, and we’ll get back in touch with you soon as we come to a decision,” said my husband, Richard.
“Well, here’s my business card, and one for you as well, Mrs. Mitchell. Feel free to contact me anytime regarding your decision.”
That’s just what I plan to do, Mr. Milk Chocolate, contact your ass anytime. I hope my husband didn’t pick up on the vibes Mr. Johnson and I were giving each other. The look of passion that occupied his eyes when he handed me his business card made my insides get an instant fever.
He walked us to the door and thanked us for coming to take a look at his property. I knew he was checking out my property, too, because all the men did. I had to give it to myself, I have one of those video model–type bodies: ass for days, succulent titties, and killer legs. And on this particular day I was working the hell out of my low-cut, pencil-straight dress with my stilettos.
Once my husband and I got into our C-class Benz, he started the car and looked at me. “So what do you think, baby?”
What do I think; I think I want that man to fuck my insides until I scream bloody murder, that’s what I think. Lawd knows I couldn’t say that, so I had to instantly clear all my nasty thoughts.
“Baby, I really don’t need any more time to decide if I want this house. I love it! It has everything in it we’re looking for in our dream home: a pool, his and hers closets and bathroom space, your man’s den, our own offices, and a mini theater. I’m sold!” I said with a little giggle.
“You’re right, baby, I love it, too, but I think I can get him to—”
Ding, Ding.
I picked up my phone and it read Facebook Alert. Richard knew that sound all too well and hated it because he says I don’t pay any attention to him when I’m reading my Facebook messages. Shit, that’s business, and I’m sorry that he can’t understand that, but it’s how I make a living, and right now business is booming. I glanced at a message and it was from Lisa, one of my good friends. I’ll hit her later so I don’t hear his mouth. She probably was just commenting on the picture I posted not long ago.
“As I was saying,” Richard said with disgust in his voice, “I love the house and it does have everything in it that we want, but I think we can get him to come down on the price. It’s been on the market for close to a year so I’ll use that as my bargaining tool. I also need to see what the other houses in the area are going for before I lock myself into a contract.”
Bargaining tool? What the hell was he talking about; everybody knows that pussy ranks as the number-one bargaining tool that has been proven to work since before George Washington was playing with peanuts.
“Cool, babe.”
So while my husband was trying to figure out how he would talk Mr. Johnson down on the price, I was plotting on how I would go down on his dick like no other woman ever had before. That way we would both get what we wanted: me—a pleased pussy; my husband—a lower price on the house. I still don’t know why I even wanted to fuck Mr. Johnson so bad because like I said, sex was good on the home front, but it was just something about the way this man carried himself. He was different. He had a certain arrogance, or what the teeny boppers called “swag,” about him, and I just wanted a little piece.
Later on that night, I couldn’t even sleep. Mr. Milk Chocolate was on my mind heavy, so at about 2:45 a.m. I climbed out of the bed I shared with my husband, who was dead to the world, took Milk Chocolate’s card out of my zebra-print wallet, and headed over to the guest computer in the den and logged on to my Facebook account. I’m sure he had to be on it—everybody has a page, from the hoodest of the hood to the most elite professionals.
“Alexis Johnson, cute name,” I whispered to myself as I typed it in the search bar. “Bingo!”
After searching through about eighty-seven motherfuckers with the same name, I finally found him. I sent him a friend request, along with an empty private message with only a subject that read: So contact you anytime, huh? I hit the send button, logged off, and crawled back in bed with the hibernating bear, but went to sleep with Milk Chocolate’s pleasure piece on my mind.
The next morning came around and I woke up with a soaking wet canal.
Monica, you are too old to be having wet dreams, girl. Get it together. This man really has me going, I thought to myself.
After taking my shower to clean the natural disaster that had happened overnight between my legs, I threw on some loungewear to see my family out the door for the day. I kissed Richard, Ciara, and Chelsea as they all walked out heading for school and work.