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The Engagement, Pt 05

Having broken my own rule against pre-martial intimacy, you’d think my rampant pre-nuptial bitchiness would be somewhat under control. Nope. We still had these wedding steps to work out.

Kevon and I hopped out of bed at noon, showered, dressed and made our way to the church for a full-dress wedding rehearsal. Full dress except for me, of course. I couldn’t be seen in my wedding dress before the actual ceremony. The dress was in storage at my mom’s house.

So we get to the church and Bea, Lisa and Nicole ALL have that silly “I just got fucked sideways and it’s all good!!” look on their faces.

I hadn’t expected them to be celibate. But I DID expect them to rehearse like professionals. They looked drunk. Only Teralynn and Jennifer showed up looking like they’d come to put in work. Was I mad? You bet I was.

I had a good idea of who Lisa and Nicole had fucked: Eddie and Artie. And I was pretty sure that Beatrice and Ivan were playing hide the sausage, too. To my way of thinking, I’d given them all Friday morning to work the soothing effect of dick out of their systems. These heffahs showed up for rehearsals and you could practically smell the aroma of jism trickling down their thighs.

“Can’t you bitches wash!?!!”

I was afraid that one of them would sit down and then the outline of her cunt would be imprinted in semen on the back of her beautiful pink bride’s maid’s dress.

I wasn’t about to take that risk.

I lined everybody up at the back of the church and we picked up where we’d left off yesterday. There was a group groan. But I wasn’t leaving anything to chance. This rehearsal was where we had a chance to get things right. So they could groan all they wanted. Tomorrow was showtime.

I put everyone through their paces like a Super Bowl coach. FUCK ’em! This was MY wedding. Halfass didn’t enter into the equation.

We put in another five hours of practice. At the end of the day it seemed as if they’d finally gotten the steps down. I was still a little dissatisfied. Something just seemed a little off.

My parents had scheduled a dinner party at a restaurant called Falconio’s for Friday night. If not for that I would have made these…these…PEOPLE…practice all night.

So we get over to Falconio’s. The food was excellent. I couldn’t see why we shouldn’t use Falconio’s to cater my reception. Kevon and I split a plate of manicotti while our parents stood and told stories about our childhood(s). It’s not as if we hadn’t heard all these stories before. My grandmother even got up and told a story about something I’d done as a four year old. None of us had heard this story. Everybody chuckled at it. I noticed that several members of my wedding party chuckled while playing with their cell phones. They weren’t paying attention. I couldn’t wait for the dinner to be over.

The dinner finally adjourned around ten p.m. Kevon and I had to sit around and wait for everyone to leave. He had some meet up scheduled with “the fellas” at the Sheraton. After that he and I had a room reserved for ourselves, even though we were not supposed to see one another on the night before our wedding. Fug dat. We’d already broken the pre-marital celibacy pact. It didn’t make sense to pretend any further.

Arriving at the Sheraton, I went upstairs to Beatrice’s room. As I went to knock on the door I heard her strident moans of passion wafting from within. She had a dick in her pussy. No sense knocking on that door. She wasn’t about to get up and open it. I listened for a couple of minutes out of sheer curiosity. Ivan was smokin’ that pony.

I left there and went up to Lisa and Nicole’s room on the twelfth floor. Nicole answered my knock. Both she and Lisa were dressed in matching Japanese kimonos that I’d bought them for Christmas one year. Both of them were naked underneath. It’s not as if I hadn’t seen them naked on numerous occasions. I barged into the room.

“WHAT IN THE FUCK WAS THAT SHIT!!!” I ranted, referring to the wedding rehearsal.

They both shook their heads dismissively.

“Don’t be such a cunt, Cynthia,” said Lisa. “We’ve got it down. You do your part. We’ll do ours.”

“AND WHAT WAS THAT SHIT WITH THE PHONES!!!” I continued.

They ignored me.

“When you leave here, both Nicole and me are going to get us some dick. So you’ll be moving on shortly, yes? Unless, of course, you want to jump in. Which you’re welcome to do.”

I looked at their TV. They were watching porn flicks starring themselves. Nicole seemed particularly locked in to the action. She sat on her bed twiddling her clit with a catatonic expression on her freckled face. I’d seen her do this before.

“Lisa, c’mon!!” I wheedled. “You know how important this is to me!!”

“Baby, I know. I know!! We’ll make you proud of us tomorrow.”

“I wish you’d made me proud TODAY.” I huffed.

Lisa handed me a shot of Hennessy.

“Tomorrow night this time I’m betting you’ll be a lot less tense,” she said.

“Too late Bakırköy travesti for that,” I mumbled.

“WHAT?!?”

“Yeh. I got drunk last night. Kevon came up to the crib. And….”

“NO!!!!!”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well why have you got your panties all up in a bunch because of the wedding parade? Mrs. Hotbox ought to be Mrs. Coldbox with the amount of dick you’ve been hosting.”

“Lisa, I just want the thing to be right. We only have this one shot at it.”

Lisa came over to drape her arm across my shoulders.

“Baby, we’ll get it right. First time this time. You have my word on it.”

She refilled my glass. Both of us downed shots of Hennessy.

“Who’ve you got on tap? Eddie and Artie?” I asked.

“Just Artie,” Lisa replied.

“What’s wrong with Eddie?” I asked.

“He said something wrong and just turned Nikki off.”

“So Artie’s going to do you both?”

“Yep.”

I shook my head. These two!!!

“I’m gonna go. Y’all are sick.” I said.

Lisa escorted me to the door. She handed me the bottle of Hennessy. I took the elevator upstairs to Kevon’s room and waited.

In the solitude of Kevon’s hotel room I reflected over my wedding week. Tomorrow I would be married to one of the best men I knew, short of my dad. Kevon was a good man. Two nights ago, in this very hotel, I’d shared my unprotected pussy with a man who has thousands of pubic scalps dangling from his bedpost, ON FILM. Each of those pubic scalps has hosted hundreds (thousands?) of unprotected dicks, ON FILM. Kevon had slept alone. Last night, at my bachelorette party, I’d sucked the dick of a dancer who, for all I knew, was another Mandingo, only taller, less well endowed, and white. (To be fair, most of the women at the party had sucked this guy’s dick in turn. He had a stunner. We were all drunk.) There’d been dancers at Kevon’s party, too. I’m willing to bet that, although he may have enjoyed a dry hump or two, none of those tits or asses found their way into his mouth. He’d come home to me with a dick forged in steel. (That’s how I knew it hadn’t been used.) I’d fucked and sucked his dick soft, as a good wife ought. In a few minutes my man would come through that door with an equally hard penis. I’m going to do what it takes to sap that dick of its animus before he and I walk the aisle.

I thought a bit further. One day in the near future, I’m going to catch a plane to Detroit. Or Seattle. Or Vegas. And I’m going to entertain some strange.

I’m not the man my husband is.

I started undressing. Kevon would be here soon. I’d been wrapped in these clothes since noon, sweating, walking around, giving orders at the church, occasionally peeing, sitting for hours at dinner. Surreptitiously I reached into my panties and drew my fingers up to my nose, you know, just to get a test whiff, the way people do when they ease out gas. If my pussy was too ripe, maybe I ought not be asking for a suck. Should I shower? Or maybe a spritz of perfume would do. I felt as if I could use a good suck.

Mrs. Hotbox wasn’t too ripe. Sometimes that “walked around all day pussy” smell can be enticing. Kevon had never complained. He took every opportunity to ram his tongue up my cunt, whether I’d washed her or not. Kevon sucks pussy like a man, you know, a little gruff, just putting in time before he sticks his dick in, not fully enjoying the delicate nuances of the feminine cleft. I much prefer having Lisa or Nicole service me down there.

But Lisa and Nicole were downstairs servicing Artie. I couldn’t wait to see the video of that action. I wondered if Artie’s dick matched his pretty face.

That would have to wait. I decided to shower. This was the night before my wedding. It was high time for me to show Kevon how to suck pussy. Much like our wedding steps, he was going to be down there until he got it right.

I stepped into the shower and soaped up with body wash. I washed my hair, knowing that I had scheduled a session with my hairdresser tomorrow at seven a.m.

“Three hours in the chair.”

It couldn’t be helped. I was getting married. My hair had to be on point. I didn’t bother to try and make anything of my soapy tresses. I just rinsed. I took a razor and shaved the stubble from my armpits. Using the same razor I tidied up my heart-shaped pubic mound and my panty line. My legs didn’t need any attention.

“Hurry up and get outta that shower, girl.”

It was Kevon. He’d hustled out of his clothing and was sitting down, naked, on the toilet. (While I would never take a sit if he were in the bathroom, he didn’t give me the same courtesy. He said his parents weren’t finicky about being in the bathroom at the same time. Why should he be any different?) Fortunately, the small room was already steamy hot. I quickly grabbed a towel and stepped naked into the hotel room proper, closing the bathroom door behind me.

“Wash your ass before you come out here.” I called.

Showtime!

I dried myself and tied my hair off Bakırköy travestiileri with the towel. A spritz of perfume here, a spritz of perfume there and I was ready to go. We weren’t going to fuck all night. I had to be up early. So did he. I lay down in the bed and opened my legs widely so that he couldn’t fail to discern my intent. Meanwhile, I turned on the TV. I turned the channel to ESPN SportsCenter. I knew that whatever channel I chose, when Kevon came into the room he would turn it to SportsCenter. My most passionate memories of our pre-marital sex life had the ESPN soundtrack playing in the background.

When Kevon stepped from the shower I was lying on the bed with my best “Come hither” face. I was twirling my clitoris luxuriantly. She was erect, pining for tongue. Kevon smirked. He scooted up between my legs, took his dick at its base and bounced it off of my vulva until it hardened. A sticky strand of translucent feminine effluent caught his cockhead and bounced up and down along with it.

I watched as his penis ballooned erect. This part always fascinated me. One minute his dick would be relatively small and floppy. The next minute it would be a scythian arc quivering up from his balls, nine inches of slithering blacksnake, trembling for the pinkness of hole. I never told him this, but I preferred the taste and the smell of an unwashed dick. It smelled like a man. I especially liked the taste of pussy-baked dick, you know, a dick that has cum in my pussy, dried, peed a couple of times, and been at work all day dangling in a pair of Calvin Klein cotton boxer shorts. That smell, that taste!! Mmmmmmmm!! Manly Musk!!

Tonite Kevon had soaped the best part of his penis away. I’d still suck him, but it wouldn’t be as good as if he’d offered up a manly smelling dick.

“Suck my pussy, Kevon,” I ordered abruptly.

He laughed.

“What happened to “No suckee, no fuckee” until the wedding night?”

“Just suck my pussy, please, and save the side commentary for another time.”

“Oh, it’s like dat?”

“YEAH. It’s like DAT.”

I hitched my thumbs under my haunches to lift my pussy up for his consideration. Don’t get it twisted. I wasn’t punking him. He knew when he walked out of that bathroom that Mrs. Hotbox needed some tongue. FIRST. If that hadn’t been the case I would have blown him in the shower before he had the chance to wash all the cinnamon crystals off the candy cane.

Kevon knelt to engulf my cleft in mouth. He caught my eyes as his tongue wickered forth to probe my labia. I scooted up on my elbows to watch. My small, neatly manicured bush made a cute mustache atop his lip. I couldn’t see his tongue working its magic. But I could feel it. A man’s tongue is rough. Unlike a woman, a man will offer up the flat part of his tongue against a woman’s clit while the tip seeks to insert itself, much like a small, pliant penis.

In fact, the very tip of the tongue is what a woman’s clit wants, flickering feather-like trills, faster and faster, until the insertion of the tongue becomes necessary. It’s better this way, because a woman on the verge will push her pussy in such a way so as to find the tongue giving her so much joy. A man can tell a woman is about to cum because the movement of her hips will match the trills of his tongue. THAT’S when he should mash her clit with the flat of his tongue while slipping the tongue tip as far up her pussy as possible. (Gene Simmons? Yeh. I’m talking to YOU!!)

I wanted to tell Kevon all these things without actually saying so. I wanted him to surmise his cunnilingual fecundity from my body’s reactions.

But no. He gouged my cleft with the flat of his tongue, mashing my pussy lips outward. Sometimes, if he got bold, he would insert his fingers into my ass or my pussy. I liked this. But, damn!! If he could get the flickering trills right I’d be a lot happier.

“Kev? Honey? More tip. Less flat.” I offered.

He paused in his efforts. He seemed surprised.

“The FUCK does that mean?”

“Honey, it means lick my clit softer. Use the tip of your tongue.”

“You’re just telling me this now?”

“It’s time, don’t you think? We’re getting married tomorrow.”

He started licking my clit from the bottom up, you know, like a child might lick an ice cream cone trying to keep it from melting. I dunno if that’s the right analogy. He would lick my clit and stop, as if waiting for it to stop bobbing in place.

“A one and a two and a….”

He was licking my pussy the way a white person dances. I wanted him to lick and keep licking.

“Kev? Honey? Lick faster. Don’t stop.”

He complied.

“That’s it, baby,” I moaned. “Faster. Go faster.”

I didn’t usually give Kevon advice on how to fuck. He came into our relationship with a set of sexual skills, some of which I liked, some of which I liked not so much. In any case, I knew that SOME woman had taught him his skills. Or worse, he’d been taught by deference, that is, some woman accepted travesti Bakırköy his half-ass pussy licking by not saying anything, which encouraged him to continue to think his half-ass pussy licking was doing the job.

Let me say this: Other than the old in/out, men don’t know SHIT about pussy. If you’re a woman reading this, PLEASE teach your man how to lick pussy before you dump him. This will cut down the number of half-ass pussy lickers out there.

A man can’t usually determine the size of his dick. So the old in/out is what it is. But every man can be taught to suck pussy. And I meant to teach my man this skill before the sun came up.

“KEVON!! Just the tip, baby. Faster. Do a swirl. FASTER. Side-to-side, baby. Mmmmmmmmhmmmm. That’s it.”

He really was getting into it. I began to twirl my hips in conjunction with his tongue.

“Softer, baby. Just the tip. I don’t need the whole she-bang just yet.”

I could feel his hot breath coursing though my pubic hair. I could feel my pussy reddening as my clit swelled.

“Kevon? Now, honey, suck my clit. Soft. Yeah, that’s it. Suck me. Use your lips. And keep giving me the tip. Lick me, Kev. Faster. FASTER.”

I pressed my clit into his mouth. He responded by sucking my precious baby like she was a Charms blowpop. That’s not what I wanted.

“Suck me softer, baby. Give me that tongue. LICK ME!!! OHHHHH!!!!”

My head lolled backward. This was the best head I’d received since the last time Lisa had me splayed out. Kevon was getting the knack!!

I started humping his mouth as if it were a pussy engulfing my own personal mini-dick. Kevon knew my passion. He kept trending towards a rough suck. Again, he was misconstruing my intent.

“Softer, baby!! SOFTER. I’ll tell you when to go hard.”

I was almost there.

I held back for as long as I could. I let Kevon wind me up like a top. The strain was part and parcel of the joy.

“NOW KEVON!! SHOVE IT UP THERE!!!”

I wanted his penis. He gave me his tongue. I snatched him atop me and pointed his dick home. My whole body exploded in a series of wild, snake-like ululations. I slammed on his dick like a woman possessed. Kevon had never seen me this animated; I could see it in his eyes. He came. And the sizzle of his shrieking jism added gasoline to the fire of my eruption. I gasped as my husband’s essence curdled in the clasp of my red-hot vagina. We twitched and trembled in tandem as the orgasmic wave detonated, crashed and dissipated. Kevon was a seasoned cocksman. He’d never cum so fast, at least not inside me. We held each other tightly. I could feel the crawly flood of his semen dripping out over my ass cheeks. Kevon slumped into a catatonic daze atop me. I’d milked him. PROPER.

More than this, I’d rewarded him for learning to suck pussy. Tomorrow night, when he first sucks my pussy as a married man, I won’t have to coach him.

“It’s lick, suck, then fuck, baby.”

When I awakened four hours later his cock was still inside me, only it had re-hardened. Dicks do that on their own, regardless of environment. If you watch your man as he sleeps you’ll see his dick wax and wane periodically. It will poke its head up depending on what the man is dreaming about. Then it will go back to sleep. A dick that wakes up inside a pussy is not going to wane on its own. It has to be milked.

Kevon was still asleep atop me when I realized that my pussy had widened considerably. It was that “full” feeling that women crave. Not wanting to waken him, I started giving him the swirl, you know, in small increments. His cock lengthened and thickened inside me. I kept going. I was teasing him. I was “inch” fucking him, concentrating my lavish twirling on the bulbous pud straining at the very back of my pussy. Kevon began to moan in his sleep. I truly believe he was dreaming that he was fucking while he was actually fucking. Soon enough I could detect the old in/out. I smiled.

We must’ve fucked like this for ten or twenty minutes, slowly ramping up the passion of our nocturnal engagement. I was enjoying this. I was drifting along at plateau, not willing to slide over the precipice into the abyss. My mind was awash in the opiate of dick. With a sudden thrust (and without warning) Kevon came inside me. He’d launched a wet dream, unaware that he’d actually been fucking a pussy, not a pillow. I was pleased.

It’s what happened next that ruined the whole experience. This nyugga whispers “Bethany”.

Bethany Franklin was an old girlfriend of his. He’d slipped up one time and told me that their relationship had been almost entirely sexual. She had a snapper, but little else, according to Kevon.

Now, I didn’t want to ask him if her pussy was better than mine. But I WAS curious. And now here he goes, on the night before our wedding, four o’clock in the morning, and this nyugga has a wet dream IN MY PUSSY on HER account!!! AND I DIDN’T EVEN GET A NUT!!!

I was mad’ denamug.

But what could I say? The nyugga was asleep!!! He could have been dreaming about Beyonce for all I knew. How do you punish a fellow for what he does in his sleep? I know for a fact that he would never mention Bethany if he’d been awake. THEY DIDN’T LIKE EACH OTHER!!! If you want to see a REAL stank look, mention Bethany to him while he’s up and around.

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