Man Swappers (47 page)

I’m literally paralyzed by shock. My ears ring, and I’m seeing stars. This woman has slapped me
and
admitted she doesn’t like me! I am done!

Pain
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

It’s nine o’clock at night.

Royce’s fingers dig into my hips as he thrusts in me; his humongous Mandingo cock piercing me to the seams, stretching my pussy beyond capacity. A sweet, delicious pain sweeps through my body like a wildfire. A moan bursts from my throat. “Ohhhhhhhgod…this dick is so good…”

“Yeah, ma…this good dick is all yours…”

“You like fucking this pussy?”

“Aaaah, shit yeah…I love fuckin’ this wet-ass pussy…” He pushes my legs up over my head, watches as his dick slides in and out of me. He pulls it out to the head, slowly stirs the opening of my slit. “Slap that clit for me…”

I smack and pop my clit. My cunt drools and nips at the head of his cock, like a hungry mouth as he teases me with it. He pulls it all the way out, then slams it back in. picking up his pace. I lift my hips; welcome him deep. The pressure of his dick pounds my G-spot, vibrating through my clit. My body is flush, my chest heaving. I pinch my tight nipples. Royce’s relentless thrusting causes a ball of intense fire to erupt around the opening of my pussy. I moan, digging my nails into his flesh.

He moans. “Aaaah, shit you got some hot pussy…”

“Oh, yes…fuck me, little daddy…beat my pussy up…aaaaahhhh…”

He rolls over onto his back, rolling me on top of him. His dick still stuffed deep inside of me. “I want you to ride this big dick,” he tells me, squeezing a big chunk of my ass, then slapping it. “Cum all over it.”

I reach in back of me, grab at his balls as I ride him. My ass going up and down, it doesn’t take long before I feel a burning sensation ripping through my loins and I’m coming, long and hard.

Royce has become a regular in my bed. A three times a week fuck; sometimes four.

“Uhhhhhh…oooh…this big-ass, motherfucking dick…make my pussy so hot…slap my titties, motherfucker.” It is his cue. I want it rough. He slaps each one, striking my nipples. I grunt, galloping up and down the length of his shaft. I slap his face. He slaps me back.

“Yeah, ride this dick, bitch…”

“Who’s bitch am I?” I ask, pinching his nipples. He moans. Juts his hips upward, stabbing into me. I match him thrust for thrust.

“Mine,” he says in a throaty whisper.

“Choke me then, nigga.”

I have my hands around his throat. He places his hands around mine and squeezes until my eyes bulge. I start to feel light-headed. In a flash, the orgasm comes in hot, rapid waves. Gut-deep sensations surge through me. I lean in; bite Royce’s bottom lip. He bites me back. We go at it rough and dirty for forty minutes before he’s standing up, dipping at the knees, rapidly fucking me. A guttural bellow pushes out of me. I’m coming again. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, my tongue probing deeply into his mouth. I close my eyes, then open them, staring into his young, handsome, sweaty face. My body trembles and Royce moans as hot, tight spasms milk his shaft. He’s squeezing my ass, fucking
me up and down over his cock. His mouth finds my left nipple. He bites it, causing me to cry out. Scream and buck up against him, my pussy juice squirting as he shudders, spurting his hot nut.

He falls back on the bed, panting hard and exhausted with his cock still tucked inside my sticky, slick cunt. I collapse on top of him, resting my head on his shoulder as I continue to shake. I’m still coming. I grind down on his dick nice and slow, then lift up off of it. I pull the condom off, then take his dick into my mouth, sucking his sweet creamy nut.

He wraps his hand in my hair, bouncing my head up and down. “Damn, ma…yeah, suck that dick…I’m gettin’ ready to bust another nut right down in ya throat.” I continue sucking his dick, then lapping at his balls, then licking his asshole. My fingers slip behind his balls while my wet tongue probes and dances against his tight manhole. When he relaxes, I slip a finger in. He gasps. I pop his dick back into my mouth, then “Aaaaahhh, shit…” I increase the suction on his dick, curling my finger until I am massaging his prostrate. I look up slantways at him. His eyes are rolling up in his head. I can tell he’s starting to feel the pressure building up in his balls, his ass, in the pit of his stomach as he bucks his hips, and grabs at the sheets. He thrusts his hips upward, clogging my throat with his cock. In between loud grunts, he comes hard, flooding my mouth with his cum. I swallow as much as I can, allowing the overflow to spill out of my mouth and onto my chin.

I’m in love with this man’s dick. And I’ll continue to fuck him. I may have let Desmond go out of necessity, but not Royce. He stays. I lick my lips, scoop the cream that clings to my chin off with my fingers, then lift them to his mouth. He sucks them clean. Watching Royce eat his own cum has turned me on even more.

I smile.

And he smiles back. “I gotta ’nother nut for you.” He pushes my head down. “Finish sucking it outta my dick.”

I oblige him, wrapping my lips around his dick, then sucking and humming until I’ve sucked it clean as a whistle and he’s fallen off to sleep.

Porsha
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

“
I
swear I hope that woman doesn’t open her mouth to say shit to me,” Persia says, washing her Neutrogena face mask off. “I don’t even want to look in her face.”

I roll my eyes up in my head. “And what woman are you talking about?” I ask, knowingly. She’s referring to our mother. It’s been a week since the face-slapping incident and she’s still harping on it. When I came home and saw her face bruised and she told me mother had slapped her, I knew she must have pushed the envelope with her.

Interestingly, Persia’s version of the story is that Mother barged her way into the house demanding to talk to her, then started verbally attacking her. Then when she asked her to leave, she hauled off and smacked her. Of course Mother’s version is somewhat different. And I believe hers over Persia’s. I know our mother. And I know how her mouth can be. But, I also know Persia. And if Mother slapped her, it was for good damn cause.

“I’m talking about
your
mother, who else?” she states, brushing her teeth.

I get up from my seat and walk over to the bathroom, leaning up against the doorframe. “Umm, considering we’re all sitting at the same table, I’m not sure how that’s gonna work out for you. And I’m thinking this whole seating situation might be a bit uncomfortable with all the tension between the two of you.”

She rinses her mouth. “Hopefully, I can switch seats with someone and not have to be bothered with her.”

I eye her. “Are you sure you want to go? I’m sure Pasha will understand. Actually, I’m sure she’d prefer you not be there if you and Mother are going to get into it. The last thing we need is the two of you tearing the place up.”

She drops her towel, walking out of the bathroom. I watch her as she bounces around her bedroom naked, pulling out underwear until she finds the right pair to wear. Then she tosses them all back in the drawer, deciding not to wear any. “Trust me. I have no intentions of saying anything to that woman. After that stunt she pulled, she’s dead to me. So there’s nothing to worry about. I’m not going to get into it with her. I’m going to the wedding. I’m going to have myself a damn good time, in spite of her. If I’m lucky enough, there’ll be a fine-ass groomsman I can fuck in the backseat of one of the limos.”

I shake my head, watching her lotion her body. “Persia, don’t you think you need to take some responsibility for what happened?”

She stops what she’s doing and stares at me. “So, you’re saying I’m responsible for that woman coming up in here disrespecting me, then slapping me? I did nothing to her. She attacked
me
.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” she asks defensively. She has her hand on her hip.

I glance at the crystal clock on her dresser. It’s a quarter to three. The wedding is at five. “Persia, we both know you’re not the victim here. Your attitude toward our mother has always been nasty. It’s no wonder the two of you have never gotten along. If you ask me, both of you are stubborn, and overly opinionated. I can’t help but to wonder what you said to her for her to slap you.”

She huffs. “For the hundredth time, I said
nothing
to that woman. I mumbled something under my breath and she heard it.”

“And what is it you mumbled, oh dearest sister, because up until now you’ve been adamant that you didn’t do anything.”

“I mumbled I fucking hated her.”

I tilt my head, staring at her. I blink three times. Persia is a fucking mess. “Then, sweetie, you deserved to have your face slapped. And my advice to you is to apologize to her.”

She gives me a look of indignation. “The hell if I will.
She
should be apologizing to
me
.” Having this conversation is moot. I spin off on my heels and walk toward the door. “Where are you going?”

“To get ready.”

“Ugh,” Paris sighs, disgusted. “Of all days to get a fucking flat, it had to be today.” We’re on the shoulder of the Garden State Parkway, heading south waiting on a tow truck. The GPS says we’re fifteen miles away from our destination. “And now we’re going to miss the whole ceremony. We should’ve taken my car.”

I suck my teeth. “There’s still a chance we can make it in time.”

She glances at her watch. “Mmmph.”

I roll my eyes. “You act like I planned this or something. The tow truck should be here shortly. Then we’ll be on our way.”

Persia flips down the visor, checks her face and hair in the mirror. “This must be a sign,” she says nonchalantly. She fusses with a curl until it is lying just so.

I’m looking out of my sideview mirror at the speeding cars flying by us, too aggravated to ask her what she means. And Paris is too caught up in her text from our mother stating the ceremony is about to start to be concerned either.

“Well, so much for that,” Paris says, sitting back in her seat. “There’s no way we’ll make the ceremony now.”

“Look on the bright side. We’ll be there for the reception.” Paris rolls her eyes up in her head. Persia grunts. I’m relieved when I see the tow truck finally pulling up behind us.

It is six o’clock when we finally pull up into Stillwell Estates, an exclusive gated community of magnificent estates in a cul-de-sac. When we find the address, I turn into the winding driveway and gasp.

“My God,” Persia says, taking in the sprawling lawn. “Pasha’s salon does well, but there’s no way she’s able to afford this unless there’s a whole lot of dirty money up in here.”

“Well,” I say, driving up toward the valet area and pulling behind a Range Rover. “I ain’t one to gossip, but we do know who she’s marrying.”

“Mmmph,” Paris and Persia grunt as three young attendants open our car doors. They take our hands and help us out of the car, then loop their arms with ours and usher us down a long, white carpet that leads to the back of the estate. There are torches lit everywhere as we approach two large white tents. On the other side of the property, we see the bridal party over by a beautiful man-made lake, taking pictures. We spot Pasha in her gown but can’t make out the rest of the group.

Ohmygod, this is beautiful
, I think as the young attendants walk us to the entrance of the first tent where the guests mix and mingle and have cocktails until the bridal party arrives.

“Oh, she really outdid herself,” Paris says, pulling out her camera and snapping pictures.

“Yes, she did,” Persia agrees. “I hope those tents are air conditioned ’cause this damn heat is brutal today.” We’re relieved when one of the attendants tells us that both tents are. “My God, there are some fine men here tonight.”

Even I have to cut my eyes and do a few double-takes. There are beautiful men and women all over the place prancing around in Gucci, Versace, and Armani. The sun’s rays are hitting so much bling that it’s blinding.

Paris
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

E
verything is breathtaking
, I think, feeling as if I’ve stepped into a paradise the minute we cross the entrance of the white-carpeted cocktail tent. Cool air greets us as we step in. The tent is adorned in white draperies, candles, and cube seating with gorgeous white couches arranged throughout the tent. Crisp and pristine, the whole setting is simply elegant. There are literally hundreds of gorgeous white roses and candles everywhere.
This is definitely going to be one wedding none of us will ever forget.

I spot the wedding planner flitting around the room in a beautiful pale pink dress suit, giving orders to the wait staff. There’s a handsome young man walking around with a 35-millimeter camera taking pictures of guests. “Oooh, look, there go Mother and Daddy over there,” Porsha says, pointing.

“Oh, great,” Persia groans. “I’m going over to the bar.”

“Oh no, you’re not,” I state, grabbing her by the arm. “You’re going to greet our parents. I wonder who that couple is they’re talking to.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I don’t wanna be anywhere near that woman.”

“Well, too bad,” I say through clenched teeth. “Now smile.”

Dad spots us first, smiling. “There they are,” he says, giving the three of us a hug and kisses on the cheeks.

“Fashionably late as usual,” Mother says, glancing at her timepiece. She eyes me. “Looks like you’ve picked up some weight. I hope you’re not going to let yourself get out of shape.” Daddy shoots her a look.

I smile. “No, Mother, trust me. I’m not.”

“Out of shape or not,” the strapping man with the beautiful woman on his arm says, grinning. “You still look—”

The three of us scream as he faces us. “Garreeeeeeett, it’s so good to see you.” We hug and kiss him.

“And you must be Bianca,” I say, extending my hand. “It’s so good to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”