THE GHETTO HOOCHIE (Life & Times Of Princess Webster)

🍑Twenty Eight: Smiling

I was moaning uncontrollably as his huge bat tried to find the batting cage in my pussy. He dug and dug, like Osama Bin Laden was hiding deep in
my cervix.

We kissed again; I wrapped my legs around such stern hips. He bounced off the pink walls, slip and sliding me into pure promiscuity.

I felt like a silly fool, the way he dug me out. The way he looked me directly in my eyes and told me “Do
you like it?” set me on fire.

The look on my sweaty face told him “Yes!”

I had four powerful orgasms before he exploded again, the finality of his Magnum condom capturing his fiery seeds all in one whop.

He pushed his dick all the way inside me and paused, as if out of breath. I could feel it pumping and throbbing, his body pressed against mine, the
heat enveloping the both of us.

His eyes fluttered closed. Then he rolled over, his amazingly chiseled
body spent, and he then started gathering up his clothes.

Stuffing them under his arms, he walked into the bathroom and turned on my shower without permission.

I watched him quickly take a rinse off using my wash cloth and soap. I didn’t appreciate that at all. He looked peaceful.

Trapped in my own thoughts, thinking about his brother, I sat on the edge of my bed, smoking a cigarette.

He tried not to look at me.

When he was done, he dried off, put on his gear and didn’t as much as look at me. He didn’t kiss me.

Well fuck you, too!

He hopped out my window, closed it and jumped in his Cadillac.

Why it hurt me I would never understand.

His phone vibrated.

Oh, yea. Let me see if those hoes were trying to get at him.

Why I suddenly felt territorial was beyond me. Kenny was not my man.
I looked at the caller I.D.

When my eyes locked on the name flashing in the screen all the breath left my body.

I couldn’t stop smiling. I couldn’t think straight.

The name read: Thomas.