The Stud Palace by Cairo

My pussy’s so fucking wet and slippery. My thick, chocolate nipples are erect and ready for gentle licks from a soft, warm tongue. Oh God, how I need to be made love to. I’m so goddamn horny for more than what I’ve been getting. I love sex—lots of it. But I am sooooo not enjoying this shit. My neglected cunt lips and clit ache for more than some half-assed tongue lick. God, what did I do to deserve this shit? I ponder as two thumbs spread open my slit and Kareem’s tongue flicks inside a few times, then . . . just like that . . . it is over!
    This niggah has got to be kidding me! Why, Lord? I was never a whore or a cheat. I have always respected my pussy. Never, ever letting every man who wanted to fuck get up in it, and this is the thanks I get? A lousy, three-lap pussy lick! What lesson am I to learn from being sexually deprived?
    I press my eyes shut. I am desperately trying to keep from looking into the handsome face of my on-again, off-again man of five years—as he lifts my legs up over his broad, chocolate shoulders and swiftly pushes his thick, eight-inch dick in, then rapidly pumps in and out of me. Oh God. there was a time when this dick felt so good to me, and in me. Long before . . .
    I moan.
    My sweet, tight pussy deserves so much better than this shit! I peer at Kareem through half-closed, lashed slits.
    “Mmmm . . . yeah, you like that shit, don’t you? Aaah, shit . . . pussy’s grabbin’ this dick! Ooooh yeah . . . .” His warm, pussy scented breath blows in my face as he says this. “Aaah, fuck . . . I love how this wet pussy soaks my dick, baby . . .”
    I cover my face with an arm to hide the rolling of my eyes. Oh please! He thinks my wet pussy is due to all of his rapid pounding when another moan escapes from the back of my throat. But I dare not tell him otherwise. I dare not mention to my overzealous lover that my mind is occupied with delicious thoughts of something more than this—his grunting and groaning and incessant pounding and contorted facial expressions. Kareem’s all dick and no rhythm. And no creativity! Just non-stop pounding like he’s trying to stomp out a fire on a runaway train. Then he offers up an occasional tip drill here and there, sprinkled in with a few slaps on the ass and a tongue dipping inside my ear every so often—like that shit is supposed to turn me out—and he thinks he’s delivering the most spectacular fuck of the century.
    “Oh, yesssss,” I push out in a forced whisper, grabbing him by the ass. Kareem has a beautiful ass. It’s smooth and muscled with a trail of hair along the edges of his crack. So many times while sucking his dick and lapping at his balls, I’ve wanted to taste his ass, flick my tongue across his hole. But he’d never go for that. So now I imagine my tongue flicking across my imaginary lover’s hot asshole, then dipping into her pussy.
    Yes, I fantasize about other women. About the taste and feel of their sticky cunts in my mouth, on my fingers, brushing and bumping against my own wet, horny pussy. It’s been a fantasy that has ignited my curiosity to no end for the last eight months or so. But it’s been a fleeting desire for years. One that I’ve kept hidden from Kareem because of how grossed out he’d be, as proven when he’d given me a look of disgust when I gently broached the subject of us having a ménage à trios about four years ago. His exact words to me were, “You have got to be fucking kidding me if you think we’re gonna be doing some nasty shit like that.” I know. Blank stare! What man wouldn’t want to have two mouths, two sets of hands, two wet, horny pussies to pleasure him, and his woman welcome it? Not Kareem, that’s for sure!
    Anyway, I knew right then that telling him about my fantasies of having another woman’s face between my legs, her tongue caressing my cunt lips and slit; or her hard, chocolate nipples in my mouth; or her wet, swollen clit pressing up against