Dapper Carter's 8 Rules of Dating Read Free

preliminaries we
robotically peeled off our clothes and made our way to separate ends of the
couch.
     Heroin dropped to her knees in front of Caesar,
unzipped his pants, and then instinctively plunged his pink and brown pole
inside her mouth.   She looked like she was trying to commit suicide
by stabbing herself repeatedly with a blunt instrument in the back of her
throat.  Heroin was what we liked to call a brain surgeon and she enjoyed sucking
dick more than any girl I had ever met. I knew this to be true because she
broke me off the week before.
    Baton Rouge decided she had enough and sprawled herself
over the arm of the couch, presenting her perfect brownish-pink love canal which
was pleading for the unyielding eight and a half inches I had for her.
    I tenaciously grabbed a handful of her wavy locks, wrangled
them, and then pulled, triggering her to arch her muscular back.
    “You like that don’t you?!” 
    “You know I do, Daddy.”
    “Say you’re a dirty fucking whore.”
    “I’m a dirty fucking whore,” she whimpered.  
    She liked it rough and so did I. But I liked it even
rougher than that.
    With the one hand entangled in her locks, I took the
other hand, ripped open the condom package with my teeth, and stretched the
prophylactic on my impressive erection.
    Without hesitation or warning, I thrust my rocket
deep into her vast Milky Way. She yelped with delight.  With each thrust I
could feel myself going deeper inch by exciting inch into her never ending
tunnel.  She expanded and contracted her sugar walls with each stroke extracting
the nut from my overworked muscle.  I fucked her hard, amused to hear the
sound of my balls relentlessly slapping against her well-developed backside.   I
tried with every enthusiastic plunge to drill my dick through her writhing body
and out her panting mouth.  She howled in rapture. 
    I chased her into the corner of the sofa, still on
all fours, with my greedy cock so she couldn’t run anywhere as I mercilessly
pummeled her juicy punaani into submission like a piece of raw meat.
    Caesar had long stopped Heroin from her sixty-eight
and I owe you one. 
    “Hey dawg, ain’t it time for that switch?”
    “Naw son, I’m good.”
    We usually do switch up but not this time.  I
was in a groove and didn’t want to interrupt my flow.  I sadistically slid
my hands around her delicate throat and began to squeeze, constricting her airflow.
I fucked her like she stole something while she gasped, gagged, and flopped
around like a big mouth bass.  Until she went limp. At first I thought she
was fooling around, but after several seconds fear crept up my spine. Oh
shit, did I kill her?
    Finally, she gasped, recruiting as much oxygen as
possible to fill her almost lifeless body and scaring the shit out of me as
well.  Then she broke out into a hearty laugh.  That was her thing
and she loved that shit so I had no trouble obliging.
    Cez and Heroin had stopped what they were doing to
watch us. I was more of a voyeur than an exhibitionist, but I didn’t mind the
two of them spying on Baton Rouge and me.
    “Can I go next?” Heroin pleaded.  Why not ?

 
     
     
     
     
    I Wonder If I Take You Home
     
    I got home just as the sun started to rise on my
modest, Colonial style house in Edison Township. The house that was actually in
my wife’s name. 
    Stillness blanketed the Oak lined cul de sacs and
manicured lawns of central New Jersey. Each Colonial in the neighborhood was a
clone of the next. The gas guzzling SUVs and carpool-friendly minivans of upper
middle class life peppered the New York City suburb.  The toughest
decision here was whether to buy the Dodge Caravan or the Kia Sedona and who
would be hosting the next neighborhood watch meeting.
    I was still fucked up and my clothes were crumpled,
looking like I was in bar fight rather than the pussy-cat fight I had actually
participated in. I had fresh, deep, tiger-like scratches on my back that I had
no idea how I was