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The Man Handler

  • Kartonierter Einband
  • 416 Seiten
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A single, 30-something woman demonstrates that there may be a fine line between sexual liberation and addiction.LeseprobeThe Man H... Weiterlesen
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Beschreibung

A single, 30-something woman demonstrates that there may be a fine line between sexual liberation and addiction.

Leseprobe
The Man Handler

CHAPTER ONE


Is it me, or is there something primitively erotic, sexually enticing, about the scent of lust and musk that lingers beneath a man’s balls and clings to every strand of his dick hairs? Mmmm. I want to rub my face all up in it, then inhale deeply, savoring the sweet, sweaty aroma. Mmmmmmmm. The smell causes my nipples to harden, my clit to swell and pop out from under its hood, and my pussy lips to part in anticipation… waiting, wanting, needing to be pierced by the hot spear of a dark, delicious man.

Oh, how I love the feel and the taste of a stiff, thick dick. Mmmm. I’m salivating thinking about all the nasty, freaky things I can do with one right now. Suck it, slurp it, lick it, kiss it… Mmmmmmm…gulp it down one inch at a time nice, slow, and very wet. Humph.

Umm, hold up. Before we go any further, let me officially introduce myself. My name is Bianca Rivers. And I love to fuck. Oh my God, if that didn’t sound like an introduction for an AA/NA meeting or something. Let me try again. Hello. My name is Bianca. I’m a thirty-year-old, five-foot-eight-inch, 125-pound, cocoa-brown beauty who is happily single with an insatiable sex drive and a penchant for being on the hunt for a stiff dick. It’s too bad I haven’t been successful at finding one man who can hold my interest longer than the time it takes for him to bust his nut. After the sex, I generally want nothing more to do with them until the next time I feel like riding down on their dicks. Stick and move. Stick and move. That’s what I typically like to do. No need for anything else. I have no time to catch feelings for anyone. And I definitely don’t want them catching any for me.

Now, just so we’re clear. I have no intentions of bashing men, or having a pity party. ’Cause I’ll be the first to tell you that I hate women who sit around like a bunch of hens, cackling and cawing about the woes of their lives, relentlessly complaining about their men, or men in general. So, no, I’m not going to spend my time dissing men. However, I will share my own personal experiences with them, and that will include the good, the bad and the ugly, as well as my thoughts, feelings, and views on women, which definitely won’t always be nice. So if anyone can’t handle that, then you might want to close up shop now and excuse yourself.

Anyway, I’m not in a relationship (by choice). No children and never been pregnant. I’ve never contracted any STDs (thankfully!). I live in Jersey, and again, I love to fuck. And the best part about being single is that I can fuck who I want, when I want, how I want, where I want, and as many times I want, without answering to anyone about my actions. See, I’m what you might call a ride-a-dick-all-night-long type of chick. But, I consider myself more of a tri-sexual than anything else. Meaning I’m into pretty much all kinds of nasty, freaky sex. As long as it doesn’t involve animals, body waste—being pissed and shit on is a no-no—midgets, the elderly, disabled, disfigured, or children, then I’m down for the get down. If I like it, I may do it again. And I’m typically turned on by men who are also tri-sexual. They tend to be less inhibited, and very secure in who they are as men. And that is very appealing to me. When I first meet a man, I want to know the following: How often do you have sex, or like to have sex? Do you masturbate? If so, how often? Can I watch? Are you into sex toys? If so, what type? Ever been handcuffed or blindfolded? When was your last HIV test?

Basically, if you really want me to break it down, I’m what you might call a certified freakologist. A term I use for peeps like me who specialize in freaking a man any way the wind blows until he slumps over. I’m also a skilled dicktologist who’s dedicated to the fucking, sucking, and licking of fat, black dick. Yep, that’s me. Okay, all right already. I’ll say it for you…I’m a dick-loving ho. You already know. And? But don’t get it twisted. I’m a responsible one. Hell, my motto is: If you’re gonna fuck, be responsible. Wrap up and enjoy the damn ride!

And when it comes to fucking men, I have very few rules and restrictions. Don’t be fat, nasty, and crusty. And in case someone is confused about what’s fat to me: if you need a bumper jack or a two-by-four to lift up your gut, then dammit, you fat. If you look down and you can’t see your dick or your toes, then, duh, fat. If you have more belly than dick, duh, fat! So buy a vowel, get a clue, and get your sloppy ass on a diet before trying to get at me.

In addition, a man must have all of his teeth (that does not mean having a bunch of brown, yellow, or rotted ones either, or a row of gold or platinum fronts). He must wash his ass daily (there’s nothing worse than sucking on a man’s dick, then pulling up his balls and getting a whiff of ass funk. Ugh!). He also must be drug and disease free (that means no crack, no coke, no 420/weed/trees/collard greens, no dope/smack, no poppers, no damn pills, and nothing that I can catch). He must be circumcised (a must! I have no time for pulling back dick skin. That is an absolute no-no), and don’t be busted in the face. I don’t want anyone staring in my face hurting my eyes, or making my stomach turn. You don’t have to be model-fine, but please, please, don’t look like a damn manatee or a gorilla either.

I know, I know. Looks aren’t everything. They can’t get you an education, can’t pay the bills, and definitely don’t guarantee intellectual conversation, but dammit, if I want to see something out of Jurassic Park, then I’ll go to the zoo! You can save that “Wild Kingdom” shit for those hard-pressed, ashy chicks with the black between their flabby legs, and titties flopping and sagging down over their nasty pussies. Those types of chicks are the kind to be happy someone is willing to fuck ’em. So they’ll be more than willing to spread their legs open and fuck a beast. But I’m not the one.

Oh, no, I’m not angry with men. Nor do I hate them. On the contrary, I have nothing but love for them. In my opinion, there’s nothing sexier than a black man’s swagger. There’s something about his confidence, his aloofness, his unpredictability, his mysterious demeanor that makes my pussy drip with excitement, and keeps me wanting more. Give me a man with stamina, strength, a beautiful black dick, probing lips, magical hands, and a killer tongue and I’m in heaven. But loving him is not always an easy task. It requires too much damn work and is definitely not an option for me. They either have too much ego, too many women, or too little respect for relationships. And you never know what you’re gonna get yourself into when dealing with his ass. Some are too bruised, broken, and beat down by life and fucked-up relationships. Others don’t know what the hell they want, and have no investment in a committed relationship. So, thanks, but no thanks! I think I’ll wax his dick, and keep him fucked to the bone with no strings, no stress, and no damn mess.

Alrighty then. Now that we’ve gotten that all out the way, come closer. Let me whisper a little something in your ear. You see, I’ve come to understand that pleasing a man requires patience and a desire to learn everything that turns him on. Ask him what he likes. And I can’t stress it enough—be open-minded. Explore his body with your hands, your lips, your mouth, your tongue. Devour every inch of him. Trust me. All men love to be touched. They love it when you allow your hands to wander and roam all over their bodies when they’re thrusting deep up in you. Grabbing and squeezing his ass, running your fingertips and hands down his back, along his spine, pulling him into you as he’s stroking his dick in you. Men like to be encouraged, urged to serve the dick how you want it. Trust me.

Anyway, find out what excites him. I don’t think a lot of women realize that men have erogenous zones like we do. But often-times, his hot spots go untouched, or undiscovered. Personally, I liken a man’s body to a playground. There’s always something to swing on, slide down on, climb up on, bounce up and down on, or jump on.

And in my personal experience, one of the easiest ways to get a man’s dick hard (besides talking dirty or showing him your pussy and ass) is to kiss him. A nice, slow, sensual, tongue-probing kiss will often get his mind wandering and the juices flowing in no time. Before you know it, he’ll start fantasizing about having his dick up in you.

See, when I’m with a man, I usually start off by massaging his outer ear in slow movements. I gently squeeze or nibble on his earlobes, explore the back of his ear with my lips and tongue, blowing lightly. Women don’t realize how effective this can be. The sound of your breathing and the soft moans alone will usually turn most men on. Of course this technique only works provided your breath doesn’t smell like hot shit.

Anyway, then I travel to his neck, nibbling. Never sucking or biting. I have no interest in trying to mark someone else’s territory since most—not all—of the men I fuck are already involved with somebody else. Now, don’t go rolling your eyes or sucking your teeth. It’s really so unnecessary. Anyway, as I was explaining, I use my lips and tongue to journey down and around his neck to his shoulders, planting soft kisses on them. Then I make my way to his chest. Massaging it with my hands, licking and nibbling, and twirling my tongue over and around his nipples until they become erect, and hard like miniature skittles. Mmm. Planting wet kisses in the center of his chest, down to his navel, dipping my tongue in. Then I flick my tongue over the head of his throbbing dick before running my fingertips and tongue along the inside of his thighs, kissing, licking, and nibbling up and down them until my tongue reaches his balls. Mmm. I fondle them, lightly suck and lick on them, lapping up the scent of desire that clings beneath them. Finally, I place them in my mouth, and softly start to hum, flicking them with my tongue. Then I increase the humming on his balls. Trust me. This little trick takes him to the edge every time, giving him an intense, mind-bending experience. You’ll have him holding his head in his hands, biting on his bottom lip, grabbing the sheets, climbing walls.

Eventually, I give him what he wants most, what he aches for—my soft lips and hot tongue swirling around the head of his dick. I kiss and nibble on it, licking the excitement that seeps and drizzles from its slit. Oooh, mmm. I can almost taste his sweet, sticky nectar. See. When I take him all the way in my mouth, I am swallowing him in, savoring the strength of his dick. And when I feel him about to explode, I massage the fleshy area between his balls and ass, pressing on his prostate, giving him a rush of pleasure that causes him to see stars. Yes, if you didn’t know, now you do. I’m the Nut Cracker, aka the Man Handler. And this, my little darlings, is my official ho report. Welcome to my world, baaaaby!

Um, wait a minute. Before I let you get too deep into whom I am and what I do, I have some questions for you: Is it really as hard as most women say it is to find a good man? Are all the good men already taken? Is there really a shortage of good, decent men in the world? Is the black man really an endangered species? Or is there simply an abundance of lonely, miserable, sex-deprived women out here?

Now, before you respond, let me start off by saying I understand that no man is gonna respect any woman who drops her drawers and throws up her legs to the first man who smiles her way. If you’re an easy lay, that’s all you’re going to be seen as, a quick piece of ass. So don’t start getting all emotional when he starts dissing you, or acts like he doesn’t know you after you’ve swallowed his nut. Take it for what it is, a fuck. If you a ho, say you a ho. And stop all the damn fronting. Chicks kill me catching feelings when a man calls them out of their name, or tries to pass them off to one of his boys. Uh, newsflash: He nutted in your mouth, sweetie. No, he’s not gonna kiss you. No, he’s not gonna make you his girl. The minute you let a man run up in you, the minute you swallow his babies, you played yourself. So stop all the damn whining and begging. Do you. Get your fuck on, and keep it moving. Luckily for me, I don’t have that problem. ’Cause I don’t give a fuck about a man’s respect. Only what’s hanging between his legs!

Between you and me—and yes, I’m an opinionated ho—I think the problem is that women have become so desperate to have someone in their lives, and in their beds, (out of fear of being alone) that they settle for a lot of unnecessary bullshit from men. As far as I’m concerned, women are responsible for the shit they choose to put up with from a man. There’s no point complaining about his ass when (nine times out of ten) you already know, or at least have an idea of, what you’re dealing with. That’s not to say that there aren’t some women who truly have no clue as to what their man is into, or capable of. But once the truth is revealed, they are responsible for their decision to leave or stay, or take his ass back. As far as I’m concerned, if they stay, then their dumb asses deserve to get whatever heart-ache and grief his trifling ass continues to bring them. If they take him back, they deserve what they get. So each of you stop the damn tears, and take the shit and piss he throws in your face like a grown-ass woman.

I often wonder how many women buy into that “It’s better to have a piece of a man, than no man at all” mess. I bet there’s hundreds of thousands, maybe even a few million women who embrace that distorted foolishness, causing them to shed tears, lose sleep, and fight to hold on to a man whom they love more than they love themselves; women who sacrifice and lose pieces of themselves for the sake of having a man in their lives, no matter the cost, no matter the loss. A part of me wants to feel sorry for them, wants to be able to empathize with them; but because I’ve never been there, I can’t bring myself to develop any level of understanding as to why any woman would choose to keep a man in her life who emotionally, mentally, physically, spiritually, and (most times) financially drains her.

But for the ones who do, does this make these chicks stupid? Does it make these women victims of their own hearts? Does it mean they lack self-love? Are they bombarded with insecurities? Do they feel trapped?

I mean, really. Why in the hell would any sane, rational woman put up with that shit? Hmmm…maybe she’s not sane. Perhaps that’s the damn problem. Her ass is downright crazy for thinking she doesn’t deserve better! Ugh! I need to go lie down. This shit has given me a damn splitting-ass headache. Later!

Produktinformationen

Titel: The Man Handler
Autor:
EAN: 9781593092757
ISBN: 978-1-59309-275-7
Format: Kartonierter Einband
Herausgeber: Simon & Schuster N.Y.
Genre: Romane & Erzählungen
Anzahl Seiten: 416
Gewicht: 361g
Größe: H210mm x B135mm x T28mm
Jahr: 2009

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