As each inch slid inside of her nest, her muscles retracted around the width of my shaft and snapped back like a Venus flytrap. It was almost as if we never fu**ed at all. Like her sh*t seemed to just snap back into place. I loved pu$$y like that.
You know when you slide off in some pu$$y that you just hit a few hours before? Almost like it loses its zeal, its snap. New pu$$y to me was like buying a new car. You savor that sh*t...
Her inside parts dripped with a slow, honey-like fervor, each stroke pulling at her lips.
But going back to the earlier though:
I had already made love to the pu$$y earlier the night before. What was the point of making all that nice sh*t when the bi**h wasn't gonna pay no more. Well...technically, she wasn't gonna pay because I just wanted another stab at it for the sake of argument. I had the right to decide that. The way I saw it was if I fu**ed her good the first time, make her cum like she hasn't in a while, I can f**k on my own accord with or without her permission.
I wanted to keep up a steady pace, a nice rhythm to where she can get her fix and I could just do my thing.
Last night, I had the sh*t set up perfect though. My sole purpose was to treat her like the woman she wanted to be treated like. I could tell in a conversation with her how she was teetering on the edge of being the passive-aggressive type. You know...the one who likes the control but simply prefers a man to just take the lead and f**k her like a real soldier would.
The friction between us sent a warm rage into my loins. I wasn't ready to cum yet, but I really didn't want to slow wind it like I did last night.
Her face squirmed as it should have, so I thought I would switch the game up on her. My slow, rhythmic groove would consistently be interrupted by a very strong, lusty thrust against her pelvis. With each bang, she would cringe in delight uttering something I couldn't quite make out. Whatever it was, the young cunt was turning me on.
(To Be Continued)
Friday, February 12, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Un Rápido Molesta (Carrie Daniels-Rdoriguez)
Slender...that's what I would use to describe her. But not that small, skinny, model type. She had the proportions just right for her size. I'd say 5'6....120...flat stomach, slim waist and dynamite legs that held up her tight, stout ass.
She told me last nite that she was mixed. Black...some Dominican...No wonder her skin shone like she had be covered in the best finish. The chick was made as if she was to be bronzed and then devoured.
Short phrases she blurted when the suckle against her nipples would make her feel good.
"Ay, Papi...Hágame me siento bien"
Her lust grew inside my mouth as her body heat grew from my fingers parading up her legs. The pu$$y ran over with excitement as the opening of her lips was moist with pleasure and wanting. The first two fingers slowly pulled the outer lips back as her pink flesh seemed to greet us with little abandon.
I remember having so much fun with this pu$$y last nite. I wined her, attended to her wishes and fantasies...then I tapped that ass like a pimp was supposed to.
See the thing about it is that the "marks" think they are so hip to the game. When they make the agreement, they figure they are going to get exactly what they paid for. You know: Dinner, dancing, a good f**k, and call it a nite.
You know how I've been able to keep my sh*t wrapped so tight all this time???
Because I did more than what she expected or liked. I smashed her walls to the outer limits. I tuned my di*k to her mind and stroked it just as I had stroked her. It was all about the stroke.
She was just as inviting as she had been the night before. The head squeezed into her awaiting space as the girth of my rod stretched her with ecstasy. A sweet moan to brace for the ensuing onslaught, she kept her eyes closed until I reached the end and then she looked at me...and smiled:
"Usted es tan malo..."
"Si'...," I replied.
(To Be Continued)
She told me last nite that she was mixed. Black...some Dominican...No wonder her skin shone like she had be covered in the best finish. The chick was made as if she was to be bronzed and then devoured.
Short phrases she blurted when the suckle against her nipples would make her feel good.
"Ay, Papi...Hágame me siento bien"
Her lust grew inside my mouth as her body heat grew from my fingers parading up her legs. The pu$$y ran over with excitement as the opening of her lips was moist with pleasure and wanting. The first two fingers slowly pulled the outer lips back as her pink flesh seemed to greet us with little abandon.
I remember having so much fun with this pu$$y last nite. I wined her, attended to her wishes and fantasies...then I tapped that ass like a pimp was supposed to.
See the thing about it is that the "marks" think they are so hip to the game. When they make the agreement, they figure they are going to get exactly what they paid for. You know: Dinner, dancing, a good f**k, and call it a nite.
You know how I've been able to keep my sh*t wrapped so tight all this time???
Because I did more than what she expected or liked. I smashed her walls to the outer limits. I tuned my di*k to her mind and stroked it just as I had stroked her. It was all about the stroke.
She was just as inviting as she had been the night before. The head squeezed into her awaiting space as the girth of my rod stretched her with ecstasy. A sweet moan to brace for the ensuing onslaught, she kept her eyes closed until I reached the end and then she looked at me...and smiled:
"Usted es tan malo..."
"Si'...," I replied.
(To Be Continued)
Dentro de su lugar suave...Part Uno (Carrie Daniels-Rodriguez)
You don't even wanna know where I've been the past month. All you need to know is that I am alive and well. Because that kinda story...Damn...Gotta move along.
She'd never tell it. But I bet the b**ch was feeling like Lady Gaga...talking about how she wanted my love...
Well, trust me. The sh*t ain't free.
I had run into Carrie before. I just couldn't put my finger on it. The Twelve in Atlantic Station, maybe? Twist? Duggans???
Maybe my brain was going bad. Or maybe it was those black, liquid leggings that she had on as she stalked around the club some hours before. I normally didn't make it a habit of staying with a "mark," but she was the first piece of young pu$$y that Colony had set me up with since I got back in town...so...you know...
F**k it...Yes, I laid up with her. Damn...
You don't know what that s**t was like. Being ducked off like some kinda fugitive. Hiding out from place to place like some scared ass kid running away from home. Colony had me all over the middle of nowhere, peeking around corners and looking out for anyone suspicious who might have been looking for me.
See, here I go...telling you sh*t you don't need to know. Hell, I prolly shouldn't even be writing this down. Maybe it was the lure of the story. The danger. The intrigue. The money...
I will say this though, when you f**king with Colony, you better tighten that sh*t up. She doesn't play about her money....especially if you were messing with her golden goose--ME.
Carrie slinked back into the bed besides me. She had on these low-key specs, kinda like Mrs. Manning, my 10th grade business ed teacher had. Actually, Carrie was a teacher. Taught some language class to some Hispanic students...Korean...f**k, somebody's students. All I know is that when I slipped my hands around her little succulent C cups, sucking her mocha brown nipples like a hungry young lion cub, she moaned out some of the sexiest Spanish sh*t I had ever heard.
The b**ch could've been saying "Ni##@ I hate you;" but looking up at her slender face writhing in delight, her lusty pink lips pressed together...her squirming said "More...please..."
Her roaming hands slipped between my legs...jackpot!!!
A sudden sigh left her mouth. She wouldn't even have to pay this time. She knew what she was gonna get...where she wanted me...
Dentro de su lugar suave...
(To Be Continued)
She'd never tell it. But I bet the b**ch was feeling like Lady Gaga...talking about how she wanted my love...
Well, trust me. The sh*t ain't free.
I had run into Carrie before. I just couldn't put my finger on it. The Twelve in Atlantic Station, maybe? Twist? Duggans???
Maybe my brain was going bad. Or maybe it was those black, liquid leggings that she had on as she stalked around the club some hours before. I normally didn't make it a habit of staying with a "mark," but she was the first piece of young pu$$y that Colony had set me up with since I got back in town...so...you know...
F**k it...Yes, I laid up with her. Damn...
You don't know what that s**t was like. Being ducked off like some kinda fugitive. Hiding out from place to place like some scared ass kid running away from home. Colony had me all over the middle of nowhere, peeking around corners and looking out for anyone suspicious who might have been looking for me.
See, here I go...telling you sh*t you don't need to know. Hell, I prolly shouldn't even be writing this down. Maybe it was the lure of the story. The danger. The intrigue. The money...
I will say this though, when you f**king with Colony, you better tighten that sh*t up. She doesn't play about her money....especially if you were messing with her golden goose--ME.
Carrie slinked back into the bed besides me. She had on these low-key specs, kinda like Mrs. Manning, my 10th grade business ed teacher had. Actually, Carrie was a teacher. Taught some language class to some Hispanic students...Korean...f**k, somebody's students. All I know is that when I slipped my hands around her little succulent C cups, sucking her mocha brown nipples like a hungry young lion cub, she moaned out some of the sexiest Spanish sh*t I had ever heard.
The b**ch could've been saying "Ni##@ I hate you;" but looking up at her slender face writhing in delight, her lusty pink lips pressed together...her squirming said "More...please..."
Her roaming hands slipped between my legs...jackpot!!!
A sudden sigh left her mouth. She wouldn't even have to pay this time. She knew what she was gonna get...where she wanted me...
Dentro de su lugar suave...
(To Be Continued)
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Sex Therapy...Part 3, Open Wide (Adrian)
The deeper she looked into my eyes, the tighter her grip on my rod became. The blood in my system rushed to my shaft as the took her free hand and ran it down my sides and along my ass. An exhale followed a slow, long stroke of my manhood. She was pleased.
"Now, doctor, since you are so used to asking others questions, how about I ask a few of my own?"
A dear-in-headlights look must have been her way or saying that I was messing up her flow. But it was all a plan. Somehow, even my regulars still can't tell that when you f**k with Braylon Davis, there is always a plan...and I am always in control.
"I'd rather not be questioned," she replied. "I'd rather just have you."
Lusty trick...You'll have what I want you to have. And you will enjoy what I give you...
She grabbed me tighter, looking to invoke some type of control, yet with another flick of the tongue, her mind fell back into my trance. Her eyes rolled as we were now pressed upon the other and she began to kiss my chest.
Roaming finger dipped below the hem of her blouse to tug at the button holding her black skirt in black. Not that I cared much for bikini briefs, but she looked damn good enough in them. From what I was told, it was a comfort thing.
I cupped her sweet, firm ass with two hands. Not once had she tensed up, trying to stare me down again so to not lose control. Little did she even care to evaluate that I had already won the battle, and I was seeking to win the war of the flesh.
"Braylon," she stopped me in mid exploration. "I'm not some type of whore like the ones you met in the club. I have my own mind; and although what you do I find somewhat horrendously fascinating, you're not going to fu*k me like some whore that pays you because she's looking for the attention."
Smart girl...but not smart enough...
With a swift whip of the hands, I grabbed Adrian by the arms and stuck my writhing tongue down her throat. See, what the chicks with money fail to realize is that regardless of how independent you may want to be or are, your pu**y is a tool. The problem is if the ni**a wanting to use your tool is bold enough to take it...strong enough to control it...raw enough to master it to do his bidding. Any clownd*ck could fu*k and bust a nut, but if I didn't give this bi**h a good showing, the real problem she had would be worse than what it already was before I propositioned her.
"Now what you are going to do, Dr. Praylo," I said loosening my grip on her arms before hoisting her up to straddle my waist, "is whatever I want."
"See where you have me first fu*ked up at is that you think I'm going to make you pay for this d*ck. Wrong. You got money already and probably lots of it. So if I wanted your money, I could've fu*ked you like the whore you often want to be, knocked your ass out, and robbed you."
I had her attention now. Dropping her on the couch, I stood over her. My penis sat up at attention, strong enough to plow through a wall...preferably hers.
"Secondly, you're a freak. You have your degrees and your commendations and such. But you didn't study sex and theories about it for years just so you could tell people what's wrong with them."
I was hitting the nail on the head. With each spewing truth, her fire burned. I had now lay between her legs, basically stealing her essence. The noises her pu**y made were faint like that of a dog whistle: Only I could hear them.
Easily her panties came off as I broke down her psyche. She wasn't in tears like some of the sensitive hoes I had encountered, but she was concerned yet excited that someone could figure her out. She was probably tired of me talking and waiting on me to either feast on her steamy, hairless lust cave...or at least finish undressing her.
The waterfalls of her body splashed around as a finger probed her womanly channels. It was still daytime and much light to be had on the fourth floor office so I couldn't help but notice the odd, yet seemingly enticing mole that lie on her bubble gum-pink clit.
Mmmmmm...mmmmm...good.
"Now, doctor, since you are so used to asking others questions, how about I ask a few of my own?"
A dear-in-headlights look must have been her way or saying that I was messing up her flow. But it was all a plan. Somehow, even my regulars still can't tell that when you f**k with Braylon Davis, there is always a plan...and I am always in control.
"I'd rather not be questioned," she replied. "I'd rather just have you."
Lusty trick...You'll have what I want you to have. And you will enjoy what I give you...
She grabbed me tighter, looking to invoke some type of control, yet with another flick of the tongue, her mind fell back into my trance. Her eyes rolled as we were now pressed upon the other and she began to kiss my chest.
Roaming finger dipped below the hem of her blouse to tug at the button holding her black skirt in black. Not that I cared much for bikini briefs, but she looked damn good enough in them. From what I was told, it was a comfort thing.
I cupped her sweet, firm ass with two hands. Not once had she tensed up, trying to stare me down again so to not lose control. Little did she even care to evaluate that I had already won the battle, and I was seeking to win the war of the flesh.
"Braylon," she stopped me in mid exploration. "I'm not some type of whore like the ones you met in the club. I have my own mind; and although what you do I find somewhat horrendously fascinating, you're not going to fu*k me like some whore that pays you because she's looking for the attention."
Smart girl...but not smart enough...
With a swift whip of the hands, I grabbed Adrian by the arms and stuck my writhing tongue down her throat. See, what the chicks with money fail to realize is that regardless of how independent you may want to be or are, your pu**y is a tool. The problem is if the ni**a wanting to use your tool is bold enough to take it...strong enough to control it...raw enough to master it to do his bidding. Any clownd*ck could fu*k and bust a nut, but if I didn't give this bi**h a good showing, the real problem she had would be worse than what it already was before I propositioned her.
"Now what you are going to do, Dr. Praylo," I said loosening my grip on her arms before hoisting her up to straddle my waist, "is whatever I want."
"See where you have me first fu*ked up at is that you think I'm going to make you pay for this d*ck. Wrong. You got money already and probably lots of it. So if I wanted your money, I could've fu*ked you like the whore you often want to be, knocked your ass out, and robbed you."
I had her attention now. Dropping her on the couch, I stood over her. My penis sat up at attention, strong enough to plow through a wall...preferably hers.
"Secondly, you're a freak. You have your degrees and your commendations and such. But you didn't study sex and theories about it for years just so you could tell people what's wrong with them."
I was hitting the nail on the head. With each spewing truth, her fire burned. I had now lay between her legs, basically stealing her essence. The noises her pu**y made were faint like that of a dog whistle: Only I could hear them.
Easily her panties came off as I broke down her psyche. She wasn't in tears like some of the sensitive hoes I had encountered, but she was concerned yet excited that someone could figure her out. She was probably tired of me talking and waiting on me to either feast on her steamy, hairless lust cave...or at least finish undressing her.
The waterfalls of her body splashed around as a finger probed her womanly channels. It was still daytime and much light to be had on the fourth floor office so I couldn't help but notice the odd, yet seemingly enticing mole that lie on her bubble gum-pink clit.
Mmmmmm...mmmmm...good.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Sex Therapy...Part 2 Continued (Adrian)
Adrian's eyes grew wide as she wasn't sure to stay in the office or wait outside for the guards.
"You can't expect me to believe that you've never seen a man naked in your office before...For heaven's sake, you're a sex therapist."
Ashamed I was not to be in her presence, stark naked with only a smile to greet the good doctor Praylo upon her return.
"I have," she replied. "I'm just not sure why you are."
Who the f**k does this chick take me for???
"Well, Adrian, you have a problem..."
Another frown. I must've insulted her.
"Excuse me??? A problem with what???"
Second mistake: Facial expressions tell more than what most folks want others to know. If you can read someone's face, you can basically diagnose the real issue.
"You have a problem," I replied. "The way I see it, you help people who want to work on their sex lives...people who either want to try to find ways to have better sex or ways to curb their urges to have more sex when it becomes a problem that effects their progress in becoming functioning members of society, right?"
She tried hard not to stare. She was probably taught by a man, maybe a father or an older brother, a teacher even, to always look a person in their eyes. That she shouldn't stare no matter what. That staring was a sign of disrespect. Yet, I could feel her stalking ever inch of my body in her mind.
Yes, b***ch, I came to your office strictly for the purposes to sex you. These abs aren't going anywhere. And the d**k is no imitation. I was built to please pu**y. Look all you want because you're either going to thank me or hate me later.
A buzz came from the phone's intercom system. "Dr. Praylo..."
That must've been the cue that the guards had arrived. Time was ticking as if she could get to the door...
"Just a second, Paula."
Adrian moved closer. Watching her approach, I instantly flashed back to the club when I approached her at the bar. She was upfront about the basis of her intentions of being in a place like that, knowing that sex was more of a leisure activity that could be bought for the right price. She said she wanted to use her experience for a book that she was writing. As cool as she tried to play off my offer to be apart of her research, it was no coincidence that she had left her card at the bar for me once I had left to tend to some business that Colony had summoned me for.
"So, Mr. Davis, you seem to have me all figured out."
F**kin' right. There was that aggression I was looking for. Chicks like her, who want to be the best at their profession, always tend to have issues with control. And when a man who is of equal mind capacity calls their bluff, the more a certain pseudo-male bravado comes out...just to see if the person doing the calling out is capable of making good on his threats/bets.
Not yet fully aroused, but very much excited, I pressed closer to Adrian. Her sweet breath floated near my nose as she looked up and positioned herself to have direct access to my lips...
"Dr. Praylo," Paula interrupted again. "You have a package at the desk."
She didn't have no damn package at the desk. The old woman was just trying to get her out to take care of this issue with the guards. Can't get mad though. She was just doing her job.
"Paula, please sign for it for me. I'll get it in a second. Disregard what I said earlier."
Ever seen one of those cartoons where the snake is trying to hypnotize it's prey and their eyes start to swirl? I could feel her heart beat. I could hear her pu**y get wet just by listening to her breathe. Now that was some pimp sh*t...
"So doctor, while you're diagnosing all these addicts and self-deprived lust buckets, who diagnoses you???"
She leaned up to kiss me. I never gave her my rules on kissing, so she should have gotten a pass, right? F**k no...
"What do you mean," she said. "I don't need anyone to diagnose me..."
How's about I try this again. Seductively, I traced her lips in a teasing manner. Her anticipation for me to fully engage her gave her some indication that I was going to dive into her opening lips and take her.
Wrong again...
"Adrian, I think you should be a patient...that you should see someone to help you..."
She liked my game. Her petite hands loomed near the shaft of my rod, not yet grabbing me but anticipating that she would be able to grab and take it at a moment's notice. She needed that sense of some type of control as the more I probed her mind for answers, the more anxious she got.
"And I take it that you would be the one to diagnose me, Mr. Davis..."
If she didn't know by now what a sly smile and a hard di*k meant, she must really have been hurting for a squirt.
Easily, her hands slipped over my hardness. Her soft skin brushed against the tight skin of my shaft, caressing the beast I was set to unleash on her.
"Yes ma'am," I replied before teasing her lips again only to gently bite her soft bottom lip. "But no more, Mr. Davis..."
Just call me B.A.D.
(To be continued)
"You can't expect me to believe that you've never seen a man naked in your office before...For heaven's sake, you're a sex therapist."
Ashamed I was not to be in her presence, stark naked with only a smile to greet the good doctor Praylo upon her return.
"I have," she replied. "I'm just not sure why you are."
Who the f**k does this chick take me for???
"Well, Adrian, you have a problem..."
Another frown. I must've insulted her.
"Excuse me??? A problem with what???"
Second mistake: Facial expressions tell more than what most folks want others to know. If you can read someone's face, you can basically diagnose the real issue.
"You have a problem," I replied. "The way I see it, you help people who want to work on their sex lives...people who either want to try to find ways to have better sex or ways to curb their urges to have more sex when it becomes a problem that effects their progress in becoming functioning members of society, right?"
She tried hard not to stare. She was probably taught by a man, maybe a father or an older brother, a teacher even, to always look a person in their eyes. That she shouldn't stare no matter what. That staring was a sign of disrespect. Yet, I could feel her stalking ever inch of my body in her mind.
Yes, b***ch, I came to your office strictly for the purposes to sex you. These abs aren't going anywhere. And the d**k is no imitation. I was built to please pu**y. Look all you want because you're either going to thank me or hate me later.
A buzz came from the phone's intercom system. "Dr. Praylo..."
That must've been the cue that the guards had arrived. Time was ticking as if she could get to the door...
"Just a second, Paula."
Adrian moved closer. Watching her approach, I instantly flashed back to the club when I approached her at the bar. She was upfront about the basis of her intentions of being in a place like that, knowing that sex was more of a leisure activity that could be bought for the right price. She said she wanted to use her experience for a book that she was writing. As cool as she tried to play off my offer to be apart of her research, it was no coincidence that she had left her card at the bar for me once I had left to tend to some business that Colony had summoned me for.
"So, Mr. Davis, you seem to have me all figured out."
F**kin' right. There was that aggression I was looking for. Chicks like her, who want to be the best at their profession, always tend to have issues with control. And when a man who is of equal mind capacity calls their bluff, the more a certain pseudo-male bravado comes out...just to see if the person doing the calling out is capable of making good on his threats/bets.
Not yet fully aroused, but very much excited, I pressed closer to Adrian. Her sweet breath floated near my nose as she looked up and positioned herself to have direct access to my lips...
"Dr. Praylo," Paula interrupted again. "You have a package at the desk."
She didn't have no damn package at the desk. The old woman was just trying to get her out to take care of this issue with the guards. Can't get mad though. She was just doing her job.
"Paula, please sign for it for me. I'll get it in a second. Disregard what I said earlier."
Ever seen one of those cartoons where the snake is trying to hypnotize it's prey and their eyes start to swirl? I could feel her heart beat. I could hear her pu**y get wet just by listening to her breathe. Now that was some pimp sh*t...
"So doctor, while you're diagnosing all these addicts and self-deprived lust buckets, who diagnoses you???"
She leaned up to kiss me. I never gave her my rules on kissing, so she should have gotten a pass, right? F**k no...
"What do you mean," she said. "I don't need anyone to diagnose me..."
How's about I try this again. Seductively, I traced her lips in a teasing manner. Her anticipation for me to fully engage her gave her some indication that I was going to dive into her opening lips and take her.
Wrong again...
"Adrian, I think you should be a patient...that you should see someone to help you..."
She liked my game. Her petite hands loomed near the shaft of my rod, not yet grabbing me but anticipating that she would be able to grab and take it at a moment's notice. She needed that sense of some type of control as the more I probed her mind for answers, the more anxious she got.
"And I take it that you would be the one to diagnose me, Mr. Davis..."
If she didn't know by now what a sly smile and a hard di*k meant, she must really have been hurting for a squirt.
Easily, her hands slipped over my hardness. Her soft skin brushed against the tight skin of my shaft, caressing the beast I was set to unleash on her.
"Yes ma'am," I replied before teasing her lips again only to gently bite her soft bottom lip. "But no more, Mr. Davis..."
Just call me B.A.D.
(To be continued)
Sex Therapy...Part 1 (Adrian)
The middle aged white woman sitting at the desk looked me up and down before attempting to even ask what I was doing in the office. Part of me wanted to check her and tell her something very ugly; but then again, no telling what type of people she encountered on a daily basis, so I figured it was just force of habit.
"I'm here to see Dr. Praylo. She should be expecting me."
As the woman fumbled around her desk to find the appointment book and inform the good doctor that I was here to see her, I quickly studied her mannerisms...the things around her...things that would likely attempt to lighten her mood.
PAULA ERNST
45..maybe 50. Ring in the middle finger so she was married. The wrinkles on her face meant only that she may just be one of those badly aging white people, she smokes, or stress from family life.
"And you name is what again, sir," Paula rechecked.
"Davis...Braylon Davis."
A slip of her face might have been a concern as the doctor's reaction may have tipped her off that I had come in without an appointment.
"She'll be right with you."
Sweetly, I winked at Paula. "Thank you, ma'am."
I hadn't even sit down yet to wait when she peeked her head out the door to see me.
The look of shock on her face was subtle enough as to not alarm Paula that I was unannounced, nor was I hear to really have an appointment with the doctor...at least the kind she normally conducted.
"Mr. Davis..."
From what I could remember at the club, she had calming, dark brown eyes, but the closer I got to her, I got the sense of one of those "what the hell are you doing here" moments.
"Good afternoon, Doctor," I said as she closed the door behind us.
Now the real stuff...
"Um...Braylon, Mr. Davis, or whatever your name is..." she said. "I'm not sure how you found me, but I'm not sure how appropriate this is with you coming by my place of business and interrupting. "
I was barging in. And I truthfully knew exactly what I was doing when I walked in the door of her practice and told the receptionist to call her and announce that I was here. Now I understood her concern, but I was here on a pleasure call. Might take a second since she's one of those intellectuals and she'd probably be trying to dissect me in her head as we spoke, but little did she know.
"First off, Adrian..."
She must have not liked to be referred to by her first name when supposedly on business. Maybe she didn't notice the slight frown when I called her first name, but I was well aware of it.
First mistake...a complex that is ushered in by a fear of not having enough authority in her role as a professional.
"Dr. Praylo, it is..." she replied.
"Yes, ma'am..."
For a few minutes I engaged her about her work, slyly playing off the fact that she really didn't want me to be in her office or that she may have just been uncomfortable at the fact that I may have been assessing her as well.
It was more so small talk. About her life...her practice...her book she mentioned to me a few nights before at the club. It must've been aggravating as she gave some pretty short answers. Maybe the reason she came to the club was to experience the culture, the "life" I live. The sins that get me paid...
"Mr. Davis, I'm sorry could you excuse me for a second?"
"Sure."
Her leaving was just my cue. If I guessed right, she was probably going to tell her receptionist to get the building's security to come and escort me out. Yet, and again, if I guessed right...and my plan works...Adrian A. Praylo would be most compelled to take me on as a patient.
"I'm here to see Dr. Praylo. She should be expecting me."
As the woman fumbled around her desk to find the appointment book and inform the good doctor that I was here to see her, I quickly studied her mannerisms...the things around her...things that would likely attempt to lighten her mood.
PAULA ERNST
45..maybe 50. Ring in the middle finger so she was married. The wrinkles on her face meant only that she may just be one of those badly aging white people, she smokes, or stress from family life.
"And you name is what again, sir," Paula rechecked.
"Davis...Braylon Davis."
A slip of her face might have been a concern as the doctor's reaction may have tipped her off that I had come in without an appointment.
"She'll be right with you."
Sweetly, I winked at Paula. "Thank you, ma'am."
I hadn't even sit down yet to wait when she peeked her head out the door to see me.
The look of shock on her face was subtle enough as to not alarm Paula that I was unannounced, nor was I hear to really have an appointment with the doctor...at least the kind she normally conducted.
"Mr. Davis..."
From what I could remember at the club, she had calming, dark brown eyes, but the closer I got to her, I got the sense of one of those "what the hell are you doing here" moments.
"Good afternoon, Doctor," I said as she closed the door behind us.
Now the real stuff...
"Um...Braylon, Mr. Davis, or whatever your name is..." she said. "I'm not sure how you found me, but I'm not sure how appropriate this is with you coming by my place of business and interrupting. "
I was barging in. And I truthfully knew exactly what I was doing when I walked in the door of her practice and told the receptionist to call her and announce that I was here. Now I understood her concern, but I was here on a pleasure call. Might take a second since she's one of those intellectuals and she'd probably be trying to dissect me in her head as we spoke, but little did she know.
"First off, Adrian..."
She must have not liked to be referred to by her first name when supposedly on business. Maybe she didn't notice the slight frown when I called her first name, but I was well aware of it.
First mistake...a complex that is ushered in by a fear of not having enough authority in her role as a professional.
"Dr. Praylo, it is..." she replied.
"Yes, ma'am..."
For a few minutes I engaged her about her work, slyly playing off the fact that she really didn't want me to be in her office or that she may have just been uncomfortable at the fact that I may have been assessing her as well.
It was more so small talk. About her life...her practice...her book she mentioned to me a few nights before at the club. It must've been aggravating as she gave some pretty short answers. Maybe the reason she came to the club was to experience the culture, the "life" I live. The sins that get me paid...
"Mr. Davis, I'm sorry could you excuse me for a second?"
"Sure."
Her leaving was just my cue. If I guessed right, she was probably going to tell her receptionist to get the building's security to come and escort me out. Yet, and again, if I guessed right...and my plan works...Adrian A. Praylo would be most compelled to take me on as a patient.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
The Pleasure Principles Rule #1: Conversation
Any man can pull out his d**k and stick it in a woman. Hell, my 13 year old cousin, Chris, can do that. You wanna be a major player in the "skins" game (and I ain't talking about golf), you got to bring more to the table than what you got in your pants. Say the average man can really hold himself maybe 30 or 40 minutes, right? Cool. But in my experience with women, and the business of profiting off their pleasure, you f**k a lady that long. You stiff a bi**h or a ho with a hard batch of d**k, 10-15 minutes tops, and you send her on her merry way. That's just the way of the world.
Yet, where does the money come into play?
Hold on, my friend...I will get there.
Haste will obviously be your biggest problem.
When you f**king with a LADY, especially one in a metropolitan city like Atlanta, you have to realize that d**k comes a dime a dozen. She can toss a quarter in the street and hit a ni**a that wants to f**k within the first 5 minutes (if that long). He could be a pizza delivery guy...a dope boy...a CEO of a Fortune 500 company...or another bum ass ni**a.
You...you're just ordinary. A 9-5 job...a $25,000 car...barely enough $$$ to get into a decent club, let alone VIP.
And yet, how does she choose?
Conversation.
It's what separates all men. The type of women I serve as clients to my business automatically know they can use their money, power, and pu**y to get anything they want. They stalk the grounds like a confident man does when he enters a boardroom knowing he is about to seal a big deal. They laugh at meager attempts to buy their affection or time by offering to buy rounds of drinks for her and her girls. And when they go home to their empty condo or to their limp-natured husbands, the one thing they forgot to ask was:
How was your day?
The power of engaging a woman in a decent conversation is almost like a lost art; however, when you are able to hold your own on topics ranging from politics to religion to sports to the Wall Street Journal, a woman will gladly pay for that. She is intrigued by a man that does more than peer into her blouse to get a peek at her breasts even though they are clearly showing. She checks your intentions before you even walk over to her, yet mix a tantalizing convo with a bit of charm, and the fire is already lit within her inner walls.
She rides your d**k like there is no tomorrow. She sucks, f**ks, and bucks you like she hasn't had a man in years.
It's not that she can't have it. It's not that she can't get it. It's about a man who is pleasing to the mind. Not that physical aesthetics aren't just as pleasing, but with d**k being so easily available, being able to ease her mind with meaningful banter rather than barbaric advances of lust is worth it's weight in gold.
And I do mean GOLD....
Ask about me.
B.A.D.
Yet, where does the money come into play?
Hold on, my friend...I will get there.
Haste will obviously be your biggest problem.
When you f**king with a LADY, especially one in a metropolitan city like Atlanta, you have to realize that d**k comes a dime a dozen. She can toss a quarter in the street and hit a ni**a that wants to f**k within the first 5 minutes (if that long). He could be a pizza delivery guy...a dope boy...a CEO of a Fortune 500 company...or another bum ass ni**a.
You...you're just ordinary. A 9-5 job...a $25,000 car...barely enough $$$ to get into a decent club, let alone VIP.
And yet, how does she choose?
Conversation.
It's what separates all men. The type of women I serve as clients to my business automatically know they can use their money, power, and pu**y to get anything they want. They stalk the grounds like a confident man does when he enters a boardroom knowing he is about to seal a big deal. They laugh at meager attempts to buy their affection or time by offering to buy rounds of drinks for her and her girls. And when they go home to their empty condo or to their limp-natured husbands, the one thing they forgot to ask was:
How was your day?
The power of engaging a woman in a decent conversation is almost like a lost art; however, when you are able to hold your own on topics ranging from politics to religion to sports to the Wall Street Journal, a woman will gladly pay for that. She is intrigued by a man that does more than peer into her blouse to get a peek at her breasts even though they are clearly showing. She checks your intentions before you even walk over to her, yet mix a tantalizing convo with a bit of charm, and the fire is already lit within her inner walls.
She rides your d**k like there is no tomorrow. She sucks, f**ks, and bucks you like she hasn't had a man in years.
It's not that she can't have it. It's not that she can't get it. It's about a man who is pleasing to the mind. Not that physical aesthetics aren't just as pleasing, but with d**k being so easily available, being able to ease her mind with meaningful banter rather than barbaric advances of lust is worth it's weight in gold.
And I do mean GOLD....
Ask about me.
B.A.D.
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