“I want you homeeee. I’ll have more. I’ll give you more babiessss,” she cried out to me.
I hated to even do this shit to her, especially since the kids were up, and downstairs, but I locked in, took a hand off her ass, so that I could lock her in by wrapping my arm around her waist, and I started straight drilling into the pussy, throwing off the rhythm that we had going on. The farts coming from her pussy was loud. I could feel her juices dripping on my thighs. Her hand reached up, putting it on my chest, running from the thrill.
“Put your hand back where you just had it,” I threatened, still in that pussy good, putting in overtime to find her spot. I was damn near right there, and that’s why her hand went on my chest because she was trying to run from the nut.
“Goddddddddddd,” she screamed, and I know the boys heard her ass.
This shit felt so fuckin good, that I couldn’t even help her out by putting a hand over her mouth. She took her hand off my chest like I told her, but she didn’t wrap her arm back around me. Instead, her nails dug into my shoulders, while I was beneath, tearing that pussy up, showing her ass no mercy.
“Lawwwwwwww…. Papi, I’m cumingggggg,” she screeched, and I held onto her tighter because my nut was right there too, and within seconds, I was milking her, and she moaned through it, loving how that felt.
“Damn! That dick so fuckin good,” she panted, kissing me on my lips after she said it.
“Bounce on it again. Wake it back up. I want to bust another one,” I suggested.
I put my mouth back on her nipples, softly sucking on them. Any time that I put my lips anywhere on her body, it didn’t take long for me to rock up again. That’s exactly what happened too. Within a matter of seconds, I was hard all over again, Yaya was back to riding me, and her second orgasm was so powerful that she literally had to bury her head into the crook of my neck, so that the boys wouldn’t hear her.
When we finished, she stood up from my lap on wobbly legs, and she limped over to the bathroom. I could hear the sink water running in the bathroom, so I knew that she was in there cleaning herself off. Moments later, she came back in the bedroom, and I could see the warm washcloth that she was carrying in her hand. She came over to me, kneeled in front of me, wiped her pussy juices from my dick, and once it was clean, she kissed the head of my dick. She cleaned off her lingering juices that were on my thighs too.
I stood up once she was done, so that I could pull up my briefs, and my slacks. The whole time that I was doing that, she was standing right in front of me, naked, invading my personal space, but I didn’t mind that shit at all. I gazed down at her, wondering just how in the hell something so beautiful, and so innocent looking could cause all the hell that she does, and stress me out the way that she does.
“Why you looking at me like that?” she wanted to know.
“You hell. You go from throwing tantrums to nothing being wrong with you. I been putting up with this shit since you were six years old,” I responded. She laughed, playfully pushed me, and she went for the bed, pulling the covers back, and she got back in.
“Come downstairs with us,” I suggested.
“I’m going back to sleep. I’m tired as hell. Enjoy dinner with our boys,” she let me know, reaching her hands out from the bed, so that I could walk over, and give her a hug. I did just that, and then I kissed her on her lips, leaving my head right in front of her.
“I hope you pregnant with twins,” I voiced. She playfully rolled her eyes.
“I hope I’m not,” she shot, and I laughed.
I kissed her one last time, and I walked away. I cut the light off in the room on my way out, and closed, and locked the door behind me. I felt like me, and Ya were going to be good this time around. We were in a good space. I just hoped that after tomorrow’s therapy session, her ass didn’t shut down and push me away because that’s what she did the first time that we did therapy. Back then, I felt like therapy had did more harm to us than it did good.
The next day
Therapy: Session 1
It was one in the afternoon, and Yaya, and I were in a cold room, where Dr. Shepherd, our therapist, would be holding our session. One of my lawyers recommended Dr. Shepherd to me. She was telling me about the tough patch that her, and her husband were in a few years ago, and how sessions with Dr. Shepherd had helped them along the way, and all the problems that they used to have, they were able to tackle them and be happy in their marriage again. She had nothing but good things to say about her, swearing by her, even telling me that if me, and Soraya didn’t like her, she would pay me back for the session. That’s just how much faith she had in her. When she explaineda little bit of Dr. Shepherd to me, I liked the fact that she was a black woman, and she was well in her fifties, so with that, I knew she was seasoned, and she came with a lot of wisdom. She’s been in this line of business for well over thirty years, so it made me feel good that we weren’t walking in here, coming to sit with a rookie. Yaya and I had deep issues that we needed to attack, so I wanted to come to the best of the best.
Yaya called me this morning around six, telling me that she was scared for our session. She was scared about the things that we were going to be forced to talk about. She was scared how heavy the load might be for her when we were forced to talk about Sarai. I knew Yaya had fears. I knew her fears were one of the main reasons why she didn’t want to do therapy, but she knew that for us to get back to a healthy spot, we had to do this shit.
We couldn’t sweep shit under the rug and not attack the issues that we had. Now that she was pregnant, and we were getting ready to start all the way over again with a brand-new baby, it was only right that we went through therapy together. I told her this morning that I was going to be here for her throughout our sessions, and even after the sessions when she had to linger on what we talked about. Hearing me say that had given her peace of mind, but even right now, as we sat down on the couch inside Dr. Shepherd’s office, Yaya was damn near trembling, as her hands were folded, placed in her lap.
Dr. Shepherd was sitting right in front of us, with her legs crossed, and there was a notepad in her lap. She’d already done the introductions, telling us a little bit about herself, and sharing all her accolades. We had an hour to be in this room with her, so I sat back comfortably, with an arm draped around Soraya, waiting for our session to start.
“Okay, we’re going to start off easy. Before we jump into the deep end with everything, I want to start off with somethinglight, so that I’m able to get a feel for you both. I’ll start with you first Soraya. Who is Soraya Crawford?” she asked, her legs crossed, and her eyes on Soraya.
Dr. Shepherd sat there in a black dress, and I wasn’t sure the brand, but the way the fabric rested against her skin, and the confidence that she had while wearing it, you could tell that it was something of high end. With her legs being crossed, you could see the red that was underneath her heel, showing off theChristian Louboutinheels that she had on. She had beautiful brown skin. Her hair was cut into a pixie, that took off years of age from her, that’s why when we arrived, Soraya and I had a hard time believing that she was in her fifties. Her desk, that was off to the side, showed the five children that she had, sitting in a picture frame. She was married as well. You couldn’t miss that big ass rock that was on her finger. Seeing the picture that was on her desk of her and her husband, where they both looked like teenagers when they got married, and knowing that they were still married, gave me hope that we’d come to the right person and that we were going to get led in the right path in getting our shit together.
“Umm, I don’t know. I’m Soraya. I’m a mom?—”
“No, no. Don’t start your response like that. I want to know who you are. I don’t want to know about the titles. Don’t tell me about your career. Just Soraya the person,” Dr. Shepherd asked her.
Yaya was being guarded. I could tell by her body language, and the way she was talking. I wasn’t going to beat on her for it because I knew this shit was hard for her. With my hand being draped around her though, I did tap at her arm, basically giving her the motivation that she needed, being subtle and letting her know that she had this.
“I feel like I’m complicated, even though I don’t try to be. At times, I feel like I’m hard to understand too. Even though I’m awoman, I like the idea of being in control. Me wanting to control situations is just my way of putting the ball in my hands because I know how quickly I am to fall apart when things get messy, and don’t go my way. I feel like I’m always trying to be strong, even when I don’t want to be. At thirty- six years old, I’ll be honest and say that I’m a person that’s still trying to figure it all out. Then, the real answer that I want to give you is that I’m tired. I’m not tired physically though. Not in a way where I’m ready to give up on life, either. Just in a way where I’m carrying so many problems, trauma, and hurt on my back, that I don’t like to talk about, so yeah… I’m tired,” Soraya opened up, and I’m glad that that’s the way she chose to answer. I thought that she was going to lie and force a polished answer by saying that she was fine, when she knew she wasn’t.
