CHAPTER FOUR
Muhf*cka, don’t front…who da f*ck you foolin’…I see it all in ya eyes…hot like fire…nigga wanna bitch to cream on da dick…tight ass gotta nigga droolin’…got ’em wantin’ to hit it ’n split it…ass clappin’…p-ssy snappin’…tongue lappin’ round dem balls…ready or not…can’t hold da nut…pressin’ on da *…muhf*cka’s dick’s ’bout to spit…
“Yeah, muhf*cka suck the walls outta this p-ssy…oh, shit, yeah…run ya long tongue on my a*shole…” I’m lyin’ on my back, smokin’ a blunt wit’ my right leg cocked up over Tone’s broad, muscular shoulder, pressin’ the heel of my foot into his back. I thrust my hips upward, grind up on his face. He’s slurpin’ ’n suckin’ all over my p-ssy; lickin’ ’round my ass, dartin’ his tongue in ’n out. I let out a moan. Palm the back of his head while blowin’ out weed smoke. “…Yeah, muhf*cka, suck my ovaries out…aaah, yessssss…”
He looks up at me; licks his sticky lips. “Damn, ma…your p-ssy tastes like cotton candy. And ya a*shole tastes even sweeter. I can eat this shit all night.”
“Then stop all that talkin’,” I say, pushin’ his head back between my thighs, “and get back on that *.” He does what he’s told. I moan, again. This nigga’s body is sick! Muscles for days, and his dick…well, it’s thick as a damn can, but the nigga musta measured it usin’ a defected ruler ’cause it ain’t no where near eight—uh, eight-and-a-half—f*ckin’ inches. Try six; maybe six-and-a-half, tops. But, his savin’ grace is that it’s a pretty golden brown dick. And it’s extra fat and juicy. Hmmph. This nigga gotta stumpy, Humpty-Dumpty cock.
See, had this been a mark, I mighta blew an extra hole in his skull for misleadin’ a bitch. I take another pull off the blunt, hold it in my lungs, then blow circles into the air. He pulls my p-ssy open, dips his tongue, then darts it in and out. In and out. “Oh, shit…Mmmph…” I reach for him, pull him up. “Get on ya back, so I can ride ya face.”
He grins, shiftin’ his body. “You wanna get it in sixty-nine. That’s wassup, ma.”
“Nigga,” I snap, pushin’ him down on his back, “ain’t nobody say shit ’bout sixty-ninin’. I’m tryna grind down on ya face. A bitch’s tryna nut on ya tongue, then suck my cream off’a it while you pumpin’ ya fat-ass cock in ’n outta me.”
“Do you, baby,” he says, layin’ back on a king-sized pillow. I take the last three pulls off the blunt, place it in the ashtray on the nightstand, then grab the headboard, straddlin’ his face, then droppin’ down on his mouth. He slurps, licks and darts his tongue all around my p-ssy lips, then in ’n outta my slit. As I’m grindin’ on his face, puffin’ on my blunt, I’m all of a sudden not beat for the nigga. Yeah, I’m moanin’, but his tongue work is only givin’ me mini-orgasms. I switch up my position, thinkin’ if I have my back to him and I stroke his dick that maybe I can get off lovely. I don’t. It’s not ’til I close my eyes and focus on that bitch’s bloody face that my nut swells and gushes out all over his grill. “Aaaaaah…uhhhh…yessssssssss…” He gags, almost chokin’ on the bucket of cream I dump into his mouth.
“Daaaaaaamn, girl,” he says, catchin’ his breath, wipin’ his chin ’n lickin’ his lips. “You got that sweet, creamy cum. And it gushes. I been with a buncha chicks but none of ’em ever shot a nut all over my face like this.” He licks his lips—again, then sucks his fingas. “Damn, you got that goodie-goodie. You can f*ck ’round and have’a muhf*cka slippin’.”
I grin, glancin’ over my shoulder at him through hazy, weed-filled eyes. This nigga’s a cutie and his body is f*ckin’ sick, but I swear I’m really ain’t beat to f*ck ’im, I think, reachin’ for his extra meaty cock. But I wanna see this fat-ass dick spit. I squeeze it, then begin slowly strokin’ it. I wrap both of my hands ’round it, spit on the head of it, then put in work. I rapidly jack his dick; edge the muhf*cka to the brink of blastin’ off, then slow down the pace, leanin’ over and twirlin’ my tongue ’round the head. The nigga moans. His dick gets thicker. And for some reason the muscles in my p-ssy start to contract.
“Bust this fat-ass dick, nigga,” I say, strokin’ him faster, harder. “Let me see this shit spit, muhf*cka.”
“Yo, ma…oh, shit, ma…You want me to nut?”
“Yeah, nigga…pop da cork, muhf*cka.” I spit on his dick some more, then spin his top wit’ one hand while strokin’ his shaft wit’ the other. The nigga’s right leg starts to shake. The head of his dick swells, the veins in his shaft pop, and the shit gets wider in my hand. OhmyGod, this nigga’s dick is fatter than a beer can. On some real shit, a bitch is shocked at how this nigga’s dick done expanded ’cause I ain’t ever seen no shit like this in my life. And a bitch done handled a buncha dick in her time; particularly before deadin’ a muhf*cka. I close my eyes, picture that ho lyin’ bloody on the bathroom floor. My p-ssy muscles clench. Steam oozes outta my slit. I decide to go for mine and f*ck ’im real quick.
“Where ya condoms? I wanna ride down on this dick.”
He catches his breath, leanin’ up. “Hol’ up…there right here.” He reaches over toward the nightstand, pullin’ open the top drawer. He snatches an opened box of Durex condoms, then dumps ’em out on the bed. I grab one, tear it open wit’ my teeth, then roll it down over his dick. I swing my body ’round to face him, reach up under me, then guide his mini-bat in me, slowly—one inch at’a time ’til my p-ssy gulps it all down. I buck my hips; rock back ’n forth, then start gallopin’ up ’n down on the dick.
I got the nigga’s eyes rollin’ up in his head. Got ’im grippin’ my waist. “Oh, f*ck…your p-ssy’s tight…gotdamn, you wet… oh, shit…”
“Yeah, nigga…take this p-ssy, muhf*cka…you like how ya fatass dick feels in this hot p-ssy, nigga?”
“Aaah, f*ck yeah, yo…aaah, shit…”
I close my eyes. Think of how I split that bitch’s shit. See her grill leakin’, and before I know it, I’m wildly ridin’ down on this nigga’s dick, talkin’ mad shit. Sayin’ shit I shoulda been keepin’ to myself. I wrap my hands around his neck. “That bitch f*cked wit’ the wrong one…Next time I’ma put heat to her forehead… aaah, shit…this fat-ass dick feels good…You want it bloody, muhf*cka? Yeah, muhf*cka…I’ma kill that bitch…”
“Yo ma…” I hear Tone’s voice, but a bitch’s in a zone.
“Yeah, bitch…ya shit’s leakin’…skank-ass, gutter-trash bitch…”
“Aaah, f*ck! Yo, what the f*ck!” Tone snaps, grabbin’ me by the wrists. He flips me off’a him, jumpin’ up outta the bed. “Yo, what the f*ck is good wit’ you, ma? You wildin’ the f*ck out, diggin’ ya nails in my neck ’n shit like that.”
Shit! A bitch was just’a ’bout to coat this nigga’s cock. I blink my eyes. Bring him into view. Blink again. Tone brings his hand up to his neck, then looks at his fingas. He’s bleedin’. I stare at his clawed neck, shocked. “I-I…ohmyGod, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Yo,” he says, pacin’ the floor holdin’ the side of his neck. “I don’t know what kinda shit you into, but I ain’t wit’ it. The p-ssy’s bangin’ but you into some wild, kinky shit, ma, for real. Diggin’ ya nails into my neck, tryna choke me out ’n shit. I’m not down with that rough sex shit, ma.” I get outta the bed, walk over to him. Try to touch him, but he jerks back.
I feel bad for f*ckin’ his neck up. “I apologize. I blacked out. I don’t know what da f*ck I was doin’. But trust me. That’s not how I like to get it in.”
He raises his brow. “Mmmph. I can’t tell,” he mumbles under his breath as he walks into his bathroom. He turns on the sink faucet; lets the water run for a few minutes, then comes back out wit’ two rags up to his neck. He stares at me; watches me slip into my Vickies. I’m pissed that I didn’t get the rest’a my nut off. “So you bouncin’?”
“Well, yeah,” I say, snappin’ my bra up, “under the circumstances.”
“Who said I was ready for you to leave?”
“Oh, you not? Even after clawin’ ya neck up.”
He shakes his head, smirkin’. “Nah, I want you to chill. I’m good. It’s a flesh wound. I’ve had worse. But I ain’t gonna front, you had’a nigga shook for a minute the way you flipped, talkin’ all crazy ’n shit.” He stares at me, frownin’. “Yo, what popped off in that bathroom with you and ole girl?”
“I beat her ass,” I say matter-of-factly. I tell ’im how I brought it to that bitch’s face, splittin’ her shit wide open.
He shakes his head, rubbin’ his chin. “Damn. You all gangsta?”
“I was born and raised in da projects. Sleepin’ on a bitch ain’t what I do. A bitch come at me slick talkin’ ’bout how she gonna bring it, then she better be ready to get it in. Sittin’ back waitin’ on a bitch to get at me ain’t how I get down.”
“Oh, shit,” he says, shakin’ his head, grinnin’. “You sexy and ruthless, ma. That’s a dangerous combination.”
If this nigga only knew. “I bet I got you thinkin’ I’ma nut, now.”
“I know you fine as hell. And you got some good-ass p-ssy.”
I laugh. “But you still think I’m a nut, don’t you?”
He grins. “Are you?”
Am I? I mean, so what if thinkin’ ’bout bustin’ a bitch’s face up and it bein’ all bloody had my p-ssy on fire, that doesn’t make me nutty. Does it? “Hell no, muhf*cka,” I say, laughin’. “I ain’t no nut. I’m a real bitch; all day, e’ery day.”
I slip into my jeans.
“Oh, word?”
“All day, e’ery day,” I repeat.
“Then do what a real bitch does, ma, and take them clothes back off and finish what you started,” he says, standin’ up. “You ain’t finish wettin’ my man up.” He walks up on me. I stare at his chunky dick. Wit’out thinkin’, I lick my lips. “And my man don’t like to be cheated outta bein’ up in some good p-ssy.”
He pulls me into him.
And instead of steppin’ outta his embrace like my mind was tellin’ me to, I let the muhf*cka scoop me up, carry me over to his bed, pull off my jeans, remove my panties and bra, then bury his face back between my legs eatin’ my already soppin’ wet p-ssy. True, I wasn’t feelin’ this nigga at first, but, right now—the way he’s comin’ at me, the nigga has me turned the f*ck on. On top of the fact a bitch still gotta nut clogged up inside ’er that needs to be plunged out.
“You gonna let me get some more’a this p-ssy, ma?” he asks, lookin’ up at me and dippin’ two fingas into my sticky snatch.
I lift my legs, bend at the knees, and part my p-ssy open wider. “Yeah, nigga…stretch my p-ssy, muhf*cka ’cause this’ll be da first and last time you hit this good shit, so you need’a get wit’ da program before I decide to change my mind and shut shit down.”
“Daaaaamn, ma, it’s like that?”
“Like I said,” massagin’ my *, eyein’ him all sexy like, “you want this p-ssy, then you betta beat this shit down, now, ’cause there ain’t gonna be no lata.”
“Then I guess I better make it pop,” he says hurriedly gettin’ up to grab another condom. He rips it open then rolls it down onto his bricked dick. “And this time, I’m on top.”
I smirk. “Whatever, muhf*cka; f*ck all that you talkin’. Feed me da dick, nigga.” He laughs, slappin’ his cock up against my *, makin’ my p-ssy twitch. The shit feels real heavy. “Stop teasin’ me, nigga,” I snap, ready for his dick to stretch me open. I tell ’im to hit it from the back, knowin’ he’s gonna spit in a matter of minutes as soon as I start makin’ my ass clap ’round his cock. A muhf*cka can’t handle this juicy shit from the back for too long.
He pushes the head in. Tip drills me, then goes all in, grabbin’ me by the hips. The nigga ain’t hittin’ the bottom, but he’s damn sure knockin’ the sides out. “Oh, f*ck…this p-ssy’s good as hell.”
I crane my neck, peep the nigga over my shoulder tossin’ his head back. I squeeze my muscles, grab at his dick. Make the nigga’s body shake. “Yeah, nigga…take this p-ssy…f*ck it wit’ that fat-ass dick…” I’m nuttin’ but it ain’t bringin’ down the walls. I close my eyes, replay beatin’ that bitch’s ass earlier, keep rewindin’ her whole grill splittin’ open. I start buckin’ my hips, throwin’ the ass up on the dick.
“Oh, f*ck…aaaaah, shit…you not gonna let me hit this p-ssy again, ma?”
I grunt. “No, muhf*cka…” My nut is swellin’; my walls are shakin’. This nigga’s dick is stretchin’ me, but it ain’t guttin’ me. I squeeze my eyes tight. Blood splatters. “…uhhhhh…”
My p-ssy rapidly milks his dick.
“Ohhh, f*ck yeah…just like that…squeeze that dick…aaahhh shit, ma…can I get some more’a this good shit, ma? I wanna keep hittin’ this wet p-ssy…”
More blood splatters.
I’m on the verge of crashin’ waves of creamy p-ssy juice. I urge the nigga to hit it harder; to dig it out faster. I’m almost there. I slide my hand between my legs, take two fingas and work my *. More blood splatters. “Uhhhh…fuuuucccck me…”
“Can I keep hittin’ this p-ssy, ma?”
“Uhhh…nooooo, nigga…aaaah…”
“Let me keep hittin’ this, ma…”
“Uhhhhh…Shut da f*ck up and fuuuuuuuck meeeee, muhhhhhf*cka…”
He starts slappin’ my ass. I block out his grunts and groans. Concentrate on my fist connectin’ to that bitch’s face. More blood splatters. But it’s not enough to spin’a bitch into a seizure. I need more.
“Bang it harder, muhf*cka…is that all you got? What, you scared of da p-ssy, nigga?”
He grabs me by the waist, rapidly slams himself in ’n outta me.
“Oh, you wanna talk shit, ma? You want a muhf*cka to beat ya guts in?”
I’m clutchin’ the sheets. My eyes are shut tight. I have a 9mm wit’ a silencer in my hand. I buck my hips. Moan. “Uhhhhhh… ohhhhh, shiiiiiit…”
I slam my chrome into that booga bear’s grill, knockin’ her fronts out. More blood splatters. I let out another loud moan.
“Ohhhh, shit, ma, your p-ssy is soooooo f*ckin’ wet…Goddaaaaamn…”
“Fucccccck me…fuuuuuccccck me…” I chant, wildly windin’ my hips ’n bangin’ my ass back up on the dick. I raise my gun. “Uhhhhhh…oohhhhh, yesssssss…”
I pull the trigger.
“Yesssssssssssssss….”
I pull the trigger, again.
My p-ssy muscles squeeze this nigga’s dick in sync to me dumpin’ my clip into her dome.