CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Mad hot…’bout to bring da heat…gotta bitch spittin’fire… can’t change what a muhf*cka’s done…f*ckin’ wit’ a buncha birds…but a bitch bringin’ drama to my door…I ain’t da one…I guess I’ma haveta bring it to this whore…
The next mornin’, this muhf*cka starts beatin’ a bitch in the head again, tryna convince me to give ’im a try. Truth is, the minute he pulled me into his arms last night, my mind was already made up. Of course, I don’t tell ’im this. I decide to let the nigga sweat. Besides, I still need’a be sure ’bout it.
“Yo, you aiight?” he asks, circlin’ my nipple wit’ the tip of his finga. I nod, closin’ my eyes. His finga feels good teasin’ my nipple. He stops, leans in, then wets it wit’ his tongue. I moan as grabs my otha titty and starts squeezin’. He pinches my nipple.
“Ooooh…”
His hand slowly roams down my stomach ’til his fingas find my *. He presses, starts massagin’ it.
“Aaaaah…”
“You like that?” He slips two fingas in my p-ssy, strokes my * wit’ his thumb.
My p-ssy grabs his fingas. He finga f*cks me knuckles deep, pushin’ his two long, thick fingas in ’n out. The nigga’s workin’ my nipple wit’ his mouth and my box wit’ his fingas. I spread my legs, bend at the knees. Let out another moan.
“I want some breakfast,” he says, lookin’ up at me.
Whaaat? Is this nigga serious? I know he don’t think I’ma be flippin’ up no muthaf*ckin’ waffles ’n shit up in here. I snap my eyes open.
He’s grinnin’ at me. “You ready to feed Daddy?”
“You ain’t my daddy, nigga. And I ain’t feedin’ you.” He speeds up his finga work, cups his two fingas upward inside’a me.
I moan again.
“Yeah, you nuttin’ on Daddy’s fingers. Daaaamn, baby, ya shit’s so f*ckin’ wet…you ready to feed me?”
He shifts his body, scoots down toward the foot of the bed. It dawns on me the muhf*cka is talkin’ ’bout eatin’ up this p-ssy. Meep, meep, follow da script, ho, I think, holdin’ back a chuckle. I smile. “Yeah, nigga…gobble up this p-ssy…”
He gets between my legs, kisses the center of my p-ssy, then pulls my lips apart and slowly starts lickin’ up ’n down and all ’round ’em. He sticks his tongue up under my *, rapidly flickin’ it. I moan, restin’ my legs over his shoulder. He pushes ’em all the way back wit’ his hands, buries his face deeper between my thighs.
“Yeah, baby, make that p-ssy skeet…bust ya nut all over my tongue…give ya Daddy that sweet cream…” The nigga wraps his whole mouth ‘’round my p-ssy and sucks ’n slurps. Five minutes later, a bitch is shakin’ and squirtin’ a nut into his mouth and onto his tongue. He swallows, licks up the rest of my juices, then says, “Gotdaaaamn, you gotta sweet, creamy p-ssy.”
I can’t front. The muhf*cka gotta bitch lightheaded and seein’ stars ’n shit. I lay still for a minute to catch my breath and get my mind right. After that nut, I really wanna blaze, but a bitch’s tryna keep it cute ’til I get custody of the baby. On some real shit, I’m glad Alex doesn’t say nuthin’ ’bout sparkin’ up ’cause I don’t know how cute a kush-lovin’ bitch like me could keep it.
He strokes his dick, pullin’ in his bottom lip. “Yo, feel like suckin’ some dick?” Little does the nigga know, I had already planned on spinnin’ his top lovely. Show the nigga how a real bitch does it. I lean ova and stick my tongue out, lettin’ ’im brush the head of his dick up against it as he jacks off.
I shift my body. Press my lips to the tip of his dick and start plantin’ soft, wet kisses all over it. I swirl my tongue ’round the head, then wrap my mouth ’round it. The nigga tells me he gotta thing for havin’ his balls grabbed, then yanked—well, okay, lightly pulled is what he says—while a bitch is spinnin’ his top.
“If it’s done right, it’ll have a muhf*cka shoot rockets in the air, word up…yank them shits for me…you got my muhf*ckin’ dick achin’…oooh, shit…a muhf*cka’s ready nut…”
“That’s what you want, muhf*cka? You wanna feel these pretty-ass lips wrapped ’round ya dick while I work them balls?”
“Straight up, baby.”
“Stop callin’ me that, nigga.”
“Yo, c’mon, you killin’ da mood.” He cups his balls. “You know I’ma keep callin’ you the shit, so chill.”
“Whateva, muhf*cka.”
“C’mon, stop f*ckin’ ’round, Kat…yank on these muhf*ckas and let me feel ya mouth heat up on this dick, baby.”
Let me stop f*ckin’ wit’ this nigga, I think, grinnin’. I slowly stroke the lower part of his shaft. “Yeah, just like that. Oh, f*ck…keep doin’ that shit, baby.”
“Mmm,” I moan, lookin’ up at him, speed jackin’ his dick while suckin’ and lickin’ his balls.
“Aaaah, f*ck…”
“I want that nut, muhf*cka. You gonna give me that nut?”
“Yeah, baby…Daddy ’bout to let you get that nut. What you gonna do wit’ it?”
Daddy? This muhf*cka is so ova himself. I let the shit go, keep milkin’ the nigga’s dick. “I’m gonna use it as a face moisturizer… it’s good for da skin.”
He chuckles. “Damn, baby…oh, shit…you nasty, you know that, right?”
I nod my head, spittin’ on his dick. “Yeah, muhf*cka, you like it when a bitch gives it to you nasty.” I flick the head of it wit’ my tongue, then plant soft kisses all over it. I slather it wit’ my spit. Suck the shit real nasty like. Get that thick, juicy cock nice and wet and shiny.
“You gonna haveta work for that load, baby,” he tells me, holdin’ the back of my head.
I slowly slurp ’im, then pick up the pace, decidin’ to stop f*ckin’ ’round and show this muhf*cka how’a real bitch handles a big-ass dick. I swallow his dick down one inch at’a time, slowly ease ’im down into my throat. When the head hits the back’a my throat, I stop, take a deep breath, ease up on the dick a bit, then gulp and push my face up against the base of his dick.
“Ohhhh, shiiiiit, baby…aaaah…that’s wassup…you ’bout to make me spit…”
I pull his dick from outta my throat, then spit on it and start jackin’ him off. “Give me that milk, muhf*cka.”
I start deep throating him again. Take him deep into my neck for ten minutes, nonstop. A bitch’s in neck ’n gulp mode, tryna spin this nigga’s top to the roof. I glance up every so often, watchin’ him fluctuate from moanin’ and pantin’ to tossin’ his head back and groanin’ to bitin’ down on his bottom lip to peerin’ down at me amazed at how his whole dick disappears down in my throat.
He reaches ’round wit’ his free hand and starts playin’ wit’ my p-ssy ’til it starts to drip down his hand. I slurp and moan and wiggle my fluffy ass to match the thrust of his fingas movin’ in and outta my fat, tight p-ssy. He palms the back of my head like a basketball and bounces it up and down on his dick. I suck the shit harder. I guess the nigga thought a bitch was gonna start gaggin’. Not. My eyes start to bulge and get watery, but I keep the pace, speed slurpin’ the dick nonstop. I’m that bitch, muhf*cka; thought you knew, I think, squeezin’ ’n yankin’ his balls.
“Oh, yes…aaaah, f*ck…ohmigod…ohmigod…aaah, shit…you ’bout to make me spit, baby.…here it comes…uhhhh…aaaaaah… aaaaah…fuuuuuuuuuk…”
Forty minutes later, I’m at the bathroom sink brushin’ my teeth while Alex takes a shower. I peep ’im through the glass shower doors.
“You sure you don’t wanna come in?” he asks, turnin’ to give me a full view of his soapy body. Soap suds cova his dick and balls.
I laugh, sittin’ up on the sink counter. “Nigga, ya greedy ass ain’t gettin’ no more of this p-ssy.” He starts strokin’ his dick. “And you ain’t gonna be standin’ there wastin’ my water playin’ wit’ ya dick, eitha.”
He laughs wit’ me. “Yo, why you always tryna put a muhf*cka out?”
“’Cause I don’t want ya ass gettin’ all comfortable ’n shit.”
He opens the glass door, then steps out. Beads of water roll down his chest. The mouth of my p-ssy opens ’n closes. Bitch, you know you wanna ’notha round of that cock. I watch ’im as he dries off, then wraps the towel ’round his body.
“Too late. I already am.”
“Well, that’s too bad.”
He walks up on me, leans in and kisses me on the lips. “Yo, I want you to spend da weekend wit’ me down at my crib.”
I grin. “I ain’t stayin’ no whole weekend wit’ you so you can try runnin’ ya dick up in me da whole time. I don’t think so. I’ll stay da night.”
“Nah, I want you”—he kisses me again—“to myself da whole”—more kisses—“weekend.” He slips his tongue in my mouth. Ho, get this nigga up outta here ’fore you end up f*ckin’ ’im again.
“I’ll think ’bout it,” I tell ’im, jumpin’ off’a the counter, then poppin’ my hips back into the bedroom. He follows behind me, grabbin’ at my ass. “Nigga, will you stop.”
“Daaaaamn, you gotta bangin’-booty. All fat ’n juicy and what-not; I want sum’a that.”
I snap my neck ova at ’im. “Nigga, puhleeze. You jokin’, right?”
“Nah, I’m dead-ass. I been meanin’ to ask you when you gonna let me hit that.”
I walk into my walk-in, then open up my trunk. “So, let me get this straight. A muhf*cka who ain’t my man and ain’t put no ring on it thinks a bitch should let ’im run his dick all up in ’er ass, right?”
“Baby, I’m tryna be ya man, but you keep frontin’.”
I keep searchin’ for what I’m lookin’ for. “Yeah, well, I want da ring muhf*cka.”
He laughs. “How ’bout you let me test run it, first. Then we can talk ’bout it.”
When I find what I need, I walk back out into the bedroom. “Well, I tell you what. Since you ain’t tryna put no ring on it, how ’bout you let a bitch run this”—I swing a twelve-inch dildo at ’im—“up in you, then you tell me if you still wanna hit this ass.”
He laughs. “Hahahaha; you got jokes, right?”
I smirk. “Nah, nigga. I’m dead-ass. Let me f*ck ya a*shole out da frame wit’ my lil’ friend, then we can talk ’bout you gettin’ up in this juicy ass.”
He shakes his head, slippin’ on his underwear. “Whatever, yo. You can cancel that shit. It ain’t happenin’.”
I shrug, tossin’ the dildo onto the bed. “Oh well, then I guess you don’t get none’a this.”
He slips on his jeans. “Yeah, aiight. I need to leave a change of clothes here.”
I tilt my head and look at his ass like he’s crazy. “Oh no da hell you don’t. You ain’t leavin’ shit up in here. When you go, e’erything else goes, includin’ that toothbrush I gave you.”
I walk outta the room and head downstairs. He follows me.
“Yo, you real extra; you know that, right?”
“I know it’s time for you to go. I got things to do.”
“Like what?”
I shoot ’im a look ova my shoulder, suckin’ my teeth. “Nigga, like none’a damn business.” I watch ’im pull out his phone, then turn it on. I decide to ask ’im why e’erytime he’s wit’ me he turns the shit off. He tells me e’erything shuts down when he’s wit’ me ’cause he ain’t tryna have a buncha distractions. That there’s no one else he needs to talk to. “Hmmmm,” is the only thing I say.
“What, you think I’m bullshittin’?”
I eye ’im, puttin’ a hand on my hip. “I think it’s time for you to be gone.”
He walks up on me. “Yo, check this shit out. You da the first chick I ever turned my phone off for. I don’t even check da shit when I’m wit’ you. No other broad ever got that. So all that ‘hmmm’-in’ you doin’, save it.” He eyes me. “Stop tryna look for shit. I’m keepin’ e’erything on board wit’ you.”
“Nigga, I ain’t lookin’ for shit. Whateva you do is what you do.”
He leans down and kisses me. The muhf*cka’s lips are soft ’n juicy. “Yo, I’ma call you later, aiight.”
“If you want,” I say nonchalantly, walkin’ ova to the door.
“Yo, Kat, real shit…stop f*ckin’ frontin’ on a muhf*cka. You know you feelin’ me, so let’s see if we can make this shit pop.”
“You right. But know this. I’m not da kinda bitch who lives wit’ regrets, so, do not have me regret f*ckin’ wit’ you.”
He grins. “Yeaah, baaaaby; that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”
He tries to kiss me again, but I push ’im back wit’ my hand. “Whoa, slow down, Playboy. Let me give you da ground rules. You not my man. We chillin’ to see what kicks off. I tilt my head. “We clear.”
“Yo, f*ck outta here wit’ all that ‘you not my man’ shit.”
“Aiiight, muhf*cka. Be stupid if you want. You get three strikes; nuthin’ more, nuthin’ less. You f*ck me ova, you get f*cked up.”
“Whatever, yo. Am I gonna be ya man or not?”
“Like I said, three strikes, muhf*cka.”
“I ain’t strikin’ out, shit. So go ’head wit’ that. Now stop all ya bullshittin’ and give ya man a kiss.”
Ohmigod, this muhf*cka is a piece’a work, I think, lookin’ up at ’im, smirkin’. I keep my mouth shut. Let ’im press his lips up to mine. We kiss for a few minutes wit’ this nasty nigga tryna play wit’ my * and run his fingas up in my p-ssy. But I shut it down, openin’ the front door. My eyes ’n mouth pop open.
His whip is kissin’ the ground; somebody done slayed all four of the nigga’s tires. He races out the door, snappin’. “What da F*ck?! Who da f*ck got at me like this?”
The bitch who did ’im in wrote p-ssy-ASS NIGGA in big red letters across his windshield. And you AIN’T SHIT is written on the back window. The nigga looks wrecked.
I fold my arms, leanin’ up against the doorframe wit’ my lips twisted, watchin’ ’im walk ’round his whip, lookin’ like he’s ready to flip his lid. I don’t say shit. Shit, ain’t shit to say. A bitch’s mind is already made up. Nigga, strike one!