Who Shot Ya Box Set

by Renta

  ***

  ~A Face in the Dark~

  My legs were spread eagle, as a six foot even Adonis sucked my pussy as if it was his favorite entrée. My hand held the back of his head, while I suffocated his face with my pleasure, as I grind my pelvis back and forth on his lips.

  “Suck—ohhh— this—umm pussyyy,” I moaned, as I squeezed my left nipple, turned on by the sight of my juices saturating his face. “Suck it—ssuuucckk it, you mu-oh-mutherfucker,” I screamed, as the damn broke between my legs and my waterfall came down thick—warm—slow.

  I pulled his face away from my lower lips and forced him on his back. Then I pulled him to the edge of the couch so that his ass cheeks were barely on the cushion. I straddled him by way of planting my feet on either side of him and squatted over his dick. I reached down and began massaging his thickness as he palmed my breasts and pulled my right nipple into his mouth. I slid down onto his delicacy and squeezed my lower lips into a vise. The amazed look on his face told me, my little trick was a delicious surprise.

  I eased all the way down to the base of his cock and my pussy lips kissed his nuts before easing up slow and droppin’ all my weight down onto him. There was no barrier between pussy and dick—just wet—hot—penetration. My mind carried me to the object of my fantasies, Assata! The way I watched him put his gangsta down last night had my kitty on fire. He was an animal and as I rode his dick, I closed my eyes and imagined it was Assata’s dick I was taking so savagely. I went faster and deeper, as I bounced this ass like I was trying to win the twerking queen contest. I felt his hands on my ass trying to control my wild movements—but he was out of his league.

  “Oh shit—ma—I’m—damn, ma—I’m ‘bout to—Aaaughhh,” he screamed, as his passion erupted from his nature and got trapped by the rubber barrier separating his flesh from mine.

  I still rode him into a frenzy, while thoughts of Assata had me crazed with passion.

  “Oh—Jesus—fuckin’—Christtt! Ass—Assata, I’m ‘bout to—to—A-sssaat-ta,” I screamed, as my ocean below created a hurricane around his pole.

  I felt his shit at ease instantly, confused, I cracked my eyes open as the tremors subside. When our finally met, evil stared back at me.

  ‘What the fuck?’ I thought. I’d just given this motherfucker the best nut of his life and he looked disappointed—angry even!

  “Who the fuck is Assata, bitch?” he hissed.

  No—I didn’t—I couldn’t have—did I? “How do you—” I began, but then it hit me. Assata’s name musta slipped while I was lost in the moment. Oh well, this motherfucker, ain’t my man!

  “You need not worry about who the fuck he is! Don’t get stupid, homeboy, you’re already flirting with death for fucking the bossman’s lady.” I matched his tone.

  The storm in his eyes faded as he was snatched back to reality

  “In that case—” he said, as he turned into a monster!

  He pushed me off of him, turned me around, and rammed his dick in my asshole for good measure.

  “Yes, you crazy, son of a bitch! Fuck me like Russia isn’t your boss!”

  ***

  ~Tomorrow~

  Me and the squad rolled up to Club Dreams thirty deep. I can assure you everyone was strapped and ready for action. We were made niggaz, so we passed up the long ass line that bent all the way around the block. Niggaz screw faced us like they had a bad taste in their mouths, but they knew we was piped up.

  “What’s the business bitch ass nigga? You looking like you wanna have a showdown?” I heard my nigga Spyda spaz on a muscular black nigga with a Rick Ross beard.

  He chewed on a toothpick as he met Spyda’s stare without fear. We all stopped, sixty pairs of eyes bore down on the nigga. Dino was thirsty to get it poppin’ which fed the movie that’s ‘bout to be made. Tricky stepped up being all diplomatic and shit.

  “You niggaz at ease—this dawgs night—we here to support the homie so it ain’t gonna be none of that bloodshed unless truly necessary.” He turned his low gaze to the black, muscular dude. “Say, homie, this your lucky day. Thank whoever you pray to cause tomorrow you may be food. This is your warning—be easy, bleed!” He then turned his back to him and just like the other twenty-eight of us with the exception of Dino, the hoodie he had on read. ‘Kreek Nigga Beware of Dawgz!’ Reluctantly, the rest of us turned to follow, but my eyes stayed on the sucka. He saw me analyzing him and laughed as if he knew the world’s biggest secret. I stored it in the back of my mind to be on the lookout for the nigga. Something wasn’t right with the homie. I caught up with the gang only to step into a heated convo between the bouncer, Bear, and Tricky.

  “Fuck you mean, naw? Bear, you know, me and my niggaz ain’t partying without our bangaz. Look—” Tricky pulled out a big knot and peeled a rack from the stack. He tried to hand it to the bull neck, football playin’ built ass nigga, but he pushed it away.

  “Naw, Trick, yo’ bread ain’t no good tonight. Last time I let niggaz in with heat, the club was mobbed by an army of crazy ass Mexicans and some bald head nigga. Gold Tongue ain’t feelin’ that typa shit in his club, and I ain’t losing my job over you niggaz bullshit. Y’all can either leave that shit in the car or parkin’ lot pimp, but ain’t nothin’ happenin’, homie,” Bear demanded.

  Defiance glowed in his eyes as him and Tricky drew the line in the sand. “Nigga, who the fuck you talkin’ to like that? You ain’t sold that shit!” Dino upped his clappa. Ever the dramatic one, he wanted to get it poppin’.

  I stepped up before Tricky had a chance to. “Naw, Dino, Trick is right. This Assata’s night, we gonna rep for, fam tonight. Some of us just gonna have to parkin’ lot pimp with the bangaz to make sure shit don’t get ugly. It ain’t shit.”

  Bear looked at me with respect and a bit of relief. I looked to him with truth and a whole lot of resolution. “Say Bear, if something pops off while we’re naked, if I breathe to see daylight, you’re a dead man— that’s on H.L.V!”

  ***

  ~Assata~

  “A’ight, mu’fuckas, I see the house is filled with drunk mu’fuckas!” The host, Blue, screamed in the megaphone. “A lot of y’all may remember me from John-John’s hosting poetry night. But as we all know, shit got funky a few weeks ago and the owner, Pop, had some real legal issues that forced him to close the establishment. For all you mu’fuckas that’s been living under a rock, the fed boys came to town, and well—y’all know what’s up, and if you don’t, it wasn’t meant for you too. Damn, look at this mu’fucka,” he pointed to a slim light-skinned man that sat close to the stage. “You musta been one of them mu’fuckas that’s been living under a rock?” The crowd laughed at his jest. “I bet when Malcolm Little said, “we didn’t land on planet rock, planet rock landed on us—you was like, yeah—that nigga tellin’ the truth. Look at you—lookin’ like, who the fuck is Malcolm Little?” he paused to sip from the amber liquid in his cup. “Malcolm Little, is Malcolm X, mu’fucka!” The club was in an uproar.

  Dude laughed along with everybody else, but the slight red tint to his skin told the tale of his embarrassment.

  “A’ight, a’ight—tonight is poetry night and we got some bad shit in store for you ladies and gents. So, without further ado, let me call a real queen to the spotlight. Y’all give it up for Earth Freedom,” he said, as the lights dimmed, and the smooth jazz band played a real funky instrumental.

  Free stepped onto the stage with her usually wild hair, braided into two big braids twisted to the back. She was a true redbone, that knew how to exude the right amount of sex appeal, and not overshadow her self-respect. The black skinny jeans hugged every curve and cuffed at her ankles revealing the Charlotte Olympia peep-toes that adorned her feet. Her D-cup breasts looked like they defied gravity in the YSL made shirt, that allowed the gold droop necklace, that was accentuated by a chocolate Vivian Diamond to plunge between them. She smiled that sexy smile, as she did her ritual with the microphone, caressing it from top to bottom.

 
; “Peace, my people, it’s always a pleasure to be able to exploit my passion to y’all.” You could tell the hood was on deck because instead of snaps and mellow applause, niggaz whistled, made comments about her curves, and wild out altogether.

  Not letting that faze her, Free took it in stride. “Tonight, I’m doing a piece, I like to call ‘Merely Perfect Strangers’. Y’all vibe with a queen.” Her eyes were half mass as she held the mic with both hands without takin’ it out of its cradle. “Why is it, that every time I see you, you look as if you’ve lost your best friend?

  As if you went to sleep and woke up to realize, love wasn’t real, but before you fell asleep—you was in your best trance?

  Yet, to those that doesn’t know any better, they merely see your contagious smile—

  The name of your shirt—the price of your best pants—

  I see beyond that God and if you allow me to pass you by, continue to live that lie, you may miss out on your best chance.

  I see what’s inside of you without sonography—

  A raging hurricane that twists to reach out and grab me—

  Until I’m swept into a beautiful destruction—

  An ocean of pain—anger—and seduction—

  Surrounding an island called ‘the heart’ that merely needs a beautiful reconstruction.

  I want to give you my loyalty—that’s gotta be worth something

  Picture us in a locked room doing things that surpass the embodiment of fuckin’—

  Climax without the physical need of touchin’—learn each other, until we’re so hot that we burn each other when we finally start touchin’—

  On the point of combustion—baby please—pay attention—no interruptions.

  I want to Bonnie and Clyde for you, revolve around you three hundred sixty-five days of the year, the approximate time that it takes the earth to revolve around the sun—

  I’ll be your rida, put the bullets in your guns—

  Your survival—breathe air into your lungs—

  Your freak—ride that dick til’ you speak in tongues—

  Your rib—if you go to jail, I’ll stand beside you, even if tomorrow never comes, but first—we gotta meet each other because right now, we’re merely perfect strangers.”

  The crowd went silly, as she blew a kiss and walked away throwing the peace sign in the air.

  “Yeah, that sexy mu’fucka right there, makes an ole nigga contemplate adultery,” Blue yelled over the excitement.

  “A’ight now, Blue, don’t make me cut you,” An attractive middle-aged woman yelled from the side of the stage.

  “Oh shit,” he said in mock surprise. “I forgot Angie was here, y’all give it up for my beautiful wife. Baby, you know, that was just a jokie joke!”

  The club ignited with laughter once again. Even Angie had to laugh at her husband’s silliness. He put a hand in the air and did a calming motion.

  “Y’all, mu’fuckas settle down, I got something real nice for the ladies.”

  Many whistles could be heard throughout the spacious club. “Bring it on, Blue—we waiting, baby,” A chubby sista screamed from somewhere in the back.

  Blue laughed, “I bet yo’ hungry ass is waiting—waiting on the night to end so you can make it to the nearest IHOP!” The club was a volcano as it erupted with drunken laughter. Big girl was comfortable in her skin, yet she still gave him the finger. “Naw, love—Blue loves the ladies. I see you over there putting on for the plus size women. But dig this next act, is a very dear friend of mine and I love to see him work. Most may know him for putting it down in the streets, and some may know him from gracing the stages of some of the hottest night spots, and—some may know him from his hoeish ways—look at you,” he pointed to a cute sista by the bar. “I ain’t even said his name and you lookin’ like, I hope it ain’t Tyrone.” The cuties companion gave her a curious look, as the club exploded in humor. “Naw, homeboy, I’m just bullshittin’, don’t get home and Ike Turner yo’ gal. Anyway, without further ado, y’all give it up for my godson, Assata!”

  The love was pure as I made my entrance. I was fresh as always, the Ferragamo slacks sagged slightly from my waist, but they hung over my black Gators perfectly. I was shirtless underneath the black vest that was complimented by a blood red back. My ensemble was completed by a forty-two-inch cable, that had a Draco AK.47 that looked like it was made with glass for a pendant. A black bandanna was tied around my head to add to my thug appeal.

  “What’s the business world?” It sounded like a dog pound, as niggaz started barking and throwing up sets like they was auditioning for the next Westside Connection video. Even some of the Crip niggaz gave it up, but the ladies set the standard.

  “Say, Blue, fuck you always setting my shit up behind, Free’s? You know that’s not right, fam—the lady makes it hard to catch a break!”

  Blue merely smiled as he raised his cup of Remy.

  “I ain’t done this shit in a lil’ minute, fam, due to a storm that’s been blowing through my universe as of late, but I’m fighting the good fight. Death ain’t want me yet, so tonight I want y’all to thug with a gangsta, as I give you a piece that I’ve dubbed, ‘Ghetto Boy Stranded’.” After the crowd simmered down, I released a typhoon of pent-up thoughts and pain.

  “Who’ll cry for the ghetto boy—the lil’ ghetto boy that never had the chance to grow?

  The lil’ ghetto boy that never had the chance to know—

  To know what it’s like to have pops show up to my game—

  To know what mama had on her mind as she stuck the needle in her veins—stood under a pale moon with a smile on her face as she danced in the rain—

  Who’ll cry for me? That boy inside that never had a chance to grow—

  That lil’ nigga that got lost somewhere inside of me that you’ll never get the chance to know?

  I guess some niggas are best left buried within a cemetery of secrets—

  A black diary that’s held tightly by that lil’ boy that’s buried inside me so that prying eyes won’t be able to read it.

  I was once told that love isn’t so far and all I have to do is stretch my arms to reach it—

  Yet, I am scared because my heart is made of glass, and if it's dropped it may shatter into a million pieces.

  I’m a castaway—trapped on an island of broken promises—

  Surrounded by a sea of forever that didn’t last longer than tomorrow did.

  Loving you is like a soldier on the battlefield, holding a dying friend that he’d fought beside his whole tour.

  Listening to their last words—a sickness to which you wished you had an old cure.

  I wonder who will cry for the lil’ ghetto boy—the boy that’s locked inside of a Pandora's box.

  Shid, you ain’t even gotta cry for ‘em—just try to find the keys to pandoras locks.

  May you can’t—maybe no one will, love—feel—or cry for the ghetto boy that’s trapped inside my spirit—

  Don’t sweat it lil’ ghetto boy—I’ll cry for you—I’ll just do it in silence, so no one can hear it.”

  ***

  ~Armani~

  The boisterous crowd was wild with awe and emotion. Whoever this nigga was he’d just brought down the house. He was dark chocolate, with a swagga that was his own. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. Tattoos peek from under the thin vest he wore, he had puppy dog eyes, that seemed to see everything roll over me in seconds. The corner table that me and my girls were seated was to the left of the stage in perfect view. I crossed my legs and sipped a chilled glass of Perrier Jouet. I could feel my juices making me sticky. The Jeffrey Dodd slip gown that molested my every curve, allowed air to make love to my skin, enhancing the experience to the point I felt like I was naked in this dark room—just me, and this—dessert of a man.

  “Damn, bitch,” Tessa snapped me from my fantasy.

  Confusion eased onto my face as I tried to gather my senses.

  “What? Why the fuck are you yelling in my ear,
like I’m deaf?” I spazzed on her.

  “Well, bitch, you must be I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last thirty seconds. You’ve been bouncing your leg so fuckin’ hard you knocked over my fuckin’ Cosmo!” She pointed to the stain on the cloth that she musta used to clean up my mess.

  I so embarrassed, as I tried to salvage my dignity, by saying I had to pee but didn’t want to miss the poem. All six pair of eyes landed on me and were stained with skepticism. “What? It was a good poem,” I chuckled.

  ***

  ~Assata~

  Last Call For Alcohol

  “Hey—Assata! Assata—wait up,” A feminine voice called to me from behind.

  I turned to see what the bidness was and came face to face with beauty.

  “Ummm, hi—I know we’ve never been properly introduced, so I thought this would be as good a time as any to meet the infamous Assata.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Freedom.”

  My diamonds peeked from behind my lips as I took her hand and brought it to my lips. Damn—she was as soft as I imagined.

  “That’s peace, earth, and as you know, I’m Assata. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the woman of every hour.”

  She smiled revealing deep dimples. “I didn’t know gangsters could be so charming.”

  I gazed into her soul before giving a response. The anticipation was beautiful as our eyes danced. “Maybe you just have the wrong definition of a gangsta.” Lil’ one was tickled at my ‘G’, my eyes were tryin’ not to drop to those come suck me titties.

  “Say, Satta—come on dawg, we trying to smash out, big homie,” my lil’ nigga Tomorrow yelled, as the squad surrounded us.

  The alarm was evident in her posture as thirty-something Blood and Piru niggaz pulled up in force.

  “Well—I guess we’ll allow fate to bring us together again,” she said, as she took a quick glance at the goons that looked as if they were part of Al Queda.

  Before turning her attention back to me with questions swimming in her eyes. I took her hand for the second time tonight. I eased the tornado of curiosity and fear, spinning within her internal.