Thug Immortal

by J-Blunt

  “Nah, nigga. I ain’t bowin’ down to you tonight. I’m runnin’ this shit. Worship my pussy, nigga.” After an aggressive tongue kiss, Princess straddled his face, forcing her pussy onto his lips.

  Feeling weak and a little light-headed, Pop gave in. He flicked his tongue across her clit a few times before sucking it between his lips.

  “Oh, shit! Yeah, nigga! Anoint yo’ lips wit’ my pussy juice,” Princess moaned, pulling his dreads roughly.

  Pop reached up and stuck two finger from his left hand in her ass and two fingers from his right hand in her pussy. He worked his fingers simultaneously in her two holes while continuing to suck her clit. Princess went wild!

  “Oh, Gawd! Oh, shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!’’ she screamed, digging her hands into Pop’s skull and pulling his dreads harder. Even though it felt like she was tearing dreads from his head, Pop suffered the pain, using his hands and mouth to bring her pleasure.

  When Princess’s orgasm began building, it felt like nothing she had ever felt before. Her body tingled from scalp to toenail. She could feel every nerve in her body responding to the build up. Her skin was burning hot, and it felt like tiny electric insects crawled up and down her body. Then the floodgates released, Princess’s body locked, her eyes popped, and jaw dropped. The cum gushed from her body like a rushing river, filling Pop’s mouth and washing down his body. “Ooh shit!” Princess screamed, unable to keep her balance and falling clumsily on top of Pop. Even though he was no longer touching her body, Princess continued cumming, her body trembling like she was freezing.

  Pop spat out the cum and watched the reaction the orgasm was having on her. He had never seen anything like it. She lay on top of him moaning and cumming for two minutes. When she finished, she lay on top of Pop, drained of energy, unable to move.

  “Talk that shit now, lioness. Lemme hear you roar,” Pop laughed.

  “Fuck you, nigga,” Princess breathed.

  “That’s exactly what I plan on doin’.”

  Pop pushed Princess’s limp body onto the floor and climbed between her legs. She was so wet he slipped easily into her pussy. The penetration into her already sensitive pussy made her cum again.

  “Oh, shit, Pop! Oh, shit!” she sang.

  He could feel her body locking up, pussy contracting and getting wetter. The feel of her insides and the sound of her moans seemed to make Pop stronger. He could feel the weakness leaving and strength returning to his body. The short, shallow thrusts turned into deep, long strokes. It wasn’t long before both legs were on his shoulders and he was drilling her pussy like a mad man. Princess came so many times she lost count. To her it seemed like every time he pushed inside, she came.

  When Pop felt strong enough, he got up and spun Princess around, leaning her over the tub. Princess’s body went numb as Pop fucked her from behind. When he felt himself about to bust, he pulled out of her and moved Princess to sit on the toilet. His dick was slick with pussy juice as he pushed it in her face. Princess sucked him slowly, unable to give much effort.

  “That’s right, Princess. Worship yo’ king’s dick. Bless yo’ tongue wit’ my holy seed,” Pop encouraged, using a hand to guide her head. When her effort didn’t match what Pop wanted, he grabbed two handfuls of her dreadlocks and began fucking her face. Princess gagged and slobbered as Pop stuffed his dick in and out of her throat. When he felt himself about to bust, he pulled out of her mouth and began jacking off. Thick, white sperm erupted from his body, splashing onto her forehead. Pop used his tool to rub it in.

  “Yeah, baby. Lemme anoint you wit’ my holy water.”

  Movement near the door made Pop look over. Queenie stood there, watching the action. “That shit was sexy as fuck. I hope that wasn’t all you got, ‘cause I want mines, too.”

  Chapter 3

  In the summertime, Houston’s Fifth Ward was alive like a sell-out event had come to town. Nonstop activity of every kind flooded the neighborhoods. They sold weed at this house, dope in the house across the street, and heroin up the block while women of all ages and body types used what God gave them to catch a check. In the midst of it all, children navigated the blocks, avoiding hot spots and compromising situations like they were dodging land mines, not allowing the criminal activity that was a normal part of their lives to dim their desires to have fun and be kids.

  With all the action happening around them, nobody paid much attention to the maroon Maserati as it pulled to a stop in front of a brown and yellow house in the middle of the block. Princess and Queenie climbed from the passenger and rear seats dressed in identical body-hugging white cat-suits and red bottoms, their dreads hanging loosely down their backs. The white fabric on their curvy black bodies made them look like sinful angels. Everyone within a hundred feet stopped what they were doing to get an eyeful of the dark-skinned beauties.

  When the driver’s door opened, Pop Somethin’ stepped out of the car, a snug-fitting white t-shirt showed his muscular physique, fitting white jeans and white Jordans completing the Ice Cream Man ensemble. If the sight of the women made everyone want to get close, the sight of the goon made them recoil in fear. Everyone in the Fifth Ward knew who Pop Somethin’ was, even if it was their first time seeing him. His lore was passed down through stories to all like Jesus dying on the cross to save sinners from hell was taught in every Christian church in America.

  “Damn, Pop. Why they lookin’ at us like that?” Queenie asked, noticing the way they were being watched.

  “Back when Egypt ruled the world, when the kings returned from battle, the people flocked to the streets, celebrating and paying homage. They all know the king has returned.”

  Princess rolled her eyes and mumbled something under her breath.

  “You got somethin’ to say, Princess?” Pop asked.

  She cleared her throat and tried to speak, voice sounding like a hoarse whisper. “Get off that damn high horse, nigga.”

  “I can’t hear what you sayin’. Worshippin’ yo’ king and prayin’ to my dick must’ve put a strain on yo’ voice, huh?” Pop laughed.

  “Can we just go in the house before somebody that know Pop Squad call them niggas?” Queenie said.

  After walking up on the porch and knocking on the door, a woman’s voice called from inside, “Who is it?”

  “Pop Somethin’. Open the door.”

  Four locks clicked and the door swung open. A short, curvy, light-skinned woman with graying hair stood in the doorway. At first glance she seemed like a respected, mature woman who, back in her day, had many male admirers, but looking into her eyes revealed something more. Like a Transformer, there was more to this woman than met the eye. She looked Pop Somethin’ over from head to toe, mean-mugging him. Then she opened her mouth to speak, revealing open-faced gold teeth on her top and bottom rows. “Nigga, you been out all this time and this yo’ first time comin’ to see me? If you wasn’t so big and I wasn’t old, I’d jump up and bust you in yo’ shit. Now bend down and gimme a hug.”

  Pop bent down and swallowed the older woman in his arms. “’Sup, Aunty Dorothy? See you still talkin’ like you can whoop me,” Pop laughed.

  “That’s ‘cause I can. You might have er’body scared of yo’ big ass, but I ain’t. And damn, you done got bigger. Shanice said you got bigger, but I didn’t know you got this damn big,” she said, stepping back to look at him again.

  “Milk do a body good.”

  “Speakin’ of milk, who y’all s’posed to be? The milk man and his two milk maids?” Dorothy laughed.

  “I’m the Ice Cream Man, and these my bitches, Queenie and Princess. Now, you gon’ let us in or make us stand on the porch all day?”

  Aunty Dorothy cut her eyes at him. “Boy, don’t be talkin’ to me like that! I just tol’ yo’ big ass I ain’t scared o’ you. Now, c’mon in,” she said, stepping aside to let them pass. Then she stepped onto the porch to address the onlookers. “Yeah, muthafuckas! My nephew back now. Talk that shit if you want to and see, won’t they be puttin’ y�
��all in Ziploc bags.

  “Yo’ aunty crazy,” Queenie laughed.

  “You ain’t seen shit yet.”

  After locking the door, Aunty Dorothy turned to her guests. “Y’all sit down. Y’all want somethin’ to drink? I got some Crown Royal.”

  “We will take a drink,” Queenie and Princess spoke.

  “You know I don’t drink, but I’m hungry. What you got in there to eat?” Pop asked.

  “Some corn beef I made last night. Want me to make you a sammich?”

  “A sammich?” Pop asked, wondering why she only mentioned making one.

  “Boy, you ain’t finna eat up all my damn food. I got a man that gotta eat, too. Megan and my granddaughter s’posed to come over later, and I gotta feed my baby.”

  Pop pulled a half ounce of lime-green weed from his pocket, shaking it in his aunty’s face.

  Everything she said went out the window when she seen green. “Shit, why you ain’t pull that out when you walked in? You can have as many sammiches as you want if you gimme half of that sack.”

  After fixing Queenie and Princess drinks and making Pop Somethin’ four corned beef sandwiches, they all sat around and got high.

  “Now, you know I love you, nephew, and you can come by my house anytime you want, but tell me why you really here. Shanice called me the other day talkin’ ‘bout you and that boy she fuckin’, C-Somethin’, was in trouble. How bad is it?”

  “I took care of er’thang, but I gotta leave Texas in a couple days. I just need somewhere to lay my head at ‘til I catch up wit’ a few niggas. I need some heat. You got somethin’ I can hold until I get right?”

  Dorothy smiled. “You just in time. My man bought me a Mac-11 that I don’t want. I don’t need no damn machine gun. My 380 just right for me.”

  “You a lifesaver, aunty.”

  A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. At the same time, Aunty Dorothy’s phone rang.

  “Where that Mac at? I’ma get the door,” Pop said.

  “In the kitchen. Top shelf, above the refrigerator. This Shanice on the phone. Wanna talk to her?”

  Pop didn’t respond to his aunty’s question as he went to get the Mac. The black semi-automatic was fully-loaded with a 32-shot clip. He pushed off the safety as he walked to the front door. “Who is it?”

  “2-Tone.”

  Pop looked out the peephole and seen a light-skinned nigga with brushed waves standing on the porch. After tucking the Mac under his shirt, he opened the door. Before he could speak to the stranger, Aunty Dorothy got his attention.

  “Yo’ cousin want to talk to you, Paul!”

  “Not right now,” he said before addressing 2-Tone. “What’ up, boy? See you still out here.”

  “I thought that was you, nigga. Damn! You big as a muthafucka!” he said, looking Pop from head to toe like he was a god. “Fuck you get out, nigga?”

  “Shit, a minute ago. I was fuckin’ around in Dallas. Just came through on my way outta town.”

  “Fo’ sho. Fo’ sho. You still into that same shit you was on before you got locked up? I know some niggas that–”

  “Paul, Shanice wanna talk to you,” Aunty Dorothy interrupted, walking over and holding out the phone.

  “Not right now. Tell her I’ma call her back.”

  “Nah, Pop. Talk to me now,” Shanice said through the speaker phone. “Where C-Note? Why he not answerin’ the phone?”

  “I don’t know,” Pop mumbled.

  “What you mean, you don’t know? He was s’posed to come get you and y’all was s’posed to come get me. That was two days ago. What happened?”

  “I told you, I don’t know. I’ma call you later,” Pop said before walking off the porch.

  “You good?” 2-Tone asked, noticing the change in Pop’s demeanor.

  “Yeah. I’m good. Tell me what chu talkin’ ‘bout? You got a move you trynna put me up on?”

  “Not me. Some niggas in the Third. Born Ready. The shit he on a li’l too much for me, but I can put him on yo’ line.”

  “Do that. Take down my number and get at me.”

  ***

  “I don’t mean to get in yo’ family business, Pop, but don’t you think you should at least talk to Shanice and put her mind at ease?” Queenie asked from the passenger seat.

  “If you don’t mean to get in my family business, why you gettin in it?” Pop mugged.

  Queenie rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth. “Because I would want to know if I was her. She pregnant, and the stress might hurt the baby. Just tell her he dead so she can start to heal.”

  “You want me to tell her I killed the nigga, too? That I cut his head off and gave it to Gonzo?”

  Queenie rolled her eyes, turning to look out the window.

  “She do got a point,” Princess spoke up from the back seat.

  “Here we go,” Pop breathed. “Fuck y’all s’posed to be on, some keepin’-it-righteous shit? Queenie, is you gon’ tell her you fucked her nigga before you blew his brains out? Shanice don’t need to know shit. I did her a favor. Niggas ain’t shit. Maybe now she get a square-ass nigga like I been told her.”

  Princess continued speaking her mind. “You can’t control her life, Pop. Why you so overprotective of her, anyway? She ain’t cho bitch. We is. She a grown woman. Let her live her life.”

  Pop didn’t respond right away. He mugged Princess through the rearview mirror. “I know y’all think what y’all doin’ is helpin’, but it ain’t. I’ma deal wit’ this how I see fit, and right now I don’t want to talk to her about it. This family bidness, and it don’t got shit to do wit’ y’all. I got it.”

  Princess blew him off. “Okay. She gon’ hate yo’ ass, not me.”

  Instead of responding to Princess, Pop turned up the radio and let Derez Deshaun’s Hardaway fill the car. Twenty minutes later he parked the sports car behind a white Range Rover. Outside, the block was filled with kids running around and playing while parents sat on the porch and watched them. Pop, Queenie, and Princess stepped from the car and walked up to a white house with a fenced-in backyard. The wooden gate was seven feet tall, so even Pop couldn’t look over it to see what was going on, but the sound of Al Green’s Love and Happiness and raised voices let him know a grown folks party was in full swing.

  “Aye! Come open the gate,” Pop yelled, banging on the gate a few times.

  “Who out there?” a woman called.

  “Pop Somethin’. Deso here?”

  When the gate opened, a short, dark-skinned woman with a graying afro greeted them. She had bubble eyes and two moles on her right cheek, below her eye. She smiled as she looked the big man from head to toe. “What I tell you ‘bout usin’ those street names by my house, Paul? God didn’t give y’all them names.”

  He let out a chuckle. “My bad, Aunty Ruby. How you doin’? Is Desmond here? He told me to meet over here.”

  “I’m doin’ fine. Y’all c’mon in. We havin’ a get-together. Desmond in the basement with the boys. All the women out here, so you ladies can pull up some chairs to the tables.”

  The backyard party was in full swing. Women of all ages sat around talking and playing card games and dominoes. When the twins walked in the backyard, a woman screamed and ran over, hugging them like they were long-lost sisters. Pop eyed the woman as she hugged his women. Hair long, dark, and curly, light brown complexion, small waist, wide hips, a big booty, hazel green eyes, thin lips. nice teeth. If he had guessed her race, he would’ve said Latina. She flexed her banging body off in a white-striped halter top, black leggings, and heels.

  “Pop, this our girl, La’Qua,” Queenie introduced.

  Pop nodded. “’Sup?”

  “You, nigga,” La’Qua said, looking Pop up and down. “You owe me a couch. Ya blood didn’t come out the pillows.”

  “My bad for that. I was fresh out and not thinkin’. But I’ma take care of that before we leave town.”

  La’Qua laughed. “I’m fuckin’ wit’ you, nigga. You good. D
eso in the house.”

  After giving a nod to Queenie and Princess, Pop went in the house and found Deso in the basement. About ten men and boys were lounged around on furniture, all of their eyes on the video game being played on the big screen TV.

  “What up, nigga?” Pop called.

  Everyone in the basement spun around at the sound of the new voice. When Deso seen Pop, he got up wearing a big smile. “What up, nigga? I see you on yo’ snowman shit,” Deso laughed, showing the chip on his front tooth.

  “Ice Cream Man, nigga. I’m on my Master P shit. No Limit!” Pop laughed as the men embraced.

  “C’mon, nigga. Let’s go up to the kitchen and kick it,” Deso said, leading the way upstairs where they had seats at the kitchen table. “What the fuck you doin’ back in Houston, nigga? I thought y’all was fuckin’ up Dallas.”

  “We was. My nigga, that shit was sweet as fuck. I was in wit’ a Mexican Cartel, checkin’ a bag, rubbin’ shoulders wit’ the boss. I had damn near half a ticket.”

  Deso’s eyes popped. “Fuck you doin’ back in H-Town, nigga? And put me on!”

  Pop shook his head. “It fell apart. The nigga that put me in turned bitch. Tried to bring the cartel down on some snitch shit, so I had to judge ‘im. The cartel came at me and burned down my house . I lost er’thang. I was gon’ check a mil and go back home.”

  Deso was in awe. “Damn, Pop. You touched a half a ticket, nigga? You was gettin’ it, boi!”

  “Yeah. Now I gotta get outta Texas. The cartel boss gave me 72 hours yesterday. In two days, they got a green light on me.”

  “Damn! Nigga, you beefin’ wit’ a cartel? Shit, Pop. I love you like a brotha, nigga, but I ain’t goin’ against no cartel. That’s suicide.”

  “Nigga, I ain’t stupid. I seen what them Mexicans can do. They got me. Gonzo gave me a pass. I’m leavin’ Texas. I came to you for a front. I need a coupla dollas and some heat. All I got is a Mac from Aunty Dorothy.”

  “Okay. I got a couple throw-aways, and I can get you a few bands. I’m between moves right now, so shit tight. The squad burnin’ up H-Town, so niggas be on point when we come around. I’m thinkin’ ‘bout movin’, too. Niggas been at our heads lately. I think it’s a price on our heads, too, ‘cause niggas shredded up our whips. Now we stay in rentals. If it ain’t tinted, I ain’t ridin’ in it.”