by Cairo
Born gasps, “Ohhhh, shiiiiit . . . uh . . . I got you, ma. Goddamn . . . ” He rotates his hips, fillin’ my throat with his entire dick. I increase the pace, frantically bobbin’ my neck back ’n forth. “I’ma hit you . . . mmmm . . . wit’ da rest . . . uh . . . shit . . . later tonight . . . ”
I’ma suck this niggah outta a pair of heels, too.
Juices start to seep from my pussy as I sniff in the lingerin’ scent of my pussy ’n ass in his cock hairs. I cup his smooth balls, then slowly lick ’em before takin’ his dick back into my mouth. I massage his balls while throatin’ the niggah down to the gristle. I suck his dingaling so good he grips the sheets, openin’ and closin’ his toes. He moans, “Ohhhh, fuuuuck . . . uhhh . . . ”
I know the niggah’s on the verge of crackin’ his nuts, and I plan on suckin’ down every goddamn creamy drop. “Give me that nut, lil’ niggah,” I say in between sucks. I shift my body so that he can play in my ass. “Stick ya finger in my ass, boo.”
I make slurpin’ ’n poppin’ sounds with my mouth as he slips two fingers into my hole. He’s knuckles deep in my ass. And I’m lovin’ it! “Oooooh, yes . . . bust this big dick down in my slutty throat, niggah.” I wiggle my ass. Clap it around his hand. “Give me that nut, boo.”
“Yeah, uh, uh, uh . . . mmmm . . . I’m gettin’ ready to nut, ma . . . aaaah, shiiiiit . . . ”
“You gonna get me that handbag, boo?”
“Uhhh, shiiiit, yeah . . . I got . . . you, ma . . . ”
Seven
Eleven A.M., I’m poppin’ my hips outta Gucci with two shoppin’ bags in tow. Like he said he would, the niggah Born came through—well, actually I met him downtown—with the rest of the thirty-six hundred dollars he promised me. So with that money and the money I got from JT’s ass, I treated myself to a fifty-six-hundred-dollar brown ostrich shoulder bag. Yeah, it’s a bit pricey. But, oh well. You only live once. And I live for handbags, heels, and a hard goddamn dingaling! So I bought it, along with a sexy-ass pair of six-inch Gucci heels that were on sale for four hundred bucks. I dropped six grand in less than twenty minutes, and still have another two grand that I’m gonna blow in Macy’s buyin’ my kids shit.
See. Most of these gold-diggin’ bitches they don’t know how’ta save. But I do. Yeah, I spend thousands of dollars on me and my kids, but I also know how’ta stash them stacks, too. And, although—on record, a bitch only got three hundred dollars in checkin’ and another forty-six dollars in savin’s—I have over forty-five grand stashed that I don’t touch for nothin’. And, yeah, it’s not a lot. But, guess what? For a bitch like me who came from nothin’, it’s more than what most have. I know what it’s like to be broke and hungry and not know where the fuck you gonna lay ya head at night. Or whether or not some grimy, snake-ass niggah is gonna try ’n rape you or molest one of ya babies.
Thankfully, ain’t no one ever try ’n steal my pussy or do no nasty shit to any of my kids. But a bitch still fell on hard times, and I had to do what I had to do to come up on top. Now, I do what I gotta do to stay there. And I don’t give a fuck who don’t like it. Big Booty’s hood fabulous, sugah-boo. Thought you knew. And I’m always lookin’ for a way to get me and my kids to the next level of hoodliciousness. So anyone who gotta problem with that can eat my ass out and choke.
I catch my reflection in the huge window of the Louis Vuitton store as I strut by on my way toward the escalators and smile. I’m a sexy bitch. Always have been, always will be. When I was a young girl workin’ the yard, I had the lil’niggahs on the playground handin’ over that snack money. When I was a teen workin’ the poles, I had the niggahs droppin’ the dollars, makin’ it rain twenties, fifties, and Ben Frankies up on me. And now here I am still got the niggahs gazin’ ’n dazin’, tryna get them dicks and tongues glazed with this pussy and ass, while peelin’ back them stacks. That’s what bad bitches do, boo. Fuck a niggah so good that he’s willin’ to give you almost anything you want.
Yeah, this pussy’s been all ran through, but guess what? It’s still good ’n juicy and I know how’ta work the hell outta these muscles. And I’m lucky or blessed—or both, that my shit’s not hangin’ inside out from all the miles of dick I’ve rode down on over the last twenty-four years. And, hopefully, I can get another twenty, thirty, years more of mileage outta it before it starts to breakdown and need to go in for repairs.
Okay, shit. I’ma confess somethin’ to y’all’s asses. I did go in and have my pussy rejuvenated three years ago. I sure did, boo. Had them tuck in these lips and tighten these walls. And I had one of my sponsors foot the ten-thousand-dollar bill, then let him be the first to slice his dingaling up in it once the doctor cleared me for fuckin’. Shit, it was the least I could do to let the niggah test drive his investment.
Anyway, I had me a real Grand Canyon-sized pussy before my surgery, but now . . . mmmph. This snapback pussy can bring a niggah to tears.
I open my Prada tote and pull out my ringin’ cell. It’s Day’Asia’s fahver, Mustafa—Baby Daddy Number Four—with his six-four, size fourteen-foot self, and six-inch dingaling. And it’s skinny. Fuckin’ sinful! Why I ever let this lil’ twig-dick niggah nut in my pussy is still a terrifyin’ mystery to me. But he always kept a pocketful of money and the dick did feel good in my ass. So he was good for somethin’. But the niggah ain’t good for shit now, except maybe eatin’ pussy ’cause the limp-dick niggah-bitch’s crazy-ass girl tossed lighter fluid up on it four summers ago while he was drunk and naked, then struck a match to his shit. Niggah’s dingaling and balls went up in flames, and his ass ain’t been right since. Yeah, her ass spent two years up in Clinton, the state prison for women. And his dumb ass was retarded enough to wanna ride it out with her when the dickless niggah should been tryna be a fahver to his daughter. Sorry-ass niggahs make me sick.
“Yeah?”
“Wassup, Cass? How you?”
I blink, walkin’ through Bloomingdale’s. “What you mean, ‘how you’? Niggah, I’m broke. And I ain’t seen no child support money from you for your daughter—you do know who that is, right?—in almost two goddamn years.”
He sucks his teeth. “Here you go wit’ this shit. Yeah, I know who my daughter is.”
“Well, ain’t that special,” I say, stoppin’ at the perfume counter. “ ’Cause she sure as hell”—I take a whiff of Jimmy Choo, turnin’ my nose up—“don’t know who the fuck you is.” I pick up a bottle of Signorina by Ferrragamo. “She hasn’t heard from you or seen you in almost three years, niggah. She’s sixteen now, niggah-bitch, with big-ass titties bustin’ outta the seams”—I spritz a lil’ on my wrist and sniff—“and a hot-ass pussy that needs constant supervison.” Oooh, this is nice. The bitch behind the counter with the pressed powder caked up on her face shoots me a look. I shoot her one back. “Can I help you, Casper?” She shifts her eyes. “Then stay outta my goddamn mouth . . . ”
“What? I’m not in your mouth. Well, unless you want me to be.”
“Niggah, puhleeze. I wasn’t talkin’ to you. And that lil’ burnt-up dick of yours will never feel the inside of my mouth. So don’t even do me, niggah. So why is you callin’ me?”
“I know I fucked up, Cass. Shit’s been hectic. I’ve been all cased up and I ain’t makin’ money like I used to. But I have a few dollars put up for you. I wanna do right by you and DaNaqueesha.”
I pick up a bottle of Viva La Juicy by Juicy Couture. I sniff. Miss Juicy has always been one of my signature scents, along with Clinique Happy, Dior Me, Dior Me Not, and Gucci Envy. Oooh, this is cute. I decide to buy a bottle of it for Day’Asia.
“Niggah, who the fuck is a DaNaqueeta? The daughter you have with me is Day’Asia. Stupid bitch, how you not gonna know ya own daughter’s name?”
“Damn, I meant Day’Asia. DaNaqueesha—not DaNaqueeta, is my other daughter. I got ’em mixed up. You know I know who my daughter is wit’ you.”
Shit, I ain’t even know the niggah had other kids. Then again, I didn’t give a damn if he
did or not, which is why I never asked. Shit, I was only with his ass for two months before I found out I was pregnant. And it was over between us by the time Day’Asia was three weeks old.
“Mmmhmm. And how old is this lil’ chick?” He tells me she’s thirteen. That she lives in Paterson with her mother. “Mmmph. So you was raw pumpin’ that lil’-ass dick every which way, huh?”
I peep Miss Powder Puff lingerin’ around the counter so she can get an earful. I decide to entertain her nosey ass. “I wish that lil’ piggy-dick of yours wasn’t all burnt up. I’d let you run it in my ass like old times.” I glance over at Miss Powder Puff. “Remember how it used to feel gobbled up inside my asshole?”
Miss Powder Puff blushes.
His voice dips low. “Daaaamn, we used to have some good sex. I still think about all the nasty shit we used to do. Cass, I really shoulda stayed wit’ ya freaky ass.”
When I was with this niggah it was all good for the first four months, then his ass started gettin’ too caught up in the streets, grindin’ ’n hustlin’ and tryna sling that lil’-ass dingaling all around Jersey. Ain’t no way a bitch like me was puttin’ up with that shit. I don’t care how much paper you puttin’ out, I’m not gonna lay around waitin’ for you to bring me home no disease. Oh no. That niggah had to go; especially when he had bitches bangin’ on my door tryna bring it to me. Puhleeze. What the fuck I look like, fightin’ over some niggah with a pencil dick? Them hoes had the wrong one. If I’ma fight some bitch over a niggah, trust, it’s gonna be over one with a horse dick. And even then I still might tell the ho she can have him. Big Booty don’t sweat no niggah, boo. Never have, never will.
I laugh. “Niggah, puhleeze. No, you shouldn’t have. I’m glad ya cheatin’ ass dipped. But I’m not gonna lie, niggah. You did feel good in my ass. But that’s it. I couldn’t suck the dick and I couldn’t feel it in my pussy. Sorry, boo, that lil’ dick of yours bored the shit outta me. I woulda never stayed faithful to ya ass, niggah. So it was best you ran off and fucked that barracuda bitch with them big-ass teeth.”
“Damn, that’s cold.”
“Oh, well,” I say, tellin’ Miss Powder Puff to give me a bottle of Juicy and two bottles of Signorina. “So why is you callin’ me?”
“I wanna see you and Day’Asia.”
“Niggah, you can see Day’Asia if she’s beat for you, but I ain’t on the menu. The only thing I wanna see is some goddamn child support money. Where you stayin’ now, anyway?” He tells me in Philly with some bitch he met on Facebook. This niggah’s pathetic. “Mmmph, what happened to Barracuda?”
He sighs. “I don’t wanna talk about that shit. It ain’t work out.”
I crack up, handin’ Powder Puff two hundred dollars. “See, niggah. I already know what popped off. You let the bitch jail off you for them two years, then when she got out she traded ya ass in for some prison pussy. Some butch-dagger ho with a dick bigger than yours turned her ass out. Oooh, I know that musta tore ya spirits down. A bitch leavin’ you for a ho with a clit bigger than ya dick. Mmmph. A mess, boo.”
I can tell I done got the niggah hot. Oh well. Fuck him! He sucks his teeth. “I see some shit ain’t ever gonna change. You still a bitch.”
“I sure am . . . ” I pause, blinkin’ when Miss Powder Puff places my change down on the counter instead of in my hand. “Look, I gotta go. If you wanna see your daughter call me later tonight, and I’ll let the two of you work it out.”
“Aiight. I’ll—”
I end the call and go off on Casper. “Ho, I handed you two hundred goddamn dollars, you pasty face bitch. And you shoulda put my motherfuckin’ change in my hand. You don’t toss no motherfuckin’ money at me, like I’m ghetto trash.”
She quickly apologizes. “I-I-I didn’t mean to offend you. It was clearly not intentional.”
“Bitch, I am offended. And it’ll be intentional when I snatch that goddamn blonde wig off ya head and beat your face up for tossin’ my money down on the counter. I want my motherfuckin’ change put in my goddamn hand.” By now we have an audience, and I don’t give a fuck. “Bitch, I wanna see a manager, now! You white bitches stay tryna fuck our men, then wanna act like you better than us. I ain’t ya slave or ya housekeeper, ho. And if I was, bitch, I’d be fuckin’ ya goddamn husband and runnin’ his pockets.”
Oh, now this ho’s shook. I got the bitch practically in tears. And. I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck! This bitch done cranked on the ghetto switch. And I’m ready to light it up.
When the store manager comes over, she eyes me and I eye her back. She’s Cover Girl ready. Face beat to the seams. Hair pressed and parted in a sleek snatchback. Huge diamond studs in her lobes, icy rock on her hand. Oh, she’s done up right. “Ma’am, what seems to be the problem here?”
“Boo, the problem here is this Casper bitch, tossin’ my change down on the counter, like I’m trash. I’ve dropped six grand up in this motherfuckin’ mall today, okay. Ain’t shit trashy about me and I don’t appreciate her tryna do me.” I slam my tote up on the counter. “I feel like smashin’ these goddamn perfume bottles in her face.”
“Ma’am, please. Lower your voice. There’s no need to make a scene, or make threats of violence.”
“Bitch, I ain’t bein’ violent. And I ain’t makin’ threats. I’m tellin’ you what I feel like doin’ to that ho. I came up in here in good goddamn spirits until this bitch tried to do me.” Miss Manager apologizes and sends Pasty Face on. I eye her as she scurries from around the counter like a damn roach.
I should chase that bitch down and stomp her out. I decide to keep it classy.
Six security officers make their way over to the counter. I eye them. And they eye me back. “What the fuck y’all lookin’ at?”
“Ma’am,” one of them says to me, “we’re gonna need to ask you to leave the store.”
“Bitch, I ain’t leavin’ to go no-goddamn-where.” I hold out my hand. “I want my goddamn money in my hand. And I want service with a motherfuckin’ smile or you Robocops better call in for back up ’cause I’ma turn motherfuckin’ Bloomingdale’s out today.”
Miss Manager quickly gathers up my change, then counts it out in my hand. I pull open my bag, then toss the money in. “See, all that bitch had to do was do me right, goddammit, and I woulda been on my merry way.”
I gather my shoppin’ bags, then get escorted outta the store by security. As soon as I get to the mall entrance, I tell ’em all to eat the inside of my ass. And I slap it for emphasis. See. They better be glad I’m not tryna get charged with lewdness today. Otherwise, I would drop these jeans, peel down this red thong I have on, then bend over and pull open these fluffy asscheeks for ’em.
I strut through the mall, ass bouncin’, titties poppin’, finally makin’ my way to Macy’s when I spot this tall, sexy, dark chocolate niggah pushin’ a stroller with one hand and holdin’ two shoppin’ bags with his other. He stops in front of Bare Escentuals—a high-end skincare store, obviously waitin’ for someone.
I blink when I realize who it is.
“Hey, boo,” I say when I walk up on him. “Weren’t you in Jasper’s weddin’?”
He eyes me. “Yeah,” he says in his deep, panty-wettin’ voice. “I was his best man.”
“I knew you looked familiar to me. I was there wrapped in a white dress, stealin’ the show from Miss Pasha.”
He laughs. “Oh, right, right. I remember you now.”
Of course you do, niggah. I ask him his name. He tells me Dez. I take every inch of his dark-chocolately self in, wonderin’ what that dingaling looks like naked and how it would feel stuffed in my ass.
I open my mouth to say somethin’ else when the chick he’s waitin’ for comes outta the store with a bag in her hand. I ain’t gonna front on boo-thang. The bitch is fly. Hair did, nails did. Footwear, handbag, and jewels on point. “Baby . . . . ” She pauses as she looks over at me.
Sexy Chocolate reaches for the bag in her hand. “Babe, she was at Pasha and Jasper’s wedding.�
��
She eyes me and smiles. “Oh, hi.”
“Oooh, Miss Sugah-boo, your ears musta been ringin’ ’cause me and Miss FeFe . . . I mean Felicia, were just talkin’ about you and ya sisters last week when I went into the salon.”
She blinks. “Oh?”
“Chile, I asked her how her messy cousins were doin’ from the weddin’. And Miss FeFe gave me the filth on y’all.”
She blinks again.
“And who do I run into, but you. It’s a small damn world for sure. Oooh, I’m so glad you got your man back, boo.” I eye him again, then peek down into the carriage at the lil’ chocolate baby all dressed in blue. “Y’all look damn good together. And the baby is just as cute as he wanna be. And, girrrrl, judgin’ by that rock on your hand somebody is keepin’ her man very happy. But, I hope you keepin’ ya eyes on that messy sister of yours, and keepin’ her scandalous ass away from him ’cause Big Daddy is sexy, boo. And she done already had her hot pussy smeared all up on him.”
I peep the niggah tryin’ not to grin as she reaches for his hand. “Thanks. Well, you take care,” she says, tryna hurry up away from me like I done said somethin’ to hurt her feelin’s.
“You, too, boo. And remember what I said. Keep that messy ho away from ya man. She fucked him once, she’ll fuck him again.” The bitch dips without sayin’ another word. Mmmph, what the fuck is her problem? I think, headin’ toward Macy’s to do the rest of my shoppin’. I can’t stand a sensitive bitch.
Two hours later, I’m finally walkin’ up outta the mall, loaded down with bags. My cell rings. I stop and fish it outta my tote, then glance at the screen. It’s Dickalina. “Yes,” I answer, walkin’ toward the parkin’ garage.
“Bitch, turn the stank off in ya throat and let’s go down to the Crack House tonight for a few drinks. Knutz ain’t probably gonna be home until late. And I’m tired of sittin’ up in this house waitin’ on his black ass. So, let’s make it pop-pop before that crazy niggah decides to come home and wreck my nerves for the night.”
