by Cairo
“Aaah, shit . . . ”
He slaps my ass.
“Muthafuckin’ good-ass pussy . . . I’ma break my dick off in it . . . ”
“Give it to me good, niggah! Punk-ass . . . oooh . . . yessss . . . ” I am cummin’. I twist and shudder and buck, grabbin’ and squeezin’ my titties. I pinch and lick my nipples. I wanna cum outta my ass. I wanna ride this niggah’s dick in my ass, but he’s makin’ me wait for it. And I know why. ’Cause he ain’t ready to nut yet, and he knows once I have him trapped in this sweet chocolate, I’ma have him spent in no time. He knows he can’t ever hold his nut when I have him gobbled up in my ass.
He finally pulls his dick outta me, opens my asscheeks, then works his dick into my ass. I press on my clit, wigglin’ my ass. I wanna buck back on it, but I’m gonna keep it ladylike ’til the niggah gets it all in. His dingaling, my asshole, fit like a snug glove. I arch my back, toot my ass up. He speed strokes me. All the while sweatin’ ’n gruntin’ ’n poppin’ shit about not wantin’ to share this ass, pussy, or throat with any other niggah.
His balls slap against the back of my wet pussy.
“Yeah, Daddy, get it, motherfucka . . . mmmmph . . . fuck that ass, baby . . . uhhh . . . yesssss . . . oooh . . . get all up in that chocolate, boo . . . ”
The niggah grunts ’n shakes. “Aaaah, aaaah, aaaaah . . . I’m cummin’ baby . . . mmmm . . . mmmm . . . . ya ass so hot . . . uhhh . . . ”
Of course it is, niggah. It’s hot from the ten gees I can’t wait to spend.
“Yesss, goddammit . . . skeet in my ass, Daddy . . . give me that hot cream, niggah-boo . . . ”
Two seconds later, he pulls outta my ass, snatches off the condom and tells me to hurry up and turn around. “Catch this nut, baby . . . ” I wrap my mouth around his Mandingaling and suck the sap outta it. “Aaaaah shit . . . fuckfuckfuck . . . ” His hot nut fills my mouth, then glides down into my throat. I keep suckin’. “Yeah, baby, gobble that shit up . . . ”
When I am done cleanin’ his dick, I climb outta bed, grab my handbag loaded down with my ten gees, and head straight to the bathroom. Glad the shit is finally over with. This damn niggah ain’t shit!
“Heeeeeey, Miss Pasha, girl,” I say, walkin’ toward her workstation. It’s packed to the seams up in here today. And I’m pissed that I ain’t get down here first thing this morning, or at least make me an appointment. “Where’s Miss Messy today?”
She shakes her head, smilin’. She has Jasper’s cousin, Mona, in her chair, textin’. Mona ain’t really messy, so I can’t say anthing shitty about her. But that sneaky niggah she married is. Mmmph. And he’s some kinda fine, too. But his dingaling’s longer than his money so there you have it. “Felecia has the day off,” Miss Pasha says, swivelin’ Mona in her chair toward the mirror. She trims the back of her hair. “What’s going on with you?”
“Not a damn thing, hon. How you, boo?”
She glances at me through the mirror. “I’m good. Keepin’ busy as you see.”
“I see. You doin’ it, boo. How many heads you got today?” She tells me she has two more after Mona, but they’re only washes ’n wraps. “Ooh, you think you can fit me in? I gotta look right for the weekend, boo.” She wants to know what I want done. I tell her I want my weave redid; that I wanna go Rihanna red ’cause I’m fierce and hot like fire.
She laughs. “Girl, you a mess. I’ll fit you in between my next two appointments.”
“Boo, you always do me right, goddammit.” I glance at Mona. “Hey, Miss Mona. What, you not speakin’ today?”
She looks up from her phone, eyein’ me in the mirror. “Girl, no. I’m wrapped up in fussin’ with Mario about some mess he done posted up on Facebook. I’m tellin’ you, social media is the devil in disguise.”
“Girl, what he do now?” Miss Pasha asks.
She sighs. “This damn boy posted up on his wall: where them—spelled d-e-m—hoes at. I told him to take it down.”
That classic “Where Da Hoes At?” by Snoop Dogg starts playin’ in my head. Oooh, I used to wanna smoke a blunt with that niggah, then ride down on his dingaling. “ . . . She be lickin’ my dick . . . because bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks . . . they lick on the nuts and they suck a dick . . . Fuck a bitch, suck a dick . . .” Yes, goddammit! I feel like poppin’ my fingers, and droppin’ it. That used to be my shit!
“Oh, no, girl,” Miss Pasha says, cuttin’ into the mini concert I was about to have in my head. “I don’t blame you. I woulda told his fresh behind the same thing. These kids today are outta hand.”
Miss Mona grunts. “Mmmph. Tell me about it. But I stay on Mario’s butt. I’m not raisin’ him to be disrespectful to women. I don’t give a damn if Avery doesn’t see anything wrong with some of the mess he says and does. I do.”
“I heard that.”
I shift my handbag from one arm to the other. “Well, Miss Mona, I hope Mario ain’t still getting’ his dingaling sucked down inside girls’s bathrooms.”
“Ugh, please. Don’t even remind me. I’ve tried to block that horrible experience out of my head.”
I chuckle. “Chile, I heard Clitina was suckin’ his dingaling like a pornstar. She had his knees buckin’ and everything, girl. Oh, that lil’ whore was tryna turn him out, boo.”
She scrunches her face up. “Ugh, do you mind? I really don’t need to hear this right now. But I was wondering who the lil’ tramp was down on her knees since the school wouldn’t say and neither would Mario.”
“Mmmph. If he knows like I know he’ll keep his dingdong in his pants ’cause that lil’ ho is suckin’ for Jeezus, chile. She gobblin’ up nuts for the Cum Gawds, boo. I ain’t tryna sling no mud on her, but if he’s still lettin’ her sop him up in school, I hope he’s double wrappin’ it. Then again, he better use two condoms and Saran Wrap.”
Miss Mona frowns. “Girl, I can’t. I’m not even tryna go there. I already told him to keep that dick in his pants. But you know like I do, once you get a taste you end up wanting more.”
“Uh-huh,” Miss Pasha agrees. “And doing more to get it.”
“Yes, Lawd,” I say, pullin’ out my cell as it rings. It’s Buddha. “Sex is good. Thank you, Fahver. I stretch my hands out to Thee for blessin’ us with good sex.” I throw a hand up. “Oooh, excuse me one minute. Miss Pasha, I’ma take this call and head on upstairs to get my hands and feet did. Hello?”
“What’s good, Miss Simms? I got that info you wanted.”
I grin. “Oh, good, boo. Now what’s with all this Miss Simms shit? You done been all up in my pussy and done tongued all through my ass. Ain’t no need to be formal with me, boo.”
“I feel you, ma. It’s outta respect, though, feel me? Plus, I still ain’t comfortable wit’ gettin’ it in wit’ . . . ”
I suck my teeth. “Niggah, stop worryin’ about Jah. He ain’t gonna find out. Besides, I done told you don’t no niggah run this pussy. I do what I want with it.”
“I hear you, ma. It’s just that I ain’t beat for no beefs, you feel me?”
I take a seat in one of the open massage chairs and wait for Miss Anna to get these feet right. “Yeah, I feel you, boo. And I’d love to feel that dingaling, again, too.”
“Yo, that’s wassup. I wanna give it to you, too; word. When you free?”
I glance at my watch. It’s already after eleven-thirty. I’ma be cuttin’ it real close today, so I ain’t gonna be able to fuck him like I want. And Buddha’s the kinda niggah I wanna give it to real good. I tell him tomorrow mornin’.
“Aiight, bet. Same spot?”
“Uh-huh,” I say, lickin’ my lips. “And you better do me right, boo.”
He laughs. “I got you, ma.” We disconnect as Anna comes over to me. “Hey, Cass. You wanna full pedi?”
“Give me the works, boo.” I reach for a glass of champagne bein’ carried on a tray by a tall, shiny buffed, bare-chested chocolate-drop niggah. Oooh, Miss Pasha knows how to do it up. I grab a strawberry. Take a bite into
it, then sip my bubbly. Now this is how a bitch ’posed to serve it. I lay my head back.
Oooh, Buddha’s gonna get fucked down real good. Yes, Lawd! Big Booty gonna tear that dingaling up, goddammit!
Twenty-Three
I hate goddamn courts, courtrooms, judges and motherfuckin’ prosecutors—well, except for the three that I’ve fucked down real good. But that’s another story for another time—and right now I am not diggin’ this arbitration bitch one goddamn bit, talkin’ down to me like I ain’t shit. Miss Bitch is sittin’ here on the other side of the table, lookin’ all googly-eyed at Julius’s ass ’cause he’s tall and fine and chiseled and a motherfuckin’ police officer. The niggah’s played real dirty, too, comin’ up in here in his uniform, lookin’ goddamn delicious! But, right now, I hate his ass, too, goddammit! However, I’m keepin’ it real classy in my slate gray wrap dress that dips just right in the front to let ’em see my titties pop without screamin’ slutty. It grazes my knees just so to let these bitches see my smooth, shapely stockin’-less legs, and clings to my ass, lettin’ all the big booty bounce, baby. I even pulled out some of my good jewels—three-carat tennis bracelet, two-carat studs, a diamond choker, and the two-carat engagement ring Julius gave me when the niggah thought I wanted to be wifed up. I have my Birkin bag tossed up on the table to let this bitch know she ain’t dealin’ with no ghetto trash bitch.
Every so often I catch Julius cuttin’ his eyes down at the ring blingin’ on my finger, then lockin’ ’em on my titties, rememberin’—I’m sure—the last time I had his dingdong slidin’ in between these juicy cantaloupe-sized boobs. I flip my long weave over my shoulder like I’m the new ho for the next Pantene commercial.
“Miss Simms,” Miss Bitch says, eyein’ me, “as you are aware Mister Reeves has petitioned the court for residential custody of Joshua Simms? And it is my understandin’ that you have agreed to allow the said child to live with his fahver. Is that correct?”
I cut my eyes over at Julius. I feel like cussin’ him out. I bite my tongue. “No, I have not agreed to shit, boo.”
Julius shakes his head, sighin’. “Yo, Cass, stop. Joshua told me you told him he can come live with me so why are you sittin’ here tryna switch it up now?”
My heart aches. I wanna go upside his head so goddamn bad. “Nig . . . Julius, I never wanted you to take my . . . our son. But since you done got all up in his head tryna turn him against me, what was I gonna say, huh? You tryna do me, nig . . . Julius. And I don’t agree to this shit.”
Miss Bitch says, “Missus Simms, Mister Reeves has stated he is willing to allow you to have Joshua every other weekend and alternating holidays.”
I blink. “Bitch, I don’t care what he stated. I’m not an unfit mother and I’m not lettin’ him take my son from me. And I’m not sayin’ shit else until my lawyer gets here.” Of course I don’t really have a lawyer since I ain’t wanna spend my money on one. But if need be, I’ll shut this shit down to go scrape up one.
“Missus Simms, please let’s refrain from profanity and name-calling. This is a civilized arbitration hearing. There’s no need to be hostile.”
“Boo, I ain’t bein’ hostile. Hostile is when I go upside his head, then start tearin’ the courthouse up. Right now I’m lettin’ you know I ain’t interested in givin’ him custody of my son. Now, bitch, what part of that don’t you understand?”
“Our son, Cass, he reminds me as if I don’t know the niggah’a his fahver. “And I’m not tryna take Joshua away from you or turn him against you. I’m tryna give our son a better home environment.”
“Niggah-coon, boom! You talkin’ like I keep a filthy house and keep mice and roaches for pets. Joshua wants for nothin’, boo. And you know it. I don’t neglect him or any of my other kids, so don’t do me.”
“I’m not tryna do you, Cass. I’m tryna do what’s right for our son.”
I hop up from my seat and Miss Bitch jumps as if I’ma leap up on her. “Niggah, I’m not tryna hear it. You and”—I flick my finger over at Miss Bitch—“this bitch can both eat the inside of my asshole. Take this shit to the judge ’cause I ain’t givin’ over my son to you or no-goddamn-body else without a fight. And you know I love a good goddamn fight.”
“Alrighty then,” Miss Bitch says, gettin’ up from her seat. “Mister Reeves, looks like we’ll be bringing this matter before the judge since this is not something that can be handled amicably. Both of you can expect a court notice in the mail within seven to ten days.”
He shakes his head. “I told you she was difficult.”
“Niggah, ain’t shit difficult about me. I’m real easy-breezy and you know it. I ain’t never kept you from havin’ Joshua anytime you want him. I let you have him durin’ the summer months and on any holiday except Christmas mornin’ and Mother’s Day—and don’t look at me like I don’t goddamn know Mother’s Day ain’t no real holiday. You just pissed ’cause you gotta pay child support. You wasn’t even thinkin’ about Joshua ’til I said I was gonna take ya black ass back to court for more money. Now all of a sudden you want him. You work long hours, Julius. How the hell you gonna take care of him, huh?”
Miss Bitch cuts in. “I’m gonna let the two of you take a moment to try and hash this out on your own. Mister Reeves, we’ll be in touch.” She glances over at me. “Missus Simms—”
“Bitch, boom! Don’t say shit to me.”
Julius watches her scurry up outta here. He waits for the door to close. “Damn, Cass. Why you always gotta be so damn ghetto all the time? We in a courthouse, sitting with an officer of the court, and you can’t even control your damn mouth or your nasty-ass attitude.” He shakes his head. “Then you wonder why I want my son outta that house. You’re fuckin’ outta control, Cass.”
I tilt my head. “Niggah, you want outta control. Take my son from me and I’ma show you what outta control looks like, startin’ with this.” I pull out my cell, then press PLAY. The niggah’s face goes blank when he hears his voice. I play a recordin’ from one of our many times fuckin’ up in his police car and him fillin’ my ass up with the barrel of his gun while rammin’ his dick in my pussy.
“Damn, baby . . . you like it when I slide this gun in ya ass, huh? Nice phat, juicy ass. Look how that shit opens up for my gun, Cass . . . . you like ya ass stuffed . . . ?”
“Yessss, goddammit! Do me right, niggah. Oooh, yesss. Fuck me with that gun.”
“Yeah, baby . . . you wanna taste ya ass on my gun?”
I stop the recordin’. “And I have a whole lot others where that came from, niggah. And I got videos and photos, niggah, of you fuckin’ me in ya police car. Or did you forget that shit?”
“Yo, you a fuckin’ dirty bitch, Cass. You’d really try and blackmail me?”
“I don’t do blackmail, boo. I do what I gotta do to keep my son. And if you wanna keep ya job, I suggest you tell Joshua that you’ve changed ya mind. That you think it’s best that things stay the way they are. If not, I promise you. The Mayor, the Commissioner, the Police Chief, the Captain, Facebook, YouTube and every goddamn news channel will get copies of you fuckin’ me down in ya cop car and you lickin’ my ass juice off’a the barrel of ya own gun, boo. You ’posed to be on duty and you fuckin’ me, ha! Nigga-coon, boom! Fuck with me if you want, Julius.”
“Fuckin’ bitch!” he snaps, grabbin’ me by the arm. “You’d really try and fuck my career up?” He twists my shit. “Fuck with my job or my money, Cass, and . . . ”
“And what, niggah? What you gonna do, bitch?”
The muscles in his jaw twitch.
“Get ya motherfuckin’ hand off’a me!”
He lets my arm go. “Fuckin’ crazy bitch,” he snaps, swingin’ open the door, then walkin’ out. Just because this niggah’s a cop, bitches think his ass is squeaky clean. Well, here’s a goddamn newsflash for ya asses: Julius Reeves is just as crooked and dirty as his motherfuckin’ lil’ piggy-dicked partner. And he knows I know it better than anyone else. Let him go through with this
custody shit. And I’ma drag his drawers for all to see.
I smile, walkin’ out. I head toward the bank of elevators, decidin’ to go up to the Prosecutor’s Office to have a friendly chat with Lance Jefferson, one of the assistant prosecutors and past sponsors. Maybe I’ll suck his dick for old time’s sake; maybe I won’t. Right now I need to ensure Julius doesn’t get custody of Joshua. By any goddamn means necessary. And if Prosecutor Jefferson can’t help me, I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to find me someone who will. After all, I have dirt on his married ass, too.
Nigga, boom-boom! Fuck with me if you want.
Twenty-Four
“Bitch, why you ain’t called me?” Dickalina screams into my ear the minute I answer my cell. This ho is so damn ghetto and loud. It makes no kinda sense. “I ain’t talk to you in three damn days. Don’t get cute, bitch, ’cause you done got ya ass some new silky yak hangin’ down ya back. And I heard you done dyed ya shit blonde. Priscilla’s sister Princess told me she seen’t you comin’ outta ShopRite the other day and you acted like you was too cute to speak.”
“Well, I was. And I am. Shit, what the hell I wanna speak to her for? That ugly bitch looks like shit on a stick. Other than her havin’ the same baby daddy as me . . . and I still don’t see what the fuck he saw in her ass. It must have been one of them late-night, drunk fucks ’cause that bitch’s ass is up on her back and she looks like her pussy stinks, but whatever. That bitch and me don’t have a damn thing in common.” I grunt, shakin’ my head. “I should smack the shit outta her ass next time I see her for runnin’ back reportin’ to you like you my damn man. Tell that bitch I said to eat a dick and mind her goddamn business.”
She laughs. “Girl, whatever. You still ain’t say shit about why you ain’t called me today? Why I gotta always call you?”
