by Noire
Swallowing her creamy sap, Robert reacted quickly. “You know I love it,” he answered, pulling her body to his, then rolling over on top of her.
“Is that all you love?” Flame asked, spreading her legs and opening her caramelized coochie lips.
Robert stroked his dick until his veins bulged. Heavily, he breathed into her ear, and slapped her thigh with his hardness. “You know I love you, Flame,” he said, finally thrusting inside her, and pumping away as if he were really doing some damage.
I ain’t doin’ this shit no more. Fuckin’ Power. See what you made me do?
“Jeezus, Mary, and Jos—umpf! This is the best cunt I’ve ever had,” he roared and panted.
“Yeah, baby. Work this shit out!” And hurry the fuck up and raise up off me.
“For the love of—oh, Flame.” Roberts’s body shook, a forewarning of his squirting off.
Nah, for the love of my man, my family, and my money, mu’fucka. I’m only doin’ this cuz I gotta.
• • •
Power sat at the bar sipping on Henny and Coke. He’d been fuckin’ with Kirsten all day, and knew he was driving her crazy. Bourgeoisie bitches like her had always fallen for him. He didn’t know if it was his swagger or his game that had attracted them, but he’d bet long dough that his big, black dick had everything to do with it. The white women he’d known had always swooned for the stereotype, and she was no exception. Especially because he’d fit the “black-man-is-packin’” bill like a mutha.
Running his thumb over the scar on his right cheek where a nigga on Riker’s had blew him with a razor, he licked his Cool J lips and checked the time on the Presidential she’d blessed him with. He gritted his teeth. His boy Whiz was late coming through. And now was not the time for him to be rolling on CP time. He was already a day late, he’d be damned if he came up a dollar short too. If he did, it’d be his boy’s ass. Everything he had was riding on Whiz’s call, and he was tired of waiting.
“Ay, when your boy gettin’ home?” Power asked gruffly, swishing his drink.
Kirsten smiled. “I told you, not for hours. He’ll be in meetings all day, like always. Why?” she asked, tossing her long, strawberry-blond hair. “You feel like playing?”
Power shook his head. “Nah, I look like a mu’fuckin’ child to you? I don’t play shit.” He licked his lips again, then winked. “But I wanna watch you play.”
Kirsten stepped out of her Blahniks, began tugging at her skirt as she walked toward him with a sinister grin plastered on her freckled face.
Power chuckled. Before he could say jump, Kirsten’s feet were off the ground. It’d been less than a month, and she thought she knew him. Her assuming he’d wanted to bang her irked him because it was true, but he had to switch gears. Surprise the ho when she wasn’t looking. “Put yo shit on, baby. We gettin’ ready to roll out.”
“Where are we—”
Power held up his hand, freezing her grill. “Kirsten, what I tell you ’bout that whiny white-girl shit? If ya wanna hang with a nigga, you gots to blacken up, Ma. Learn to stop askin’ so many questions. In the hood it’s all good. When we roll, we mu’fuckin’ roll, baby. No questions asked. Now let’s go see how much you really love a nigga,” he said, putting his pimp game down and snatching her car keys.
Power smiled when he saw discomfort sprawl across Kirsten’s face as he whipped her candy-apple Benz through Park Slope and crossed over Flatbush Avenue, zigged to Lafayette, through Carlton, and finally hung a turn on Dekalb, headed toward Marcy Projects. Bustin’ a U, he sped into a parking lot, and jumped out, then snatched up Kirsten and ushered her into Slim Goodies’s Pawn Shop.
Getting buzzed into the secured door, Power nodded what’s up to the man working the shop behind bulletproof glass, then stopped in front of another door. A secret knock later, and he was guiding Kirsten past an armed guard and into Slim’s Pussy Palace, a whorehouse and gentlemen’s club tucked in the basement of the pawnshop. Music blared, and body heat filled the air as they walked past the bar, the stage where an entourage of naked hoes flung coochie and participated in orgies, then took their seats at a table in the rear.
“What’s good, man? I ain’t seent you in a good minute.” Slim carried his four-hundred-plus rolls of heft Power’s way and gave him a pound.
“Can’t call it. You tell me what’s really, really good, man,” Power said, already knowing the answer.
“Long as sugar is sweet, Goody is good,” Slim answered his usual. All his top-notch hoes were named Goody. “Delicious as a mu’fucka, bring in twice mo’ change than the rest of these broads. Wanna sample?”
“Come on, Slim. Ya know a nigga don’t turn down nothin’ free ’cept his collar.”
Kirsten looked from one man to the other, confusion etched on her face. A telltale sign that she was at a loss on the lingo.
“It’s good, Ma,” Power assured her, patting her leg.
“Are you sure?” she asked with a shaky voice.
“Am I black?” Power laughed, then cut it short when a thick sista sporting a phat-ass booty, firm ta-tas, blue scarf that he was sure she rode while performing onstage, and a dental floss G-string sauntered their way.
“Heard y’all wanna sample my goodies,” Goody purred, straddling Power without waiting on an answer.
“Wait a minute,” Kirsten began to protest.
Power smacked Goody on the ass, then pointed at Kirsten. “Give her a taste.”
Goody hopped from his lap to Kirsten’s, ignoring Kirsten’s apparent discomfort.
“You said you loved a nigga,” Power reminded, rubbing Kirsten’s shoulders, then working his way down to her titties, fondling them and pinching her almost hard nipples through her flimsy white blouse. “Show me how much.”
He knew he had her when she closed her eyes, melting to his touch and Goody grinding on her lap. Taking Goody’s scarf from around her shoulders, he blindfolded Kirsten, then pulled her to her feet. “Follow me, Ma. I forgot to thank you for the Rolie.”
Goody’s room was as pink and sweet as the sugar walls that would be bumping in it, Power thought as he handed Kirsten over to Goody. With fluid motions, Goody slowly undressed the snow bunny, revealing erect pink nipples and a blond snatch.
“Mmm,” Goody moaned, stripping out of her G-string, then gently pushing Kirsten onto the bed and pinching her nipples until she squirmed and groaned.
“Like that?” Goody asked, taking one of the pink peaks into her mouth, flicking her tongue over it, then licking her way down between Kirsten’s legs.
“Yes,” Kirsten admitted while Power released himself from his pants, strapped up, and positioned Goody’s ass up in the air.
Spreading her booty cheeks, he tickled her clit with one finger, stuck two others in her pussy. Like a pro, Goody lap-danced on his hand, swishing her loaned-out liquid in circles as she dipped down and up, making herself warmer and wetter with each bounce of her hips. Getting into Power’s groove, she arched her back in anticipation of his dick, ignoring the snow bunny’s naked flesh.
Pushing Goody’s head back down, Power instructed her to keep licking as he positioned himself between her lower lips, and pushed his hugeness inside her with one single plunge. Goody hollered out in shock, pain, pleasure, then got back down with the get-down as he worked her middle until it spilled over.
The cell phone buzzed on his hip just as he was about to bust. “Fuck!” he complained, but didn’t hesitate to answer the call. Pulling out, he decided he could get his rocks off anytime. Pussy waited on him 24/7. But come-ups like the one he’d planned came through only once in a lifetime, if a nigga was lucky.
“Gimme what’chu got,” Power answered.
“Enrique’s real stash is near 115th and Lexington. My boy’s got a spot on 112th right off Lex, so watchin’ him ain’t a problem. I already know how many men he got workin’ days.”
“Cool. Hit me lata—”
Whiz laughed. “Ya forgettin’ somethin’.”
P
ower rubbed his stubbled chin. “What’s that?”
“Ya girl Flame, nigga! You want me to go get her or what? You know Enrique’s still holding her. He’ll let her go for a brick—from me anyway. But he’s out for ya whole ass!” Whiz laughed.
Power looked back, saw his snow bunny’s face buried between Goody’s legs, and grinned. “Let ’im keep her, it’s too risky,” he said, slapping Kirsten on the ass. “If she slipped and got caught once, she’ll do it again. I can’t let no broad bring death to my door. Plus, how ya know that nigga won’t bank you soon as you hand the bird over?”
Whiz choked on the other end of the line, then exhaled smoke as he spoke. “You a cold mu’fucka, Power. You just gonna leave Flame to the wolves like dat? After her being down wit’chu for a nickel?”
Power shook his head. Whiz had all the connects and could find a grain of red dirt in a sandstorm, but he was slow when it came down to broads. “Letmedo me. Flame knew what kinda nigga I was from the door. Let her charge it to the game!”
• • •
Flame sat as still as she possibly could and tried to disappear into her chair as Enrique hemmed up one of his workers, slapping him around and pulverizing his face until he was barely recognizable. She winced every time the man cried out and pleaded for his life. She empathized with him because she too was bargaining for hers.
“What up, mami,” Carlos, one of Enrique’s soldiers asked.
“Que? Did I hear you speak to Flame, cabron?” Enrique turned his rage on his worker. “You don’t fuck wit my money, right? So don’t fuck wit her.” He looked at Flame. “Mami’s got dineros in her cho-cha. Dat’s right, right? There’s money in your pussy? At least thirty-four grand.”
Flame froze. She didn’t know if she should answer him.
Enrique snatched her by her red hair and pulled her to her feet. “Show me some fuckin’ respect when I talkin’ to you. I show you some just by lettin’ you live.” He spat in her face and mushed her back down onto the chair.
Flame balled up and cried like a baby, hoping Enrique would ease up off of her. Grabbing her temples, she screamed. She was doing the best she could to pay back Power’s debt, selling her ass and soul, and hadn’t a thing to show for it. But tomorrow that would all change.
“Mira, that way.” Enrique pointed toward the bedroom door, and Flame dropped her stare at the floor. “Don’t act like you don’t know what the fuck I saying. All morenos know ‘mira’ means ‘look.’ Take ya ass in the back ’til I finish here. Comprende?”
Fuckin’ Power.
The room was hot and stuffy, with barred and boarded-up windows. Flame sat on the edge of the bed, tears streaking her pressed powder, and wondered what her sister, Mercedes, was doing to survive without her. Flame had been the one to feed, clothe, and make sure Mercedes had had a proper education ever since their momma decided to trade them in for a heroin kick almost seven years ago. She’d given up her dreams of going to college, learning a trade, having a workingman who pulled a 9-to-5, to make sure her sister didn’t have to live the life that she did. No one deserved the shit she was putting herself through for Power. She exhaled and sighed, wiped the tears from her face and assured herself I ain’t doin’ nothin’ for Power that he wouldn’t do for me. He’s gonna come through. Got to.
Enrique stood in the doorway eating out of a bowl. “You hungry, mami,” he asked as if he hadn’t just spit on Flame. “There’s arroz con pollo and sweet plantanos in the kitchen.”
Flame just shook her head. Her stomach was growling, but she didn’t feel hungry. Stress had fucked up her blood sugar levels. “No thanks,” she answered, remembering Enrique’s talk on respect.
Enrique dragged his slippered feet into the room and sat next to her on the bed. Softly, he touched her shoulder, and she flinched and trembled. Setting the bowl down on the white sheets, he rubbed her face with the back of his hand. Instantly, her tears came to life again, running down her face like she wished she could haul ass up out of there.
“Listen to me, Flame. I don’t like hurting you, mami. I a business man, not a bully. And I know this ain’t your fault, but you bait—the only thing Power’ll come back for.” He held up his hands, then let them fall to his lap. “Then again, maybe not. He not show up yet. Why you stayed with this nigga?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know. He ain’t hard, all that tough shit he be slangin’ ain’t nothin’ but window dressing—a front. If you was mine, Harlem would’ve been raining with my bullets the minute I found out you was snatched.”
All Flame could do was nod. Enrique had made his point, but she knew her man better. And he was gonna come through. She’d put her life on it.
“So, what up with that vic? You ready to move? ’Cause I can’t let you hit ’im with the bad news by yo’self. Carlos or Crazy Lucky will go wit’chu.”
Flame relaxed a little, knowing that she had just the right thing to say. “I’m good to go. You just say when.”
Enrique patted her knee, and a seldom surfacing smile crept across his face. “That’s what I wanna hear, mami! Matter fact, I going to be there to hold you down myself. As much work as you had to put in to keep me happy, I wanna see the smile you have for me when you get to walk away. Tomorrow,” he said, confirming when their lick was going down.
• • •
Power sat in Slim’s Pussy Palace for the fourth day in a row, drinking and slangin’. Posted up at the bar, he sloshed his Henny and Coke in his glass, then threw back his head, downing what was left. Rapping his knuckles on the bar to take Slim’s attention away from a knucklehead, he held a finger in the air, signaling he wanted a refill.
“Come the fuck on, Slim. How long I done known you, and you got a nigga waiting?” he slurred.
“Got-dammit, boy,” Slim said, moving his heft slowly. “I’m tryin’ to help yo black ass make a dime.” He slammed an empty glass in front of Power and started pouring Hennessy. “But if you don’t wanna get paid . . .” He finished making the drink, splashing a little bit of soda in the tumbler, just barely coloring the cognac.
Power perked up. “Talk to me, then.”
“Money over there,” Slim tilted his head toward the other side of the bar. “That’s my boy Low. Been knowing him for years, and he’s good. Well he lookin’ for a lil sumptin’ sumptin’. Looks like his supplier got knocked, and I don’t mean by the police.”
Power nodded. “What’s a lil somethin’?”
“Few eights.”
“Ya sure that nigga straight?”
Slim frowned up. “Nigga, if you can’t trust me, shiiit, that mean I can’t trust you neither. And I let you do your dirty in my spot.”
Power stood. Gave Slim a pound. “Tell him I said he has to use the bathroom. Real bad.”
• • •
Flame arrived at her and Richard’s fuck spot two hours before their lunchtime date and played maid. Searching dresser drawers, under the bed, behind furniture, she packed everything that could prove she’d ever been there, dumped it in the incinerator, then called the super and pretended like she’d lost something to make sure the trash was already burning. With bucket after bucket of bleach and water, she scrubbed down everything, practically Cloroxing the place to death.
At noon, Richard’s key clicked in the lock. Flame posted up on the sofa wearing nothing but a smile and the little black nightie he’d bought her from Vickie’s Secret that said everything but “Hush.”
“Hello, my chocolate kitten,” he said, dropping his briefcase.
Flame’s nerves were rattled again, but she pushed them aside knowing this would be the last day she’d be his “chocolate” anything.
“What up, Rich,” she replied, emotionless. No longer did she have to coo and pretend, roll over and fuck. The game was over, and Enrique and his crew were hiding in the back room.
Richard walked over to her, confusion etched on his face. “Bad day?”
“Could be worse,” she said, then stood and switched up her mood a lit
tle. “I just need to take a shower, relax a little.” She ran her fingers through her wild hair. “Can you meet me in the room when you get settled and help me undress? Please, Daddy?”
“Sure, I’ll be there as soon as I leave my client a message.”
Flame closed the door behind her, nodded okay to Enrique when he pointed toward the closet, tossing her clothes to her. Huddling, her body began to tremble as she thought about the fear Richard would soon face. She hated to do it to him, but when it came down to it, it was either him or her. Reflecting on all the “chocolate whores” he’d called her, she shook the feeling and decided that he deserved what was coming to him.
She heard the door open, a short scuffle, then a burner cocked. Enrique called her name, and she knew the game was over. Quietly, she opened the door as if creeping would make her less accountable. Keeping her eyes on Enrique, she stood there waiting for instructions.
“Tell ’im what’chu want, mami.”
Flame looked at Richard, forced a scowl on her face. “I want the deed to your house. Not the place you and your family live in, your vacation house. The deed.”
Richard laughed nervously. “You can’t be—”
Enrique’s henchman, Crazy Lucky, gun-butted him. “Shut da fuck up. Let’er finish.”
“Oh, but I am serious. Let me show you how serious,” she said, gulping back the embarrassment she knew she was going to face once she played the DVD. Inhaling deeply, she pressed PLAY on the VCR. When she saw her lips wrapped around Richard’s dick she gagged. When he fucked her from behind, her stomach turned and its juices pushed up through her lips, thick and dripping. But when she heard Richard’s voice tell her he loved her, she wiped that nastiness away and smiled at three words that would seal the deal.
