by Sa'id Salaam
Women could learn a lesson from Kitty. Instead of being mean and combative and making demands, be nice. Treat your man with kindness and be generous with the vagina. Either he will return the good treatment and everyone wins or he won't and expose himself as not the one. Stay with that dude and you settled for less than you're worth.
"And what Killa wants Killa gets. You want me to cum for you?" Kitty asked and began to masturbate before he could answer. Besides, she already knew the answer. It wasn't like he was going to say no. Picture that. It took Kitty just a couple of minutes to reach a screeching orgasm.
"That sounded like a good one, save some for me." Killa exclaimed just as his flight was announced. "See you tonight."
Killa had to use his carry-on bag to conceal his erection as he boarded the plane. It did the trick until he found his seat and had to stow the bag. He lifted it above his head and worked to stuff it into the crowded bin.
"Oh my!" The middle aged white lady seated by the window said of the bulge in his pants. Killa gave a couple gyrations with his hips for her benefit, and then sat next to her.
The lady bantered jovially from Alculpoco to Atlanta, hoping to sample what he showed off. Her husband was wealthy, generous and out of town, so a quick romp was in order. It was a payback as well, since his secretary was with him as well. No such luck because Killa had Kitty on his mind. Once they landed in Atlanta, Killa snatched the bag out and disappeared. He jumped in one of the taxis idling at the curb and left.
"Please don't be off that ass!" Killa wished as he neared his abode. Kitty was perfect in his eyes and he was worried about losing twenty pounds of her; especially ass.
His home was off the beaten path, so the taxi only took him to where one of his cars was parked. He was smart enough to have several vehicles at different locations around town. Each had fake but realistic ID, traveling money and of course guns. He may have never been a boy scout but he was always prepared.
Kitty saw the lights on the property ignite from the motion detectors. She knew it would only be one person so she jumped up. A few last minute adjustments later, she rushed to the entry foyer to greet her man.
"Tah-dah!" She cheered seductively posing in her new dress. She did a little twirl to give him a shot of her ass. "You like?"
"I like!" Killa announced enthusiastically. He was quite pleased but more relieved that her round mound of playground was still intact. She was noticeably slimmer but fine as all outdoors and that was plenty fine.
Kitty bounced up and down like a school girl, giddy from the praise. She rushed over and smothered his face with wet smooches. Killa dropped his bag and returned the affection. He guided her backwards into the living room until she fell on the sofa.
"Oh!" Kitty purred when her man hiked her dress above her full hips.
Killa dropped between her legs and removed her panties with his teeth. After a month of spicy Mexican food, Kitty's kitty tasted like candy and taste he did. It wasn't even a full minute before an orgasm shook the room. Killa kept right on going until she came again. He would have went for thirds if she hadn't stopped him
Kitty pulled him up and scrambled to free the erection trapped in his pants. She grabbed it and shoved it inside of her with an audible splash. She tossed her large legs onto his shoulders, giving it up completely. He took it too, tapping her cervix on every down stroke.
Killa closed his eyes in ecstasy but Sincerity's face forced them to open back up. This was Kitty's time so he didn't want to cheat her out of any of it. Every since his trip to New York he had been having mental threesomes with them every time he and Kitty made love. They weren't making love at the moment, they were fucking.
"Whose pussy is this!" He demanded. Demanded, not asked, because he already knew whose pussy it was. Men just like to hear it.
"It's Killa's!" She screamed in delight.
"And what's Killa doing to it?"
"Killing it!" Kitty replied just as she went over the edge and came again. Killa was right behind her and exploded inside of her. The couple kissed urgently as they convulsed from the mutual climax.
"Mmm. Daddy you need to go away and come back more often." Kitty moaned as she squeezed and released, squeezed and released.
"Be careful what you wish for. I may have to go out to Cali for a couple of days."
"When are you going to tell me what you really do? And no more of that hit man crazy crap!" She fussed sweetly.
"I told you. I'm a highly-trained assassin. I travel the globe and kill people. I wet 'em in Washington, murder in Memphis, kill in Kentucky, off 'em in Oregon, body 'em in Bolivia and..."
"Oh, stop it! Don't tell me then!" Kitty laughed, cutting him off. She pouted playfully. Since her bottom lip was poking out, Killa sucked and nibbled on it. That set off a round or two.
The night on the town was quickly forgotten about and they spent the night pleasing each other. They moved the session up to the bedroom and finally finished in the large custom-made tub.
"I love you so much!" Kitty sighed as they cuddled in the suds.
"No! Don't!" Killa, yelled sitting up straight in the tub. The look of pure horror on his face scared Kitty more than the actual outburst.
“What do you mean, don't love you?" She asked, bewildered. "How can I not?"
Killa had no reply. What could he say anyway? Loving me is suicide? Every woman who ever loved him died. From Fatimah to Denise, Renee, his mother; all dead. He was truly a hard dude to love.
Chapter Seven
The Baron was a big Green Mile looking mother fucker. His huge six-foot inch frame was littered with muscles on top of muscles. The expensive Italian suite he wore bulged from pecs, quads and abs. His shiny bald head made him resemble a bowling ball because they didn't smile either. The fierce looking man maintained a menacing smile at all times.
The lieutenants all sat around the huge boardroom table wondering what this unscheduled meeting was about. Since there is no honor amongst thieves, they all were guilty of something. These were men who controlled the crews that controlled the streets for the Black Mob. Stealthy glances were stolen at the large Boss sitting silently at the head of the table. To make matters worse, they often had to endure abuse from Casper. Each of the men was killers and could easily eat the white man but it would certainly be a last meal.
"Big Rock!" Casper announced calling the meeting to order as he approached the man who went by the moniker. His voice was dripping with disdain as he read from his notepad.
Big Rock was a big dude who ran the Black mob's operations in Baltimore. He was a feared killer in his own right and wanted to slap the little white man's little white head off of his shoulders for using that tone of voice. But, knowing Casper was the man next to The Man, he swallowed his pride in a loud gulp and meekly replied, "Yes?"
“The Baron would like to know if you are smoking big rocks. Based on your recent numbers, you certainly aren't selling them." Casper chided.
"Boss we..." Big Rock began towards the large silent man until a loud slap from Casper shut him up.
All the killers in the room winced and grimaced at the disrespect. Big Rock was so mad and frustrated at not being able to strike back a tear escaped his eye.
“You don't have the right to speak to him!" Casper screamed at the top of his lungs as the sound of the slap still reverberated around the room.
"We are still having problems with that crew from New York. They have a better product at a better price." Big Rock managed through his rage.
“You can't kill a few out-of-towners in your own city?" Casper demanded, rearing back as if he were about to strike again. He wasn't actually going to hit him again. He just wanted to make him flinch knowing it would be humiliating.
“They either kill or turn everybody I sent at them." Big Rock admitted.
Casper shot a glance over to the still motion and speechless Baron before speaking.
"Guess it’s time to send a pro."
Casper turned his attention to the r
est of the men in attendance. A few accolades but mostly ass chewing. As he spoke, the door opened and in slinked a young woman. She was slightly over five feet tall and wore a tiny skirt that displayed slim bronze things. She was petite but very shapely and the dreadlocks that extended to the middle of her back gave her an exotic flair.
Most men shot her a quick glance when she walked in and then turned their attention back to the speaker. Not Daryl aka Player D. He was a true dick head. The type of man who thinks with his dick and not his head. It had always gotten him in all sorts of trouble but being Black mob connected always got him out of it; except for today.
Instead of paying attention to the meeting, Player D was paying homage to the girl's leopard-printed panties as she sat wide legged in a chair across the room. She saw him looking and licked her tongue at him. Dumb ass licked back and got smacked.
"I called your name five times Mr. Daryl but you are far more concerned with what's between Yolo's legs than in your own city!" Casper barked. "Is that why your receipts are so low lately?"
"No." Daryl lied as he raised his hand to his face. In fact, pussy or the pursuit of pussy was exactly why his money was short.
Player D was a big trick. He had at least ten known baby mommas in his hometown of Orlando. That's not counting his wife, his side piece, and a stable of hookers, hoes, strippers and jump offs. The majority of his time was spent dealing with his women and the drama they brought. He tricked lavishly on them all, spending more money than he had. If not for his second command, T-Rock, the business would be completely bankrupt. It was T-Rock who had salvaged what he could and reported what he couldn't. That's why he was invited to the meeting. He was about to get a promotion.
"If Yolo were to say...suck your dick, would that help you concentrate?" Casper asked with a murderous mirth that Player D missed.
“You know what?" The idiot nodded while every other man in the room sent him telepathic signals to shut the fuck up. "That probably would help. A nigga a lil up tight."
"Yolo take our guest into the playroom and suck his dick." Casper ordered.
"Mmmm." Yolo moaned in anticipation and stood up. A seductive smile spread on her exceptionally pretty face, making her look even younger than her twenty-one years. Player D took her hand as she led him off to slaughter. The other men in attendance only shook their heads morbidly, knowing he would next be seen at his wake. A few wondered how he survived this long.
Once the couple stepped from the boardroom, they made a left and walked halfway down the long carpeted hallway. Player D still held the petite hand but lagged back enough to watch her hips sway melodically. "Yolo? Short for Yolander?"
"In here." Yolo said, speaking for the first time as she opened a door. She led him into a nicely appointed guest room. Player D wasted no time dropping his pants and falling on the bed.
"If you suck it good enough, I'll let you ride it too." He announced generously.
“Would you?" Yolo exclaimed excitedly. That would be a first since Yolo was a virgin.
Well, it wouldn't be a first because it wasn't going to happen.
Yolo stepped out of the tiny skirt and pulled the shirt over her dreads. Her hard little breast needed no bra so none was present. The leopard-printed panties fit like a second skin, clearly showing a plump vagina underneath. She knealt at the foot of the bed and grabbed the now rock hard dick in her little hand.
“Ouch." Player D whined as Yolo bit the head sharply. She giggled girlishly and planted kisses all over it making him forget about the pain; until she did it again, that is.
Yolo bit then kissed him causing both pleasure and pain. Finally she took him as deep as she could into her mouth and sucked him slowly. Player D looked down and watched proudly as he slid in and out of her mouth. Men love that shit. He finally leaned back to enjoy getting sucked off. Yolo still bit him from time to time causing him to look down.
"Shit!" Player D winced from a dull pain more extreme from the previous ones. He looked up and saw Yolo was still sucking his dick but something was off.
That's when he realized, she was standing up. He looked down to where his dick should have been just in time to see an arch of blood skeet with his heart beat. Yolo giggled still sucking the severed dick as panic set in.
“The fuck!" Player D screamed as he grabbed his crotchless crotch. He attempted to stop the bleeding but a river of red ran through his fingers. It dawned on him that if he got his dick back, he could put it back on. He lunged for Yolo to retrieve it but she scampered away.
"I used to be scared of the dick. Now I throw lips to the dick!" Yolo rapped into the dick like it was a microphone.
Player D chased her around the room losing blood, energy, and life with every beat of his heart. He almost had her when he grabbed a handful of dreads. Yolo shook her head and slipped out of the wig revealing her short, curly blonde hair underneath. He frowned at how heavy the wig was and tossed it aside with a dense thud.
The man eventually ran out of steam when he ran out of blood. He collapsed onto the floor with the look of utter heartbreak etched on his face. His eyes batted a few times as he blinked death into view. Having no other choice, he let go and went towards the light. The room, the man, and the killer were all covered in blood. The strong coppery smell would make most men gag but Yolo loved it. When she was finished playing in the blood, she put the man's dick in his pocket and slipped into the adjacent bathroom. A hot shower removed all the blood from the girl as she masturbated. Murder always made her horny. She dressed in a robe and stepped over the man as she left.
"Oh and Yolo isn't short for Yolander. It means, 'You Only Live Once.'" She finally answered the curious corpse.
When Yolo returned to the boardroom, no one was surprised to see her return alone. Casper was just wrapping up the pep talk/ass chewing.
He praised a few, slapped a few and spit on two before it was over with. As usual, the Baron never said a word. In fact, he barely even blinked.
"Okay, now everybody out! Go home and get to work!" Casper barked clearing the room in seconds.
The dangerous men held their tongues until they got outside. There they murmured and griped as they got into their expensive cars to head home. Once the room was cleared, except Baron and Yolo, Casper sauntered over to the throne-like seat of the Baron and looked up at him.
"Get the fuck out of my chair!"
Chapter Eight
How a white man becomes the leader of the notorious Black Mob is an interesting story. Casper was born Mario Puzelli in the mobbed up Brighton Beach section of Brooklyn, New York. He was half Italian and half Irish but inherited his mother's pasty translucent white skin. It was the skin-tone that earned him the nickname Casper.
His half Italian blood earned him half entry into one of the neighborhood crews. It was comprised of all the teens he grew up with. The pack of thieves were as thick as thieves. They made their bones by pulling little capers and paid tribute up to the bosses for the right to earn and the privilege of breathing. Breathing is good.
By mid-twenties, all of his crew got made and were full members of the mob. Even though Casper was the brains behind the crew, his half Irish blood prevented him entry. He was a distant cousin in a band of brothers. Drug-dealing was strictly forbidden by the bosses. It earned well but too messy. Picture these proud people allowing their women to be whores, selling their souls and bodies for a hit; turning their own blocks into war zones with zombies roaming around. No, too messy. Let the niggers have it; they don't love themselves.
Casper had no love for black people either so he let them move all the drugs. It meant less money but far less heat. Less money; less problems as opposed to mo-money; mo-problems.
Greed got the best of the rest of the crew and they all branched off into sub-sets, selling everything from marijuana to molly's, kush to coke, and everything in between. It was all good until the feds swooped in. One by one they all got popped and one by one they all pointed their fingers at Casper.
&
nbsp; Casper was smart enough to never have drugs on hand or it could have been worse. He was charged with conspiracy just off the word of his friends. Snitching on him saved their butts from the pen and lives from the mob. Now Casper's butt was in danger from prison and life from the mob.
The smart man hired an even smarter lawyer who was able to haggle a five year sentence from the government. He copped out to the nickel and was shipped off to begin his bid.
Five years in the feds for a non-violent charge is usually a cake walk. A couple of years at a minimum security camp that resembled a college campus more than a prison. No fences, no gun towers, good food, easy time; should be a piece of cake except for Casper's racist attitude and big ass mouth.
Calling niggers nigga was not only socially acceptable in the racist section of Brooklyn he grew up in, it was encouraged. If a black man wandered too deeply into their neighborhood, they would get chased out or worse. He had absolutely no respect for black people and it was about to cost him his ass, literally.
The gateway into the federal prison system is a diagnostic center in middle Pennsylvania. Here new inmates underwent a battery of mental and physical health screenings and this was where you received your security level. That meant the difference between easy time at Club Fed and hard time at a dangerous penitentiary.
"State your name and I.D. number please, sir." A courteous and professional black officer asked.
“Deez" Casper replied, looking back at his new buddies hoping to impress them.
“Deez?" The officer asked with a curious frown.
"Yeah, Deez nuts moolie!" Casper cracked, cracking him and his friends up. He was a riot, this guy.
"Listen, we can do this the easy way or the hard way." The officer offered, still being polite and professional.
"I'll take it the hard way like your momma likes it!" Casper shot back and burst out laughing again.
"My mother?" The officer asked with a pained expression on his face.
