Sex in the Hood Saga

by White Chocolate

  But now because of her hurniness she could end up on the fifth floor in a “baby momma” apartment with a wicked nanny and a job for life on the seventh floor of this mysterious place called Babylon.

  Why aren’t I scared right now? Because I have no control. None. Whether Duke is telling the truth that I’m about to become the grand dame of this bizarre place, or whether I’m about to become his personal sex slave, I have no idea. But if I make it through this, someday I will have all the power, so now I’m a student at this urban school that’s knockin’ hard on any sense of security I thought l had in life.

  Duke pressed his lips to her forehead. She closed her eyes, loving the warmth and tenderness, and knowing that her emotional state was so out of whack that she was going along with a guy who was literally muzzling her. But it was all an act on her part, getting her toward a mega power play in the grand finale. She still didn’t have the details of how that would play out—she had a lot to learn here at Babylon—but someday, she would rule.

  Now, she moaned the same way as when they’d made love.

  Pressed her hips toward his. Spread her knees, squeezing his thigh between hers. He pulled his hand from her mouth, replacing it with his open lips. The hot wetness was like soothing balm on a cold sting. She ground her pussy into the top of his thigh, craving the mind-numbing slide down his tree trunk into timberland, where Alice could climb, swing, and bounce for as long as she wanted.

  He squeezed her ass upward, thrust Timbo once—he was rock-hard even through their clothes, and whispered into her mouth, “Duchess gon’ be queen o’ the baby mommas.”

  She froze from head to toe. Disgust zig-zaggged through her, even though she understood that being a Duke baby momma was a prestigious position. Being anybody’s baby momma at age eighteen was just wrong. She had to go to college. Start her career. Get married. Then have a baby. The old-fashioned order of things.

  She cast a playful stare into his eyes and let laughter explode through her lust trembling lips.

  “Why you bust out laughin’ when I’m dead serious?” His eyes were laughing with her, but his face was stiff.

  “Because I am not having a child until I get my M.R.S. degree. If that happens to be Mrs. Duchess Johnson, cool. But I will not be a teen pregnancy statistic.”

  “You a trip an’ a half,” Duke said, shaking his head. “And you a whole bunch o’ other statistics, now that you fallen way down below the poverty line.”

  Duchess tilted her chin up. “But then I became Duchess just as fast.” She ran her fingertip over his beautiful lips. “Livin’ in the lap of luxury with my Duke. Now, what’s behind door number three?”

  Duke put his hand on the doorknob.

  Duchess smiled. “Let me guess. Is this the baby momma work zone?”

  “Ding! Ding! Ding!” Duke imitated a game show host. “The triple bonus prize goes to the lady with the scorching pussy and sassy mouth!”

  He opened the door onto a lobby-type area with hardwood floors. To the left, sunshine streamed through windows over a TV and plush orange couches. About a dozen men and women, a few who looked familiar from the sexercise on Sunday evening were lounging on the couches, reading magazines. Everybody sat up straight when they saw Duke. They were downright gawking at Duchess.

  They turned to the left. A petite woman in a green silk pantsuit sprang at Duchess like those daredevils at the circus who shot out of cannons.

  “White bitch!” the woman screamed. Two giant men, one on each side, grabbed her thin arms. She recoiled.

  “Duchess, this Milan,” Duke said flatly. He nodded to the big men who were holding the woman. They picked her up and carried her through a door to what looked like an office.

  Duke knocked on the door marked EXAM ROOM. That woman with purple glasses who’d given Duchess that disgusting smelling stuff to make her wake up this morning, opened the door.

  Duke led Duchess inside.

  “Doc Reynolds, Duchess need to hear ’bout the strict health code here at Babylon.”

  The doctor nodded. “You’re looking much better, Madame Duchess. Everyone, including The Duke, gets weekly checkups, on top of using condoms for any sexual contact. Anyone who becomes infected in the line of duty is either treated or given a reprieve until they’re cured, or they’re retired and tracked to make sure they don’t return.”

  Duchess’ stomach flipped. “What do you mean, ‘in the line of duty’?”

  The doctor cast a probing look at Duke, who sat on the exam table with Timbo in his hand.

  “Doc, I need tests right now. Everything. An’ show Duchess my HIV results from last week. Test her too.”

  The doctor stepped to a computer on the counter. She clicked the keyboard for a few seconds, then a printer hummed as she went at Duke with several giant Q-tips. “Any burning, itching, discharge or odors?”

  “I’m as perfect as I’ve always been,” Duke said.

  “Good,” the doctor said. “How should I explain ‘in the line of duty,’ Master Duke?” she asked while sticking a swab in his mouth.

  He shrugged. “You could say ‘While fuckin’. While screwin’. While drillin’. While engaging in sexual relations.’”

  “So, sex is their line of duty?” Duchess’ brain was spiraling down, down, around a flashing pink neon sign in her imagination that said PROSTITUTION.

  Drugs, she would’ve believed, or illegal gun trafficking, or that bodyguard story. But selling sex? Was that what all those people in the gym were practicing for? And all those men and women in the lobby, were they waiting for their weekly STD check-ups?

  The doctor examined Duke’s penis. He grimaced as she shoved a Q-tip into the tiny hole at the head.

  Duchess asked, “Wait, is the sex for business or pleasure?”

  “C’mon, Miss Daisy,” Duke said, zipping his jeans. “Don’t go clueless on me again. You was really startin’ to catch on.” He stood up then glanced at the doctor. “Doc Reynolds, you can do the whole deal on her. Blood culture, e’rythang.”

  “I told you I’m a virgin,” Duchess said.

  Duke laughed. “Not no more!”

  “But I don’t need to get tested because—”

  “Any type of sexual activity can spread STDs,” the doctor said. “Even oral sex.”

  “Wait,” Duchess said. She stepped to Duke, her boobs at the center of his chest. She was taller now in her red sandals. She stared hard into his eyes and accused, “So, you’re a pimp? And the work you want me to do for you—”

  Duke tossed his head back, his deep laughter ricocheting off the walls of the exam room.

  Duchess was not laughing. She was numb. Ice cold. “You came to Gramma Green’s house acting like you were rescuing me, just so you could put me on a street corner. As a prostitute! After you took me on a test drive for a Motor City minute!”

  This was the curse. It was really happening.

  I’ll be satisfying Celeste’s constant craving for orgasm. I’ll be following Celeste’s order to share my sex. And somehow, I’ll be responding to Mommy’s whisper that I’m using that power to get what I want. What that is, I have no idea, but it would prove the curse true, because being a prostitute will definitely kill me.

  “It’s not funny!” Duchess screamed, pounding Duke’s chest.

  Stinging tears dripped from her eyes. She sobbed, hitting him. Hating him.

  He grabbed her wrists, pulled her trembling hands to his lips, kissing them.

  “Sssshhh, baby girl, baby girl. Sssshhh.” He drew her into his chest, where his voice vibrated through her. “You got it so wrong, baby girl. Listen up!”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Excuse me,” the doctor said. “I’ll come back when it’s time for the test.” She opened the door and left the exam room.

  Why should Duchess believe anything Duke said?

  “Does Streetology include acting classes? Because Duke Johnson, you get an Oscar for most convincing role as a lover.”

  She ope
ned her eyes, glaring at him. “You tricked me in the worst way. And I was so naive!”

  “Duchess,” he pleaded, gently cupping his hand around the back of her head.

  “How stupid was that, believing you really wanted to help me! Your bogus good samaritan act, it was all a trick! The dinner, the ice cream, the sunset kiss, taking me to meet your mother!”

  “Baby girl—”

  “And making love,” she whispered. Her insides felt like they were melting with sadness and disappointment. “I thought that was real.”

  “It is real.” Duke’s glassy eyes radiated tenderness. His voice was raspy with a sort of desperate plea that she had not heard from him. “It’s all real, baby girl.”

  That needle in her arm was real, too, when the doctor returned a few minutes later to draw blood for the STD tests. She also did a pelvic exam and took a culture from inside her vagina. All that, the doctor said, would test for stuff like gonorrhea, syphyllis, genital warts, herpes, pelvic inflammatory disease, and chlamydia. Another swab in her mouth tested for HIV.

  “As long as you’ve had no odors, burning when you urinate, itching or discharge,” the doctor said, “you’re probably fine. You look perfectly healthy.”

  “Madame Duchess,” the doctor said, “you know sexually transmitted infections can cause major damage to your insides but never give you any symptoms. That’s why we’re vigilant about testing every week.”

  Victoria studied the woman in purple glasses. Her vibe was totally trustworthy. “Dr. Reynolds, do you think since Duke gets tested so much, it’s safe for me not to use condoms with him?”

  The doctor nodded. “Duke deals in sex. He is vigilant about health with himself and everybody here. So yes, I think you’re safe. However, if you both have other partners, that creates some risk.”

  Victoria’s father always warned, the number one thing people lied about was sex. She could never know if the man she was fucking—even her husband—was being faithful. Her dad said she couldn’t be with somebody around the clock, and it only took a few minutes, really, to sneak a screw.

  Victoria wrapped her arms around her waist to hug herself, as if that would help her figure this out.

  “You look worried,” the doctor said. “I think Duke will protect you.” She cast a concerned look down at Victoria. “But let me say, Madame Duchess, unless you’re planning to get pregnant, I can prescribe birth control pills.”

  Victoria nodded. “Definitely.”

  Chapter 40

  The fresh scent of hot pussy rising up from Miss Daisy’s flowering pussy made Duke smile as he inserted the security key into the golden door lock. It didn’t matter whether Duchess was happy, sad or mad, her pussy always reacted before she did. If she got an attitude, like she had now, her pussy would be on swole. When she smiled, her pussy creamed. When she imagined crazy shit about what he was going to do with her here, her pussy shot flames.

  She was jealous of all those hotties downstairs, but her pussy was curious as hell about how every one of them got their freak on. Now that she finally got some dick, she was like an undercover investigator trying to expose the who, what, when, where, why, and how of sex.

  Right now, she was going to learn the five W’s and H of Duke Love, along with her first official Ebonics lesson. They were already way behind schedule, but Duke had to let her know none of what she was saying in the exam room was true. He knew she was clean, but he wanted her to get tested just to show there was an equal partnership. And now he was going to use body language to tell her just how much he loved her.

  Timbo ’bout to speak louder, better an’ bolder than any words could say. She gon’ be a shiverin’ lump o’ jelly when I lay on this mack daddy powa.

  “We gon’ talk in here,” Duke said as the little green light flashed in the silver box on the gold door. “This the Cleopatra suite.”

  “I love how the door is just like the Babylon offices upstairs, but this is Cleopatra’s mask, right?” she asked, staring up at the enormous gold-and-black mask of the Queen of the Nile. “I’ve dressed up as Cleopatra every Halloween since third grade when I wrote a paper on her. She was so sexy and confident and powerful.”

  Duke smiled as he pushed open the door. “Just like you. This where I was gon’ have you stay, but now that you made yo’self at home in my penthouse. . . .” He laughed, remembering how she hadn’t hesitated saying “our room” this morning. “I’m gon’ have Knight stay here when he come.”

  “No one would believe this is here.” Her voice echoed with her footsteps. Her juicy booty bounced as she stepped onto the 3,000 square foot suite. She gawked at the open loft with high, exposed ceilings, brick walls and sunshine shooting down through all the high paned windows. “I love this place.”

  “All them windows new,” Duke said. “Three years ago, jus’ before Knight took a fall, we sandblasted all the walls, redid all the plumbing. This building a hun’ed years old.”

  Shiny hardwood floors stretched to a black marble fireplace framed by a mantle that was a huge version of the Egyptian mask on the door. Plush white couches faced it around a zebra-skin rug.

  In the corner was the sleek kitchen with stainless steel appliances, black marble countertops, dark cherry cabinets, and an island with black stools with black-and-gold striped satin cushions. Next to that was a dining table with similar seats and a huge gold bowl overflowing with fresh fruit on the glasstop.

  Nearby, a beautiful desk and computer.

  “Oh my God,” Duchess said, running her fingers over the frosted glass wall leading to the bedroom. “This etching of Cleopatra, her flowing white gown, her elaborate headdress. Oooh, love that!” She pointed to Cleopatra and the two men in Egyptian-style loin cloths and two ladies in waiting. She traced the design to the edge of the glass door, touched the gold hinges, and went inside.

  “Duchess.” Duke touched the back of her upper arms.

  She jumped.

  “Ah! I didn’t hear you. Don’t do your panther walk up behind me!” Her pucker-fish lips pulled back into the prettiest smile. She glanced at the bed and smiled bigger. “So, you brought me in here so you can explain”—her voice got hard and loud—“what the hell you want from me?”

  He pressed his fingertip to her pretty lips. “Damn, I wish I had a camera,” Duke groaned, running his hand over the tent that Timbo was making of his jeans. He adjusted his gat in his waistband under his black shirt. “The way yo’ hair fannin’ out all ova them white pillows, an’ yo’ body all stretched out, you look like the mos’ innocent an’ sexy playmate ev’a.”

  “Duke, what do you want from me? Is this like a mini honeymoon where you fuck my brains out then toss me into the masses of girls you keep here?”

  Duke pulled his gat from his jeans. Her eyes got as big as her fist. He laid the gun on the nightstand beside a big vase of white flowers.

  “I know you ain’t that naive, baby girl,” he said, pulling another gun from his left black gator cowboy boot, which he set beside the other.

  “Tell me your daddy didn’t have security.” Duke lay beside her, his left elbow on the pillows, his chest pressing into her right shoulder. “I know, as high profile as he was, y’all had at least one gun in that big-ass palace in the middle o’ the woods. On yo’ own lake!”

  “And in his office,” Duchess said softly. She closed her eyes.

  Her lashes were so long, thick and black, they looked like fringe against beige china. “Actually, Daddy loved guns. He had a cabinet full in the house, for hunting, target practice. He even went on a safari in Kenya, after Mommy died.” Her voice cracked in a way that stabbed Duke’s heart.

  He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry, baby girl. Let’s talk about somethin’ happy.”

  She opened her bloodshot eyes, looking at him like he was crazy.

  “Duchess, I know this sound whack as hell, since we been knowin’ each otha forty-eight hours, but I know you my soul mate.” Duke’s lips felt hot. His eyes felt extra big, and his he
art was banging.

  Her eyelashes lowered so her eyes were half-closed, staring down at his mouth. She raised her hand to the back of his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him like he had never been kissed.

  Like his mouth was hot loaf of fresh-baked bread, split down the middle and steaming, and her lips were the sweet cream butter, melting right into him, making the perfect flavor so one wouldn’t taste right without the other. She tasted it too, because she was kissing him for what felt like forever.

  They were naked in a Motor City minute. Duchess stood over him, one foot on each side of his hips, staring down at Timbo like he was the chrome exhaust pipe on a Harley she was about to straddle and ride into the next millennium.

  She took a long step toward his head, putting her right foot beside his ear, then she moved her other foot to his other ear Duchess’ knees folded down, lightning quick. She squatted so his face was right at her opening. He inhaled the scent of sweet-salty incense.

  “Talk to the pussy.” Duchess’ voice was hard, like every word came out dipped in gold. She said it just like the sistas would hold up their palms and say “talk to the hand.”

  “Celeste wants to hear it straight from the source,” Duchess said, but he couldn’t see her face because a big, wet pussy was blocking his view, “what this urban sex lord has to say about The Duke and The Duchess.”

  Ain’t no girl ev’a talked to me like that or taken this bold-as-hell stance over my body.

  He couldn’t talk right now to save his life. His eyes got big, like hers did in the hall when he put his hand over her mouth.

  “I didn’t think you’d have anything to say,” Duchess said in that same sista-girl-power way. She made her hips circle so the pussy went ’round and ’round in his face. Not touching, just going ’round and ’round like she was going to hypnotize him with it.

  And ain’t nobody ev’a been hypnotized by somethin’ so pretty.

  Duke felt like his heart was going to explode. It was pumping so hard and fast with fear, with adrenaline, with excitement, with rage that this lily white girl was mackin’ The Duke! I gotta get up. Get on top. Dominate!