A Big Girl's Revenge

by Ms. Michel Moore

  Doing as she was told, no questions asked, the petite skank was now sprawled out on the bed directly next to Keisha, who still had yet to say a single word.

  Rico, now somewhat a puppetmaster, was doing enough talking for all three of them. “Now, Keisha, take off your clothes and eat my homegirl’s pussy for me.”

  “Huh? What?” Keisha, stunned at what he’d just said, jumped to her feet. As her jaw dropped, she knew he had to be kidding, telling her that bullshit. She wasn’t a lesbian and had no desire to hold another bitch’s hand, let alone eat some random hood ho out. “What you mean, Rico?”

  “You heard me,” Rico arrogantly insisted, not cracking a smile through his swollen lip. “I thought you was down for whatever? What happened to all of that ‘I’m with you,’ ‘I can be who you want me to be,’ ‘Give me another chance’ fucking shit you was talking? I guess that was some game you was running, huh? You ain’t really trying to be down with a nigga like me, is you?”

  “Yeah, but . . . ” Trembling, Keisha looked over at the bed, frantically trying not to make direct eye contact with the girl’s fingers that were moving in and out her own pussy. Her thoughts were twisted. The girl and Rico seemed to already be fucking mentally. Feeling like a fish out of water, Keisha was beyond distraught at what was taking place.

  Why is he doing this to me? Why? This ain’t right. Who do he think he is? Her thoughts were bouncing off the walls as she stood frozen in her tracks. I need to just leave him alone. I need to just stop dealing with him altogether.

  “Get the fuck on, Miss Goody-Goody. Go your ugly ass back home to your rich daddy!” Rico eased his zipper down, dropping his pants to the floor. Stroking his growing dick, he headed toward the bed, arrogant as ever. “I knew you ain’t really love me. Now shut the door on your damn way out.”

  Seconds later, Keisha was speechless as her supposed man, Rico, had his head and shoulder-length dreadlocks buried deep in between the next woman’s legs, making her moan the same way she did when he treated her to his unique head game. The room was spinning. She couldn’t think clearly. She couldn’t breathe.

  I can’t lose him! I can’t! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Why is he doing this to me? Desperate to keep Rico satisfied and his eight inches in her life, the shy-about-her-naked-body female stripped down to her bra and panties, joining her man’s side. If I don’t do this, he might leave me. I can’t lose him, but this is so wrong! Before Keisha knew it, she’d taken Rico’s place in between the girl’s legs and was devouring her first taste of hot pussy. As Keisha licked away at the female’s snatch, she caressed her legs and thighs, getting herself turned on. Damn, her skin is so soft and smooth.

  It was not half as bad as she thought it was going to be. The originally skeptical Keisha was soon making the girl, whose name she still didn’t know, squirm more than Rico had when he was eating the pussy. When Keisha felt the girl’s legs clamp down around her neck, she increased the speed of her sucking on her clit and the force of her finger fucking her insides. Within seconds, she was tasting another female’s juices drip down her chin.

  After ultimately getting his way, Rico stood smugly over to the side, commanding both females, who’d never met before, to do every nasty thing he could think of. An hour or so in of watching them eating each other out, shoving every comb, brush and even a pair of unplugged flat irons inside of their hairy pussies, he wasn’t done. Degradingly instructing Keisha to tongue-fuck his girl’s asshole after she had shitted, Rico was feeling like he was the man. Throat-banging them both simultaneously, Rico finally couldn’t take it anymore. Chills were vibrating his entire body.

  “Yeah, I’m cumming, I’m cumming! Daddy about to bust!” Snatching his manhood away from the other chick’s lips, he shot his hot, thick, streaming load directly in Keisha’s face.

  “Naw, you cum-thirsty ho. Close ya mouth. Don’t swallow it,” Rico urged, squirting every drop of nut out his dickhead then shaking the rest damn near in her eye. “Smear that shit on all them fucked-up-looking bumps of yours. Then maybe your skin can look as clear as her fine ass does.” He dogged Keisha even further, giving the other female a sloppy kiss.

  When he was completely satisfied in every sexually perverted way imaginable, Rico made Keisha go into her purse and give the female, who he finally announced was his baby mama, some money for herself, as well as some extra ends for his son.

  “You ain’t got no problem with me and her taking the truck and hanging out, do you?” Rico started getting dressed. “Because if you do . . . ”

  “Naw, Rico, naw, I don’t mind.” Scared of what he was gonna say next if she disagreed, Keisha kept her true emotions to herself. She was so in love with Rico and his mannish ways, nothing else mattered but him not breaking up with her.

  “Good, that’s daddy’s big bitch!” He smacked her across her wide ass. “Now crawl your slutty, good-pussy-eating self up in the bed and go the fuck to sleep. I’ll be back to hit that sloppy pussy some more later. Now tell me you love me.”

  “I love you, Rico.”

  Leaving Keisha alone in the sex-aroma-filled hotel room, Rico brazenly left with his son’s mother, telling the woman who’d just hours earlier bailed him out of jail for cuffing up her father to also be ready to go shopping in the morning if she really loved him like she claimed she did.

  Dumbly wrapped in the bed sheet that smelled like the next bitch who’d just left with her supposed man, Keisha did as she was told. Turned out by Rico’s helluva eight-inch dick game and now, a strangely overwhelming thirst to eat some more pussy, she played with herself, imagining a female squatting over her face until she drifted off to sleep. That night might’ve been Keisha’s first experience being with a female and having a threesome, but definitely not her last.

  Bright and early, when Rico finally returned, Keisha was up, dressed, and ready to take her new “daddy” shopping.

  Chapter Four

  “Hey, bitch, you hear me talking to your faking ass.” Callous in his intentions, Rico snatched a hold of Keisha’s hair, drawing her once again back to reality. “Stop acting like you don’t like all this early morning good dick I’m blessing you with.” With brutal force, he threw her down on a pile of dirty clothes. “Move, Kilo! Get the fuck on!” he yelled at the pit bull that immediately rushed over, sniffing at Keisha’s dripping wet cunt. “Maybe I’ll let you get sloppy seconds on this slut again one day.” Rico laughed, using his leg to kick the dog out his way. “But not this day.”

  “Stop, Rico! No, stop!” Keisha tried unsuccessfully to fight Rico from him climbing on top of her and continue getting his rocks off.

  I let this bum nigga tear up my damn truck and have the cops knocking at my door. I know the hangup calls on the house phone are for him. Why am I being so stupid? Why?

  “Rico, you hurting me. Now stop. I’m not playing. Stop!”

  “Ease up on all that whining and treat daddy right before I get heated.”

  “You’re not my damn daddy. You’re nothing like him.” Keisha thought about the several times throughout her ongoing rocky relationship with Rico she had tried to mend fences with her estranged parents. But her father was a man of his word. He ran his household with an iron fist. When he vowed not to have anything to do with his child as long as she was dealing with Rico Campbell, he meant it. Keisha’s mother, weak-minded as her daughter, had no choice but to follow her husband’s lead to keep the peace in her own household.

  * * *

  Sandy, the family chef and Keisha’s friend and confidant, opened the rear door, allowing Keisha to sneak in and hopefully retrieve some of her personal items her father had been holding somewhat hostage. Time and time again, whenever she attempted to call the household to speak to him or knock on her own front door, Mr. Jackson’s reaction was the same.

  “If you’re still dealing with that Rico Campbell character, you are still dead to me!”

  Keisha couldn’t blame her father. She knew repeatedly by Rico’s mean-spirited action
s, he was right. She was too good for him, but at this point, she was so far deep into the shady and perverted sexual world of pleasure, she didn’t know which way to turn. Now, sex was like an addiction to her, and no matter what it took to climax, Keisha was with it.

  “Oh, Keisha,” Sandy sobbed, wiping her tears with an apron that hung from her plump frame. “I miss you so much.”

  “I miss you too, Sandy. And Mom—where is she?”

  “Her and your dad is upstairs arguing about something. You know how he gets.”

  Keisha quickly flashed back on some of her parents long, heated, and verbally hurtful battles throughout the years. She felt immediate remorse for the pain her mother was probably suffering. Her father, the esteemed County Commissioner Jackson, looked good on paper to his constituents and the general public; however, behind closed doors, every family has some low-key bullshit within its confines. The Jackson family—mother, father, daughter, and even longtime chef, Sandy—were no exception.

  “Yeah, Sandy, I know.”

  “Well, I gathered some of your favorite things Mr. Jackson put in storage or tried to throw away.”

  “Thank you, Sandy.” Keisha hugged her always-sympathetic buddy. “You stay having my back no matter what, even when I was a kid.”

  Only thirteen years older than Keisha, Sandy had always been around since Keisha could remember. Her mother, now deceased, had been her father’s household chef growing up, and Sandy, an excellent cook in her own right, carried on the tradition upon her mother’s untimely death.

  “Here, hurry and put them in this bag and leave before he comes. I’ll try to sneak you more next week. Your father is going away to New Orleans then for a conference.”

  “On business? Is mother going?” Keisha peeked around the corner and up the long staircase, easily overhearing her father’s loud tirade concerning her mother’s use of sleeping pills and the fact that she was losing too much weight in all the wrong places.

  “Keisha.” Sandy gave her the side-eye, indicating not much had changed since she’d left home.

  “Never mind, Sandy. I don’t know why I even asked.”

  “Keisha, why don’t you just leave that no-good boy alone and just come back home? I miss you so much, and so does your mother. She needs you. We both do.” Trying her best to keep her voice down, Sandy filled Keisha in with as much family gossip and as many reasons as she could as to why she should abandon the idea of being with Rico and return home. Sandy knew life under Mr. Jackson’s roof wasn’t always pleasant, but it beat the alternative of being young, black, uneducated, and unemployed in Detroit.

  “I can’t, Sandy. I just can’t.” Keisha took a deep breath, reliving the horrors of all the sexually promiscuous acts she’d taken part in and continued to crave. “One day maybe—but not now. I have to get myself together first and prove to Daddy that I can make it on my own.”

  With an armful of her belongings in tow, some she hoped to pawn to pay the rent to “make it on her own,” Keisha crept back into the kitchen area. Exchanging hugs with Sandy, almost out the door, she was surprisingly met by her father, who’d come down the back stairs.

  “Oh, Daddy,” she stammered. “I, I, I was . . . ”

  “Was what, Keisha?” He blocked the doorway, folding his arms. “What are you doing sneaking around this house? Who let you in here—Sandy?”

  “Umm, umm . . . ” Not wanting to confirm, throwing Sandy directly under the bus, Keisha stood mute.

  Mr. Jackson hastily removed most of the stuff from his daughter’s arms, setting them on the kitchen table. “Just where do you think you’re going with all of these clothes?”

  “Daddy, they’re mine. I just wanted to . . . ”

  “First off, all of this stuff—” He pointed to the pile, nodding. “My money paid for. So, you taking them out my house and to that shack I heard you were now living in with that filth is not an option! And look at you!” He shook his head in utter disgust. “You look like an unkept ragamuffin. Your hair, your nails, those shoes . . . and it’s beyond apparent you haven’t been to the dermatologist since you started running with that boy! I should’ve prosecuted him!”

  “Daddy, please.” In tears and ashamed of her overall appearance, Keisha lowered her head. “I’m trying.”

  “We gave you everything a child could ever want or dream about, and you threw it all back in our face for some hooligan. Now get out of here and be thankful to your mother’s begging I’m still allowing you to drive that truck that’s still in my name.” Mr. Jackson stepped out the way, holding the door open. “But believe you me, the very first time a payment is a day late, I’m going to have it voluntarily repossessed.”

  “Daddy, I thought you loved me. I thought I was your special girl. You always used to say that, didn’t you?” Throwing her arms around her father’s neck in hopes of an impromptu reconciliation, Keisha tightly held on.

  Not budging an inch in his stern demeanor, he coldly pried his distraught daughter’s hands off him. “Keisha, you heard me—go!” Mr. Jackson was irate, slamming the door shut, forcing his once-angel to stand on the other side, listening to him make Sandy verbally pay the tab for letting her inside.

  She left that night empty handed, with nothing to pawn to help her pay the overdue bills. Rico, lazy, selfish and a dog, degraded Keisha even more, loaning her to a weed man for a night of his sexual pleasure in exchange for some cash and a half of an ounce. Feeling worthless and knowing her father’s disappointment, Keisha went along with it—even somewhat welcoming some new, strange dick in her reckless, out-of-control life.

  * * *

  “You are not my daddy,” Keisha repeated loudly.

  Rico was amused at Keisha trying to all of a sudden grow a set of balls. “You right, Keisha, I ain’t. ’Cause your daddy ain’t shit but a fake wanna-be white motherfucker that tried to get a nigga hemmed up. He lucky I didn’t go back out there and beat the piss outta his old punk ass then make your ugly mama suck me off.”

  “Fuck you, Rico.”

  “Naw, fuck you.” He spit in her face like she meant no more to him than a piece of trash. Then he grabbed a hold of both her legs, pulling them apart. Dropping to his knees, he leaned over, stuffing all eight inches into her hole, then roughly went in. After three or four good hits to her guts, he stopped and stood to his feet.

  With her blouse ripped wide open, her breasts displayed outside her lace bra, and her skirt hiked up to her stomach, her eyes rolled in the back of her head. Keisha physically felt like shit on a stick. Exhausted and defeated from the harsh pain of Rico’s dick fucking her forcefully and raw every which way but loose, she wanted nothing more than to ball up on the floor and die. She hated the person who she’d now become and hated Rico even more for instigating her now overly promiscuous behavior.

  “Please, Rico, I can’t anymore,” Keisha barely muttered through her dry lips. “I can’t take this.”

  “You take what in the hell I say you take. How many times I gotta tell your dumb ass that?” Rico responded with his still very much rock hard cock in his hands. “And after I go take another leak, I want you to suck the nut out this motherfucker, then go get me some weed. A nigga need a blunt in his life.”

  The clock was ticking on the amount of verbal and physical abuse Keisha was willing to take from the man she once loved so much and was convinced that loved her. Lifting her arm and hand to touch her matted hair, she wiped Rico’s spit off her face and his musty perspiration from her breasts. She tried to raise her body but couldn’t find the strength. Wanting to get up and run out the room and even the house, for that matter, Keisha’s body wouldn’t allow her. Her legs were weak, and her inners felt like it was throbbing and irritated, yearning to be soaked in a bathtub of hot water.

  Listening to the sounds of Rico pissing a few yards from where she was laying at and still talking cash shit about what he was gonna do to her next, Keisha turned her head into the pile of clothes, trying to drown out his annoying voice. Clutchi
ng a striped button-up she’d purchased for Rico some months back in what she thought were happier times, Keisha stared across the room. With his long, pinkish-red tongue hanging to the side of his mouth, Kilo’s hairy face was staring back. Rico’s forever present sidekick was anxious to get back at her moist but sore, purring pussy like Rico had allowed him to do one drunken night they partied with some of his boys, but wisely obeyed his master, staying away.

  Hearing the toilet flush and footsteps coming, Keisha closed her eyes and braced up for more of Rico’s sexual tirade. In the darkness, she remembered back in the days, when things were kinda good and Rico kinda treated her nicely—that was until he got angry. When he’d get pissed off, he was out of control.

  Chapter Five

  The Valentine’s Day Soul to the Bone concert featuring, Robin Thicke, Brandy, and Fantasia was right around the corner. It was being held at the Fox Theater. Rico and Keisha had been planning on the outfits they were gonna wear for over two weeks. If a Negro in Detroit was gonna show out, gatored up, mink to the ground, bad bitch on his arm, the famed Fox Theater was where it all went down. With Keisha being the only one working to pay bills for the small house they’d rented and Rico spending every spare dollar she made on weed, getting his high-priced layaway out was more than a notion.

  Thankfully, Keisha’s mother had sympathetically snuck out most of her expensive clothes, including a few mink jackets and a pair of custom-made high-top gator boots from the house she once called home. For Keisha, thick, big-boned or not, her having something to wear the night of the concert really wasn’t a problem. She could go into the archives in her closet and still be one of the best dressed of the night.

  However, jean-sagging, Timbo-wearing, I-wanna-drink-and-smoke-all-day-and-fuck-random-hoes Rico couldn’t. Not accustomed to anything but running the Detroit streets and acting a straight fool, he wasn’t interested in going outside of his element. He’d proven that character flaw early on in their relationship at Keisha’s parents’ home. The majority balance of the layaway belonged to Rico but was automatically Keisha’s responsibility. If she wanted to go to the concert and have any part of a good time, she knew she had to make sure her man looked as good as, if not better than, her and every other Negro and trick that walked through the doors of the theater.