Hustlin' Divas (9 page)

From the other side of the bed, a man clears his throat.

I pull back, but then suck in a stunned breath when my gaze crashes into Fat Ace.

P
ython's forked tongue drums against the head of my pink pearl like it's playing the congas. Indescribable pleasure unfurls from the center of my clit and radiates outward until I tremble and shake like I'm experiencing an internal earthquake. Nobody gives head like this nigga. Hands down that fucking tongue is a monster, dipping and sliding in my pussy until I'm fucking spelling his name backward. “N-O-H-T-Y-P.”

Python groans and then reaches down and spreads my ass cheeks wide. The man is a fiend when it came to ass, and he knows as long as he hooks me up right on eating my pussy, I'll take him busting my little asshole open like a muthafuckin' soldier.

“Sssss,” he hisses, sounding like Beauty and Beast, the two pet black ball Pythons slithering around the bed with us. In fact, just as Python is gliding his thick, sausage-sized finger in through my back door, Beast coils around my right thigh and then stretches across the downy V of my open pussy. Beauty is doing her own thing, gliding in perfect figure eights up and around my full C cups. The scaly feel of the snakes' skin against mine is erotic as hell. Pressure building, my hands clench the red satin sheets while my mind spins like a pinwheel.

Whenever Python puts it on me like this, I feel like nothing and no one can ever come between us. I would lie for this nigga, kill for this nigga, and even die for this nigga. There isn't a day that rolls by that I don't let him know that shit either. All I have to do is keep playing my position, and soon I'll go from wifey to wife.

“Awww…. shit!” That wicked tongue slaps my clit justright, and I scream in total abandonment. Python stays put, gulping down my thick, creamy candy until it coats every inch of his throat.

“That's some good shit, Ma,” he praises, lifting his ugly head and smiling, his face twisted and scarred. Fucking him is like fucking the devil himself: dangerous, wicked, and powerful.

I rock my hips, anxious for his fat dick to split my ass in half. “That's not all that's good, Daddy,” I flirt, moving Beauty from my breasts and sitting up. “Let me get you ready.” I reach for his pound of meat and stroke it to life.

“Ssssss,” Python hisses, and then flicks his tongue at me. “You hungry, baby?”

“Always.” I roll my tongue across his thick lips.

“Then c'mon. Let me feed you.” He eases onto his back and folds his hands behind his head as he waits for me to sink my hot mouth over his straining cock. “Ssssss. That's it, baby. Show me how much you love me.”

I have no problem doing just that. I slurp, spit, and vacuum his gooey nut up from his balls and then pop my cherry-red lips off the fat head of his cock in time to watch my dessert gush and splatter everywhere.

“Sssss. Damn, baby. Clean that shit up and give me a little taste.” He grabs his dick and smacks my face with it.

I bend my head and use my tongue like a baby wipe, licking him clean and polishing him up before easing toward his twisted lips and sharing his salty tang with a deep kiss. He loves that nasty shit, plunging and swishing his tongue inside my mouth for any remaining residue of himself.

“Ssssss.” He grabs my fat ass. “You know what time it is, baby?”

“Mmmm. You want some of this hot ass, Daddy?” I press a kiss against his scarred cheekbone and then nibble on his ear. “I betcha got some more sweet candy in that fat dick for me, don't you?”

“You know it.”

He cruelly pinches my nipples and I moan. Hell, this shit is nothing compared to the bullshit I grew up with. Plus, there's a small part of me that's beginning to like the pain, if not love it. My growing pleasure from pain surprises me. It's becoming like an addictive drug. The adrenaline rush is insane.

“Wait. Wait.” He sits up and reaches over to the black lacquered nightstand and pulls out a plastic bag.

My heart skips a beat.

“All right, baby. Climb up on Daddy.”

I smile, knowing better than to protest or complain. “You got it, baby.”

Straddling his hips in the backward cowgirl position, I open my cheeks wide so he can watch the show and cram every inch of his fat dick into my tight ass. My inner muscle clenches around him like an iron fist.

“Sssss. Twerk that shit, Ma.”

“You got it, Daddy.” I go straight to work, bouncing, grinding, and then bouncing some more. Python hisses and curls his toes as a tactic to delay busting his nut too soon. I don't know what it is about ass that sends this nigga straight to the moon, but as long as he wants it, I'm going to toss it up and make sure that he gets plenty of it.

Beauty and Beast slither up and coil around my waist as if they can't stand to be left out of the action. Ten minutes later, I'm still at it, my body slick with sweat and one snake now around my neck and other one sliding its way toward its daddy. Everybody is hissing in this muthafucka.

Without warning, Python flips me over so I'm on all fours. Pain sparks from my wounded shoulder and causes my arms to collapse, but before I can utter a sound, he jams a plastic bag over my head, cutting off my oxygen. He twists the bag around his fist so tight, my eyes bulge in shock.

Wait. I wasn't ready!
Panic settles in before I can get my mind right. I try to suck in air but only manage to draw in a mouthful of plastic. My fingers claw at my neck.

“Sssss, baby. This shit is locking up tight,” Python praises as he rams his fat, ten-inch cock into my ass like a jackhammer. “Ssssss.”

Hold your breath. Try not to breathe.
The small voice in my head grows harder to hear. My world is collapsing while a rainbow of colors splash before my eyes. But…my body tingles—deliciously so. Every pore is having mini orgasms. I hear blood rush through my head, and I begin to rise outside my own body.

“Take this dick! Take it!”

I'm losing consciousness. The vibrant colors slowly fade, but there's still a bright light shining in the distance.

Python roars and releases the bag as his hot nut blasts onto my ass and then all over the python tattoo on the center of my back. “Sssss. Goddamn, baby.”

The sudden rush of oxygen is a shock to my system. I cough and wheeze as he pulls the bag from my head. Tears sting the back of my eyes, but I fight the muthafuckas back with everything I have, which is harder than when he dug the bullet out of my arm. Weak but still tingling, a smile softens the corners of my lips.

“Sssss. You liked that, didn't you, baby?”

“You know it, baby,” I croak, and force a smile on my face.

Python smears and swishes his seed around my back with his still-rock-hard erection. When my back is good and glazed, he orders me to clean him up again. By the time it's all over, we're sated and passing a fat cigar-sized blunt between us.

I snuggle close and absently trace the numerous bullet hole scars on his chest. He'd been shot seventeen times since he'd been inducted into the gang life, and none of them came close to killing his ass, but seventeen niggas got dropped for the attempt. “You feel good, Daddy?”

“Fuck. You know you got the sweetest ass in Memphis.” He winks and flicks his wicked tongue out at me.

“All for you.” I smile and accept the blunt for my toke.

“It better be.” He reaches behind me and squeezes his prized possession. “If I
ever
catch another nigga digging in my spot, I'll fuckin' squash that ass, Momma.” He pulls the blunt from my lips and takes another hit. “Believe me greasy on that shit.”

I love it when he gets all possessive. It's the only way I can tell he really cares. But I also believe I'm not the only bitch in the Queen Gs he's throwing dick to—but at least he isn't stupid enough to throw shade over my game in front of my face, and neither are any of his gangsta hoes. Long as we keep that shit going, everything is everything. The number-one problem between us is trust. Python doesn't trust no fucking body, except for Momma Peaches, and sometimes he be looking at her sideways, too.

“What?” Python asks.

“Hmm?” I glance up from his tattooed and scarred chest.

“What the fuck you thinking so goddamn hard about? I can damn near see smoke coming out of your ears.” He chuckles and passes the blunt back. “Tell your man what the fuck is on your mind.”

“Mmmm. My man,” I croon. “I love the sound of that.”

“You better like that shit. You're the Bonnie to my Clyde, ain't you, girl?” He kisses me again.

“You know it, Daddy.”

His thick lips stretch into another grotesque smile. “That's why I fuck with you. Your ass is down for any and everything.” His fingers drift lightly over my sore neck. “You know how to really get a nigga off. You play your cards right and nigga just might have to wife you.”

I light up. “Really?”

“You keep passing these tests, baby girl. Word is bond.” He takes the blunt from my hand, stubs it out with his fingers, and puts it aside. “Now get on up here and sit on my face. Daddy still hungry.”

My body is still tingling and wet, but I quickly climb up into a sixty-nine and melt like butter when he parts my cheeks and tries to suck the nut he'd just planted there a few minutes ago out my ass. Before I can blast my own cum all over his face, Dr. Dre's classic “The Chronic” blasts from his cell phone. With his “business before pleasure” motto, he reaches over to the nightstand.

“Talk to me,” he says, answering his phone with my ass still hovering above his face. Then the energy in the room saps out when his baritone voice drops to a dangerous level. “Say that shit again.” He slaps me on the ass, and I scramble off him. “Gather some top-notch niggas. We're rolling through.” He jumps out of bed as he disconnects the call.

“Daddy, what's goin' on?” I ask, leaping out of the bed after him.

“We finally found that nigga.” He laughs, snatching his clothes off the floor.

“Found who?”

“Who the fuck you think? Fat Ace. Nigga is up at the Med visiting some muthafucka.” He grabs his gat. “We're going to handle this shit tonight.”

I turn toward my own clothes. “Hold up. I'm coming with you to earth this muthafucka!”

T
he stench of evil rolls off of Fat Ace in waves and threatens to choke me. For years I've heard of the man. As with most stories about niggas on the street, I don't know what's true and what's urban legend.

To say that Fat Ace is a big man would be an understatement. To say that he is fat would be a downright lie. Truth of the matter is, Fat Ace, even folded into a metal chair, is a giant. His chest alone is as massive as the side of a mountain, and as far as I can see, his arm muscles even had muscles. His head is the size of a sixteen-pound bowling ball and just as black and shiny on top. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of black shades, his nose is large but not broad, and his lips, framed in a thin goatee, are big and thick.

Fat Ace and Profit look absolutely nothing alike.

“Appears that you've been holding out on me, lil bro.” Fat Ace's voice is low and rough, like his throat has filled with shards of broken glass. “This your girl?”

A corner of Profit's lips kick up as he reaches out and grabs my hand. “That's right. This is my shawty, Ta'Shara. Baby girl, this is my brother, Fat Ace.” He winks at me. “I bet you can't guess why they call him that.”

When Fat Ace laughs, his chest rumbles and the entire room vibrates.

Essence inches closer to me and Profit. I don't know what to make of this muthafucka either.

“My lil nigga always got jokes.” Fat Ace smirks, shifting a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.

Even though I can't see his eyes, I can feel them roaming over my body.

“I don't think I've ever seen you around before,” Fat Ace says suddenly. “Where do you stay?”

It's a loaded question and everyone in the room knows it.

My fingers clamp around Profit's while Essence practically becomes closer than my damn shadow.

“Nigga, will you squash that bullshit? How you going to sit there and interrogate my woman? You see her ass cares for a nigga.” Profit lifts my hand and brushes a kiss against my knuckles.

Fat Ace cocks his head at his younger brother. “How the fuck you gone tell
me
what to do, lil man? In case you forgot, we're in the midst of a muthafuckin' war with those grimy ass Gangster Disciples. Muthafuckas dropping our family like a fuckin' bad habit. They started this shit and we going to finish it.”

I sense Essence reaching toward her pocket, but I'm too afraid to say anything or try to warn her. All I can do is pray that my girl don't do anything stupid—like get us killed.

“Trust when I say these muthafuckas got people everywhere. To be straight up, I don't know these two bitches from Adam.”

It's on the tip of my tongue to check his ass for calling me outside my Christian name, a habit most niggas learn early, but this time fear chokes off my vocal cords and I can do little more than just stand here and take the verbal abuse.

“Bro, again, this is my woman. We've been kicking it for a long while now. I ain't going to abide you calling her all kinds of bitches.”

In that moment, I witness something that I've either never seen or ignored in my man. No, he isn't as large and domineering as his brother, but there's a quiet strength about him that hints at a darkness that lies just below the surface. I feel it and I have a sneaking suspicion that Fat Ace feels it as well.

“I know you're tryna impress your girl and everything, but I suggest you get that bass up out your voice,” Fat Ace says, reclaiming authority.

“I…we stay over off Cowden in midtown,” I squeak.

“There, are you satisfied?” Profit challenges, annoyed. “My girl ain't into all that gangbanging bullshit. I told you before that you can have that.”

Fat Aces continues to smirk. “What you call gangbanging, I call street politics.” He stands up from his chair and towers over all of us. “And you're looking at the muthafuckin' president of these here United Streets.” He reaches up and finally removes his sunglasses.

My heart drops to the soles of my feet when I look into one brown eye and one milky white eye. The sight of it curls my stomach. I want to look away—I try to look away, but I just…can't. I'm riveted by what I'm seeing.

“Look, I didn't risk coming up here to watch you face fuck your girlfriend or argue with you over bullshit. I just wanted to see for myself how you were holding it down.” He slaps hands with his brother, and they add a small fist bump for unity. “I heard how you handled your shit like a true solider with that racist pig O'Malley.”

“You know that white nigga?”

“Sheeeiiit. Everybody knows that slick muthafucka. Always rolling through the sets like he owns the whole fuckin' city. If you ask me, the wigga just wish he was out here making this real paper. The muthafucka always jack niggas shit without an arrest. NahwhatImean?”

Profit bobs his head. “I can see that shit. Muthafucka has a real chip on his shoulder. His ass is pissed that he had nothing to charge me with. Maybe it was a good thing I wasn't strapped.”

“Nah. You could have easily blasted your way through those fools.”

I'm dying to ask again what happened, but I figure I'll get a clearer answer once Fat Ace leaves.

“But I tell you what, your boy is a crazy muthafucka out there. He damn near got my ass killed.” Clearly Profit left out a name on purpose. “I don't know what the fuck he was doing with that cop, but you might want to check to see if he's on that shit.”

Fat Ace bobs his head. “Yo, leave that shit to me, man. I'll handle it. You just chill the fuck out and take care of yourself.” Another slap and a dab. “You rolling up out of here tomorrow?”

“Yeah. First thing, man. I don't like all this hospital bullshit.”

“A'ight, then. I'll make sure someone picks you up. One, nigga.” He slides his shades back over his eyes and tilts his head toward me and Essence, who'd become a mute during this whole time. “Maybe I'll see you around again, shawty.”

I just stare at him.

Fat Ace laughs and then strolls toward the door. “Let's roll out,” he tells his people before the door swings closed behind him.

I finally expel the air I had trapped in my lungs and then immediately glance back over my shoulder at Essence.

“Don't say shit to me,” E snaps through gritted teeth. “I'm so fuckin' mad at your ass right now I can hardly see straight.” She jerks her gaze away and folds her arms.

Profit lifts and kisses my hand. “You do realize that we just came out of the closet?” His eyes sparkle. “Sort of speak.”

“It didn't seem as if we really had a choice.”

Profit laughs. “Damn, Ma. You should feel special. I ain't never introduced a girl to my family before like that. And I damn sure haven't been willing to take no beatdown over them either. 'Cause trust my brother's right hook ain't for the faint of heart.” He pinches my cheek. “Ain't that at least worth a smile or something?”

“Profit, what happened?” I ask, needing some answers.

Smiling, he reaches up and brushes his hand against my cheek. “C'mon, baby. I don't want you to be all worried about that shit. Everything is fine now. That's all that matters.”

“You're lying up here in the hospital with a bullet hole in your shoulder.”

“It's no big thang, baby girl. Really. It's just a little sore.”

“What. Happened?” I insist.

He looks as if he is going to hold out, but seeing how visibly upset I am, he caves. “Ah, baby. I'm not all that sure my damn self. I was just out chillin', hangin' with some friends. One of the niggas said that he had to roll and stack some paper and asked if I wanted to come with. Shit. He said it wasn't goin' to take too long, and I've known him for a hot minute. I didn't think shit of it, you know?”

“Okay.”

“Well, the nigga has been known to smoke a few too many las from time to time, and before we rolled out, I wondered if the muthafucka was too blazed up, but you know, sometimes it's hard to tell. Anyway, we get over on Sharpe, then suddenly I can't go into this church where he's supposed to be meeting up with someone. He just wanted me to hang outside for a few and then we were going to keep it moving.” Profit shook his head. “But a few minutes after he entered that building, all hell broke loose. I was just tryna get out the muthafuckin' way.

“I guess my boy was carrying some serious firepower in that dufflel bag he was carrying, 'cause this nigga was shooting up the joint: cars, streetlights—you name it. Yo, really. It was all a fuckin' blur. I got caught up 'cause my ass wasn't strapped.”

“Wait,” Essence jumps in. “You were over in Orange Mound strolling without your gat like it was a muthafuckin' park?” She twists up her face. “What? Are you stupid or something?”

“E!” I elbow my girl.

“What? Even a third grader knows better than that shit.”

Profit laughs. “Ease up off of her, Shara. She's right. Around here, if your ass ain't dodging bullets from other niggas, you're dodging them from the po-po. Trust. I've learned my muthafuckin' lesson.”

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

POP! POP! POP!

“What the fuck?”

I jump. “That can't be…”

POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

“Niggas are up in the muthafuckin' hospital shooting?” Essence says, looking as stunned as I felt.

“Ace,” Profit whispers, and then jumps out of the bed to rush toward the door.

I quickly leap forward and grab his good arm and whip him back around. “You can't go out there. What do you think you're going to do?”

POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

“I gotta go help my brother!”

He turns, but I hold firm. “How? By throwing yourself in front of a bullet? You don't have a weapon!”

POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

“I gotta do something,” he shouts, and wrenches his arm free.

“Wait!” I turn toward Essence. “Give me your gun.”

Essence digs into her baggy pocket and pulls out her 9 mm.

Profit's eyes light up as he runs over and takes the gun. “Got an extra clip?”

Essence bends over to her ankle and produces a second clip, then looks at me. “What?”

“Y'all stay right here,” Profit says. “I'll be right back.” He races toward the door, his naked butt cheeks flashing through the split up the back of his hospital gown.

POP! POP! POP! POP! POP!

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT!

For a full three seconds, I try to stay put, but I can't. “E, I'll be right back!”

“TA'SHARA, NO!”