AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Hmmm, cat trap, I thought, smilin’. How fittin’. I like that. I galloped up and down, fast and hard, on his dick, rubbed my pierced clit, then came all over his dick. My warm, sticky juices dripped outta me and down his thick shaft. “Cum for me, nigga,” I said, grindin’ and buckin’ my hips. “Bust ya dick in my guts, nigga.” He pumped deep and hard and fast in me, placed his hands on my hips and went for his. “Yeah, muhfucka, you love this pussy?”
“Fuck yeah!” he grunted.
“Would you die for this pussy?” I was smearin’ my wet pussy all up and down and around on his dick, grippin’ it.
“Damn, baby…What you tryna do to a nigga? Oh shit…”
Inside I was laughin’ my ass off. This nigga had no clue.
“Answer the question,” I said, moanin’. I lifted my hips, then slowly repeated it. “Would”—slammed down on his dick. Lifted my hips, again—“you”—slammed down on it again—“Die”—lifted my hips again—“for”—slammed down on his dick again—“This pussy?”
I could tell the nigga was losin’ his mind. He was gruntin’ and moanin’ and twistin’ his face up. “Oh, shit…Yesssss, you my world, pretty baby.”
I leaned forward, stuck my right titty in his mouth. He sucked and licked all over it, like the greedy muhfucka he was, then moved over to my other titty. We both were in a zone. He was tryna bust off, and I was tryna nut one last time before it was over. I kissed him on his lips. Slid my tongue in his mouth, then started suckin’ on his tongue like it was his big, juicy dick. The same black, veiny dick he used to fuck my aunt with.
My pussy was hot ’n poppin’. I lifted up and started pinchin’ my hard nipples, ridin’ down on his cock and grindin’ my clit.
Damn, this nigga got some good dick. Cheatin’-ass bastard! “I’m cuuuummmin’, daddy…oh shit…uh…ooooh…”
“Yeah, baby,” he repeated, lookin’ me in my eyes, “I’d die for you…wet this dick up…yeah, that’s it…oh, fuck…you ready for this nut, baby?”
I leaned forward, pressed my body close against his, then reached under the side of the mattress and felt for my .380 with the silencer. I gripped it and kept my hand hangin’ over the side of the bed, waitin’. I whispered, “Yeah, daddy, I’m ready for your nut. Oh, yes…uh, uh…you got my pussy real wet with ya big, black dick, nigga!” My pussy was so overheated from the thought of this cheatin’-ass muhfucka’s blood and brains and chunks of his skull bein’ splattered all over the place, a bitch almost had the shakes from just knowin’ what was ’bout to pop off.
The minute he closed his eyes, I lifted up and hid my right hand behind my back, then placed my left hand on his chest and bounced up and down on his dick and waited…
“Here it comes, baby…Aaaah, aaah, aaah…I’m cuuu—”
Thessrrpp! I shot him right between the eyes.
“Welcome to the Kat Trap, nigga!”
I got up off his dick and stared at his lifeless body, then glanced at the clock. It was two in the mornin’. I rushed into the bathroom, sink-washed my pussy, then splashed water on my face. Reality set in, and now a bitch had to put the rest of her plan in motion.
I spotted the jeans he had worn earlier over in the corner on the floor. I raced over to check inside his pockets for the keys to his three lockboxes he kept hidden in a secret compartment up in the ceilin’ of his walk-in closet. There were three sets of keys with at least fifteen different keys on each ring. I grabbed them and went into his closet, knockin’ boxes of sneakers and hard-bottoms off the shelves. I ran back into the kitchen to get one of the barstools, then climbed up on it and lifted up the corner panel. I pulled it down, tossin’ it to the floor, then reached for the metal boxes. I pulled each one down, then tried every key until I found the ones that opened each box. Bingo!
There were forty thick rolls of hundreds wrapped with double rubberbands in the first box; another forty rolls in the second box; and the third box had thirty-two rolls. Each roll had one hundred crisp hundred-dollar bills. You do the math.
Next, I went into his other closet to try the keys on the custom-designed floor safe hidden underneath the carpet. I dragged the dresser outta the way, pulled back the rug. I almost screamed when I saw that it was a combination-and key-lock safe. Here I was on my knees, with a body in the next room, and a bitch wanted to snatch up as much of the nigga’s cheddar as I could. Fuck what ya heard. The nigga owed me for my pain ’n sufferin’ and for me havin’ to use a bullet on his ass. And I was gonna take e’ery muthafuckin’ dollar up in that piece.
I leaned back on my knees and thought. Okay, think, bitch. What would that muhfucka use as his combination? I tried a first set of numbers—nothin’. I tried again—still nothin’. I took a deep b
reath, rubbed my sweaty hands across my ass, then tried the numbers in his birthday: 9-26-8-0. When the shit clicked, I almost passed out. I opened the door and smiled. There were stacks and stacks of benjamins.
I knew this wasn’t even half of what he was holdin’. He had a safety deposit box at Citibank, probably loaded with cheddar. And he had guns and drugs tucked away at his stash houses. But who gave a fuck! This paper was gonna set a bitch up lovely and keep my ass from sinkin’ until I figured out my next move.
I jumped up, snatched my Louis Vuitton duffle bag, and started fillin’ it with the money. Once I cleaned e’erything out, I tossed some clothes and other personal items in another bag, then I put e’erything back in its place. Made sure I wiped the bathroom down, and his body. Just before I was ready to bounce, I glanced over at B-Love one last time, wishin’ things coulda turned out different. Oh, well. “Be careful what you ask for, muhfucka,” I said, walkin’ over to the bed and tossin’ the covers up over his body and head, “’cause you just might get it.”
I tossed all of his keys into my satchel, and smiled when I remembered his secret spot over in Prospect Park. I’d only been to it twice, but I knew it was where he kept major paper. Nigga, thanks to you and your cheatin’-ass dick, you just helped a bitch bubble up. I quietly snuck out of the buildin’, then drove the two hours back down to AC where I already had a suite at the Borgata. I was smart enough to drive down earlier that afternoon to check in. I dropped off my bags in the room, then turned right back around and drove back to Brooklyn. If anyone asked, I was gamblin’ and partyin’ all night—alone.
The next afternoon I walked back up in that piece like e’erything was e’erything, then ran outta the apartment, screamin’ hysterically through the hallway, bangin’ on doors. By the time Brooklyn’s finest arrived on the scene I was a mess. They were at the crime spot, tryna piece together clues to who took down one of the street’s biggest, most dangerous known drug dealers. They questioned e’erybody in the buildin’. And of course, no one heard, seen, or knew shit. They even had the fuckin’ nerve to interrogate me. But a bitch kept it cute. I rocked and screamed and cried through the whole questionin’. Finally, the muthafuckas left me alone. I guess they felt I was too damn distraught to offer up any info. I took one of the detective’s cards and promised to call him if I remembered anything. I never did.
A week later, B-Love was bein’ buried. The church was packed. Bitches and niggas were e’erywhere. His poor mother cried and passed out. His sister fell into his coffin and had to be dragged up outta there. Oh, it was a mess. Some of his niggas swore on their seed’s head that they would bring it to whoever murked him. Chicks he fucked and was still fuckin’ before I smashed his lights out were all hysterical ’n shit. And that fuckin’ ho, Patrice, even had the nerve to show her face. I guess the bitch thought I wouldn’t turn it up at a funeral. Please. The minute I saw her ass up at the coffin, I jumped up and charged her. And me and this ho rocked.
“Bitch!” I screamed, “I told you be ready to fight whenever I saw your slutty ass.” We were gettin’ it in right there in front of his casket. Funny thing, neither one of us spit out our razors to use on the other. Humph…go figure! “You still want him, bitch?” I yelled, slappin’ and punchin’ the shit outta her. We turned the church out. B-Love’s nephews and a few of his boys had to pull us apart. “Get that bitch outta here ’fore I kill her!” I screamed, before fallin’ down to my knees. I broke down cryin’. If that wasn’t an Academy Award–winning performance, then dammit, I don’t know what was.
His body wasn’t even in the ground good, and I was already back at our spot packin’ my shit. Besides the money, jewels, and furs, I walked outta there with e’erything that wasn’t glued or nailed down, never lookin’ back.
Although a lotta niggas in the hood was sayin’ B-Love was set up, the cats in blue had already figured it was an inside job. But they didn’t invest much time or energy into tryna track down his killer—the bitch who had sat right in front of ’em with snot and spit flyin’ e’erywhere. Although I wasn’t a suspect, they called me in for questionin’ again, but nothin’ came of it, so they had to let it go. As far as they were concerned, B-Love was just one less dealer on the streets, destroyin’ lives and bringin’ down the community. They would eventually close the case as another murder unsolved. And a bitch like me would get away with slumpin’ a nigga—again.
