AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Boo-Boo, you dialed the wrong number. I don’t enjoy you. I enjoy gettin’ what I can out of you; that’s it. If you lookin’ for a love connection you had better head on over to eHarmony or Match-dot-com. And if you lookin’ for freebies, then you better hop ya cheap ass up on Craigslist.”
I end the call, then step into the shower. I’m ready to get my drink on, dammit!
Twenty-Five
Oooh wee! I’m on my third Cum Cannon, feelin’ right, goddammit! And The Crack House is startin’ to get crowded. The drinks are flowin’ heavy. The deejay is tearin’ it up. And security is on high-alert up in this piece tonight as it is every Thursday, Friday and Saturday night. And I’m lookin’ real sassy in my orange sleeveless, knit, cowl-neck mini dress. I got my brown leather, six-inch platform slingbacks on. My smooth honey-coated skin is oiled up ’n shinin’. My pussy’s floral fresh. And asshole’s Fleet-rinsed and ready. What you say? Calves, POW! Waist, POW! Booty, POW! POW! POW! Oooh, yes . . . Big Booty’s lookin’ delish!
I throw my right arm up, pumpin’ a fist into the air, then start slow humpin’ in my seat, twirlin’ my pussy up on the barstool when Grace Jones’ “Feel Up” starts playin’. I glance over toward the deejay’s booth and give Slick the middle finger for tryna crank me up tonight. He makes me sick with his long, skinny-dick self. Ooh, but that six-foot, cocoa-brown niggah with the light-brown eyes and wavy hair fucks like a savage. Hot ’n nasty ’n real sneaky with it. I fucked him twice. Once when I was sixteen, workin’ the poles. Then, again, when I was almost nineteen. I needed a couple of dollars to feed my babies, and Slick was always right there with his dick in his hand, tryna get up in this pussy. So I did what I had to do. And when shit got hectic and I needed a place to stay with my kids, Slick took me in. And I didn’t have to fuck him, although I probably woulda.
I close my eyes and slip back to my days as a stripper. I was sixteen. And I had no damn business strippin’ in no club. I was stacked like a twenty-year-old, workin’ the pole down at this gutter hole called Heart Throbs in downtown Elizabeth. The owner, Jam—who was about forty-five at the time, knew my real age but he didn’t give a damn. As long as I kept the room burstin’ at the seams, kept it rainin’ up in that motherfucka, and didn’t hit any of the back rooms to suck dick or get fucked, I could make my paper. And that’s exactly what I did. I was young and had body for days, and knew how to use ’em both to get what I needed. Makin’ sure I didn’t end up sleepin’ outside on a park bench or under a bridge somewhere with two small kids was my only concern. So I did what I had to do.
Mmmph. Heart Throbs kept me and my babies fed. And it allowed me to have a roof over my head. It’s also where I met Darryl Jennings—big dicked, dark-chocolate niggah and Baby Daddy Number Two—who ate my pussy and fucked me nonstop. I met him three months after I started workin’ there. He was twenty-two and one of the regulars, who came through three nights out of the week; specifically for me. He was a big-spender and tipped well. And, after two months of makin’ twenties rain down on me, he made it known he was diggin’ me.
The niggah started waitin’ for me after shows, makin’ sure I got home safe. Then it went to him takin’ me out for breakfast after the shows to dinners on the nights I wasn’t workin’ to buyin’ shit for me and my sons. Oh, you couldn’t tell a bitch like me shit. I had snagged me a real live baller. He hustled hard, played hard, and fucked harder. And out of all the bitches he coulda had, he wanted me.
Before I knew it, I was movin’ out of the one room I was cramped in with my two kids into a two-bedroom apartment. The niggah kept me stuffed with dick. Kept me and my sons laced in all the fly shit. And kept my handbag lined with paper. Then somehow it all went funky. I shoulda listened to my gut and kept it movin’, but I was real grown and hot in the ass. You couldn’t tell a ho like me shit. I had a thing for older niggahs. And he was checkin’ for me hard. So, I igged that little voice in my head that told me to seal my pussy up and bolt the other way. But the niggah knew my weakness. Money, big dick, and long tongue. He served all three. And served ’em well! Eventually, I got pregnant. And shortly there-after, he tried to use my face as his personal punchin’ bag. The niggah thought he owned me. And thought I owed him. In some ways, I guess I did owe him somethin’ for rescuin’ me from a fucked-up situation. But I didn’t owe him my life. And I damn sure wasn’t gonna let him tear my face up or let the niggah control me. The last time that motherfucka put his hands on me, I waited until he least expected it and slammed a knife down into his right hand, then took off runnin’. I was seventeen with three kids. And Slick was right there for me. He had my back. And ’til this day, he always has.
I open my eyes and peep his pencil-dick ass grinnin’ at me. I stick my tongue out at him. Niggah still fine as shit, mmmph!
“Feeeeeeeeeeel UP!” I sing out, throwin’ both hands up in the air. “Feel Up! Feel Up! Aaawl shit . . . Don’t start none, won’t be none, goddammit!”
Slick knows I’m about to light the bar up. He flicks his tongue back at me, laughin’. Oooh, this niggah knows how to do me right! He knows this shit right here is my goddamn jam! The bass line starts workin’ me over. I grind my pussy harder into the stool. Slick licks his lips. I roll my eyes at him, then turn my back on him. He knows the beat is about to have me bring it up in this bitch tonight. But I swear I ain’t come here to twerk it. I came to get my drink on, then take it on in. But goddamn him!
“Ooooooow!” I swing my right arm up in the air, sway to the beat a taste, then hop off the barstool. “Damn you, Slick! Yesssss! Yesssss!”
The niggahs who know me up in here all wait and watch with their drinks in their hands ’cause they know I’ma ’bout to crank up the Booty heat. “Aaah, yes!” I hop up and down, then kick my right leg up, toot my lips up and start swingin’ my head from the left to the right. My silky weave sways across my ass.
“Aaah, shit, yeah . . . do that shit, Booty!” someone yells out.
“Bounce that ass, baby . . . ”
“Goddamn, her body’s the truth . . . ”
I act like I don’t hear ’em. Shit, truth is, I ain’t payin’ these niggahs no never mind tonight. I close my eyes. Belly-roll it, hip roll it, then lean forward and booty pop it. I start feelin’ up my body, grabbin’ ’n squeezin’ my titties. I back it up from the bar. Give myself room to spin around. I run my hands through my hair and start goin’ at it hard when Slick plays Joe Budden’s “There’s Some Hoes In The House.”
“Aaaaaaah, yessssss . . . hot hoes in the house . . . you lil’ dick motherfuckas can’t handle this . . . where the big-dick niggahs at! Owwwwl!”
I dip down low, then roll it back up. The Crack House is about to come alive. Niggahs got their eyes locked on my ass. Hatin’-ass bitches ice-ballin’ me. But I don’t give a fuck. I’m in my zone. “Goddammit, Slick!” I scream over the music. “I need my throat wet! Someone get me another Cum Cannon! Owwwl . . . smoke a niggah’s dick! There’s some hoes in this house . . . Jerzee’s here, bitches!”
Big Mike comes from around the bar and brings me a drink. He’s the only niggah I’d trust to not try ’n drug a bitch. “You doin’ it up, baby,” he says into my ear as he hands me my glass.
“Big Mike, you lucky you my baby daddy’s nephew ’cause I wo
ulda been fucked you down by now, niggah. Wet that big dick right on up.”
He laughs. “Yo, Cass. You wild as hell, baby.”
“I know I am. Now back it up from outta my space and let me get my dance and drank on.”
He keeps laughin’, shakin’ his head as he walks off. He knows I love talkin’ shit to him. And the niggah knows I mean everything I say. I would cream all on his cock, then suck it clean, goddammit!
I toss back my drink, then hand my empty glass to some niggah all up in my face, starin’ me down and lickin’ his lips when Ester Dean’s “Drop It Low” starts playin’. “Aaaaah, shit . . . y’all tryna make me get my Ester on . . . ” I dip ’n bounce real low, swayin’ my head from side to side and causin’ my hair to sweep the floor. I pop back up, then bend over and grab my ankles, lettin’ my asscheeks peek out from under the hem of my dress. I start poppin’ it. Niggahs start hootin’ ’n howlin’.
By the time Pussy’s “Suck My Pussy” starts playin’ I’m all sweated out and ready to come outta my dress and drawers. But I’m so caught up in the music and moment, that I don’t really give a damn. Niggahs are winkin’, grinnin’, and lickin’ their lips as I shake up the booty heat.
After about six songs, I finally shake my ass back over to my seat where I stay perched, poppin’ shit to the niggahs who are all up in my face and tossin’ back the drinks. Tonight may be free drinks for the ladies, but I never have to pay any-damn-way so it really doesn’t matter.
Big Mike hands me another drink. “You were tearin’ it up out there.”
