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The Morning After . . .
“So what I gotta do to get you on your knees sucking this dick?”
Heat flashed through her body as memories of her unexpected closet rendezvous with Officer Flores flooded her mind. It’d been over a month ago since that sordid encounter. Yet, the recollection of him was still fresh in her mind and had suddenly filled her with lusty desires, and now she felt her pussy warming.
She swallowed, and fought the urge to finger herself. She didn’t usually like her men thin. Tall, yes. Very tall preferred. But—Lord, yes—he was tall and thin.
She’d make an exception, this once.
The thought of that big, long dick stretching her cunt to the seams made her tingle from the inside out. She’d never been a ho or a whore—she’d learned, many years ago, from her cousin, Bianca, that there was a difference—on the streets. But, in the words of her favorite radio personality, Marcel, on 93.3 The Heat—she was ready to let her “freak flag fly.”
She already kept it sexy, kept it wet . . . always stayed ready. But fucking multiple men, let alone fantasizing about it, had never been her thing. She’d been a closet freak most of her life, beasting in the sheets only with men she’d been in relationships with.
She took dick like a pro, sucked dick like a porn-star, and knew how to make a man’s toes curl. Never denying her man pleasure—any time, any place, anywhere. But that was always with one man.
But, now, since being incarcerated, her libido—and fantasies—was at an all-time high. All she wanted to do was fuck. Ride a dick. Suck a dick. She wanted it. Dick, dick, dick . . . and more dick; her whole body ached for it.
Officer Rawlings had unlocked Pandora’s box, but it was Officer Flores who’d flung it open. And now she was ready to click on her ho-meter and turn up. She was ready to bite into more of the proverbial forbidden fruit and sink her teeth into its meat.
“You gonna be my lil’ prison whore.”
The thought made her pussy quiver.
Heaven glanced over at her flat-screen perched up on one of the tiny desks in her cell, catching the tail end of Little Women: Atlanta. She let out a disgusted grunt seeing Mama Bear. Lying ass. She gave Heaven a headache with all of her delusions.
“Mmph. Miscarriage my ass. But you didn’t go for a D & C? Trick, your ass was never pregnant,” Heaven heard her saying.
What a damn liar. And that Ms. Juicy . . . mmph. Heaven just couldn’t with her ass, either. Not. At. All. Trifling-ass bitches come in all sizes, she thought, shaking her head as she reached for her remote and changed the channel to the WE network. The previews for Cutting It in the ATL flashed on the screen, and Heaven rolled her eyes.
God. What was this world coming to? Ratchet TV was everywhere. Seemed like Atlanta was a breeding ground for ghetto-ass reality shows.
Disgusted, she turned off her television, then rose from her bunk and turned on the radio to 93.3. She glanced at the time, and found herself wishing it were eight o’clock already. It was Thursday. And tonight was the radio station’s segment of Creepin’ ‘n’ Freakin’ After Dark, and she’d get to listen to the deep, rich baritone voice of her fantasy man.
She chuckled to herself. Sabina would slice her throat if she knew she, too, lusted over the mouthwatering Marcel. Mm, yes. Lord, have mercy. She’d go to hell in a gasoline-soaked hand basket for a night with him. Marcel, Marcel, Marcel . . . dammit. What was that sexy man’s last name?
She couldn’t recall. But she remembered all the rumors. And rumor had it he had a huge dick, and was a freak. That he and his wife were swingers of sorts. Heaven could only imagine what kind of heat the two of them created in the sheets.
God. What a tragedy. Heaven closed her eyes and shook her head at the memory of hearing the murder of his wife unfolding as it’d aired live on the radio. God, that whole experience shook her to her core. She’d screamed in horror, then burst out in tears when she’d heard the gunshots ring out along with millions of listeners.
Freedom had come rushing down into their living room when she’d let out a piercing scream. He looked at her crazily when she’d told him the cause of her distress. He thought her hysterics were a bit over the top for someone she’d never met, or known. But, in her mind, she had known him. And loved him.
She sighed, and reached for the book she’d received in the mail the other day from Amazon. The Real Mrs. Price by J.D. Mason. God, she was so behind in her reading. Seemed like she’d gotten a lot more books read when she’d been in lockup. Maybe she should—
She shuddered at the thought.
On second thought, no thank you.
She would rather—
Sabina rushed into the cell. “Ohmygod! You’re not going to believe this.”
Heaven gave her a confused look. “What?”
“Did you hear about Struthers?”
Heaven’s face was expressionless. “No, what about him? Who has he fucked over now?”
“Girl, no one. I heard he is out on leave. And he won’t be coming back.”
