From the Streets to the Sheets

BOOK: From the Streets to the Sheets
5.81Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

From the



Title Page


That Bitch Juicy                  |                  Noire

Ain’t Nuthin’ Sweet                  |                  Plea$ure

Grimier                  |                  Euftis Emory

Thug Lovin’                  | Andrea Blackstone

Pretty MF                  |                  Gerald K. Malcom

Homey, Lover, Friend                  |                  Thomas Long

Charge It to the Game                  |                  Jamise L. Dames

Me, He, and She                  |                  Aretha Temple

Ayeesha                  |                  Erick S. Gray

Life of Sin                  |                  Joy

Training Day                  |                  Kweli Walker

2 Can Play                  |                  K’wan


Noire’s Urban Erotic Riders

Also by Noire

Coming Soon! Noire’s Street Scriptures


This book is dedicated to the hard-body writers who jumped on board to take a long ride on my Urban Erotic Train.

Andrea, Eric, Euftis, K’wan, Aretha, Jamise, Gerald, Plea$ure, Gerald, Joy, Kweli, and Thomas . . .

You are some of the hottest urban authors on the shelves today. You brought style, eroticism, and originality to your slammin urban quickies, and not many out there can match what you do.

Every fan of mine should become a fan of yours, too, because each of you talented writers has pure fiyah coming out of your pens.

From the




“Make that money-money! Make that money-money!
Make that mothafuckin’ money-money, honey!”
The heat meter was spiking off the chain in the G-Spot. Dicks were swollen and the scent of hot pussy was blowing through the air. Big-money ballers chanted along with the bass of street music as they watched the solo act being performed onstage under the filtered spotlight.

Playas and hustlers near the front of the stage grabbed their dicks and hollered, and niggahs toward the back of the room started standing up on tables to get a better look at Money-Making Monique as she bent her blooming onion over and inched a pair of fishnet stockings down her thick, shapely thighs.

“Take that money-money! Take that money-money! Take that mothafuckin’ money-money, honey!!”

Cash was sailing on the stage like green leaves falling off a tree, and the other strippers in the Spot were calculating how much bank they could squeeze outta these horny niggahs before the night was over. They stood onstage behind their girl, clapping their hands to Monique’s spicy hot beat. “You workin’ that cake, girl! Making all these niggahs feen for a slice!” They cheered her solo act because even though Monique was the one spiking up the heat with her bomb booty and make-a-niggah-cum moves, she damn sure couldn’t slide her one pussy up and down every hard dick in the house. All the fuck rooms in the Spot were about to be occupied tonight, and the cleaning staff was gonna have to work overtime just to keep fresh sheets on the beds.

Up onstage, Monique ignored the noise from the crowd as she did her nasty thang like she’d been born with a golden pole wedged between her legs. She slipped her hips and popped her spine the way she had practiced a thousand times before in the mirror, and it was that kind of dedication to her grind that had made her the Spot’s top moneymaker for the last two years.

Monique didn’t mind the fact that all kinds of niggahs wanted to fuck her. She was proud to be the kind of freak that men just couldn’t resist. And yeah, her body was simply fuckin’ stunning. Damn right they was feenin’ for her, because what good was having the best shit on the shelf if you couldn’t make a niggah cry for it?

Tonight Monique was doing one of her new ill na-na routines. She had about thirty dance acts she worked, switching the moves up every other night, and every last one of her routines kept niggahs digging deep in their pocket stash, producing guaranteed cash results each time.

Some long-legged hustler sitting right up front screeched like a bitch as Monique squeezed her firm cantaloupe-sized breasts in her hands and let her red-polished fingernails flick her inch-long nipples seductively. He screamed again as she lowered her head and licked that stiff little nipple that sat smack in the middle of her upper chest, the one protruding from her tiny third breast that was round and perfect, but sat up closer to her neck than her normal breasts did, and was much, much smaller, like a twelve-year-old’s.

she thought as niggahs started whistling and wildin’ at the sight of her tongue swirling around that little tiny titty. Everybody loved a freak. And of all the things Monique could claim to be, she was a true freak-a-leek above all else. She turned her back on the crowd and popped her hips, letting her chips dip and her backbone slip.

Ya’ll niggahs take a good fuckin’ look at all this chocolate birthday cake,
Monique thought, clapping her thick booty cheeks and showing them flashing bits of her pink pussy and her sweet asshole.
’Cause a bitch is gonna be off this stage and paid in a minute. Straight fuckin’ paid.

Niggahs moaned out loud and nutted in their drawers, but Monique couldn’t care less about their sexual satisfaction. She had thoughts of retirement on her mind, and if shit went down the way she and Pluto planned, she was about to give up the poles and become the number-one bitch at her very own strip club down in B-More.

Harlem is too hot. It’s time to get the fuck out,
she thought, her body undulating with movements on its own. She’d been working the G-Spot for over two years now, and she couldn’t believe how fast her luck had suddenly changed. That dumb bitch Juicy had fucked around and betrayed G by getting caught on camera suckin’ off his very own son, and right now Granite McKay’s main bitch was downstairs chained to a bed in the Dungeon, beat down and fucked the hell out.

That left all the room in the world for Monique and Pluto to take over the G-Spot2 when it opened in Baltimore, the same joint that G was fronting all the money for and had been planning to hand over to his son, Gino.

Monique was down on the floor now. Laying on her side, her right leg doing a wide scissor dance as niggahs drooled and tried to push their eyeballs up into her uterus. She rolled over on her back and slid her body around the long way. She knew how delicious she looked from the side. Bodacious titties rising into the air like two firm brown hills, each one with a shiny little cherry on top. Her shoulders were pressed back and her waist arched up high, a gap of light showing between her lower back and the stage floor due to the thick mound of ass she was packing. She waved her legs in the air. They were shapely and in perfect proportion.

Already Monique could see herself flossin’ down there in B-More. She’d step up in that brand-new territory like a bad-ass bitch for real. She’d shop for some fly New York gear before she left, then take all her banging fashions right down I-95 along with her. Of course she’d come back to Harlem to get her hair whipped all the time, but no more poles and stages and fuck rooms for her. She’d be too busy managing her own stable of strippers and hoes. She’d be pushing Pluto’s Porsche and staying iced the fuck out seven days a week.

The excitement of her thoughts had Monique moving her body on the floor like a snake, slithering and shivering as her nipples hardened and her pussy began to leak. Just imagining herself as a classy bitch running a high-powered joint kicked her sex-o-meter into automatic. Her heat was turned up extra-high, and every niggah in the room was dying to stick his tongue in the pool of hot juices that were bubbling between her thighs.

Monique closed her eyes and tuned out the noise of the crowd. C-notes fluttered down on her body, some of the green bills sticking to the dampness of her skin. She bounced her ass to the beat, then shocked them all by spinning around on her butt until she was facing the crowd with her curvy legs gapped wide open.

A sexy grin spread over her face and she stuck her fingers between her legs, pulling back her pussy lips and exposing herself to their greedy eyes, then began masturbating herself slowly, then faster. Monique knew just what to do, and she couldn’t wait to teach some of her old tricks to the new bitches she was gonna hire when she got to Baltimore.

Monique had the wettest pussy in the whole wide world, and she tossed her head back and worked herself with three fingers, sloshing them around inside of her slit, but making sure she pulled them out every so often so niggahs could see the thick juices that dripped from her fingers and splattered down onto the stage floor.

The screams coming from the crowd drove her into a frenzy, and she fucked herself deeply, squeezing her clit, stroking her breasts, and licking that third nipple that mighta been tiny, but was sensitive as hell and sent sparks shooting through her pussy that felt like electric perfection. The moans rolling off her lips wasn’t fake no more, and this is what the crowd had been waiting for. Her plump ass splashed around in the pool of juices she was creating on the floor, and she was concentrating on her orgasm like it was the last one she would have in the world.

Her shit was for real, and them niggahs in the G-Spot knew it and loved it. Some of the bitches right up onstage loved it too, and had even tasted what Monique had to offer a time or two themselves. Monique screamed as her clit swelled and throbbed like a mini-dick. She parted her swollen pussy lips so everyone could see her pearl, then whipped it back and forth with her wet fingers, pressing down and massaging it until her legs shot straight out and her back arched in a C. She started trembling and whimpering as cum rushed from her body, her pussy squirting and ejaculating on the floor in spurts just like a man.

Monique floated back down to herself and opened her eyes. Security was having a real hard time keeping them niggahs from rushing up on the stage and fucking the shit outta her, and she smiled real big at the hot ballers as they strained against Greco’s armed crew and tried to reach her. She knew she was safe, but she made sure each and every one of them got a good look as she rubbed her spilled sugar all over her mound, and even all down in the crack of her ass.

Ten minutes later Monique had picked up her money off the stage and was repeating her performance in fuck room number eight. Some high-rolling hustler from Connecticut had paid premium dollars to keep her on lock for two hours, and right now he was tickling her tonsils with his tiny dick as his woman buried her pretty face in Monique’s still-wet pussy.

I ain’t gone be doing this shit much longer,
Monique told herself as she humped her hips, even though the chick between her legs was eating her pussy out deliciously. She opened her legs wider, getting bomb-ass head and getting paid for it at the same time. Shit, this bitch was fine as hell too. She had stripped naked and was laying on her stomach, her face buried in Monique’s snatch. Monique moaned and pushed her hips up off the bed, holding the back of the girl’s head and pressing her tongue deeper inside her. She shivered as that hot tongue probed her spots and lapped at her clit. She gazed at the female nestled between her legs and liked what she saw. Monique loved dick, but she also appreciated what a woman could offer her, and this one here had a better-looking ass than any ho in the house, except her of course. But best of all, the girl was licking Monique’s pussy just right, concentrating on that clit so good, that Monique had to force herself not to let go of the dick she was bobbing on and grab the girl’s head and cum all over her face.

Instead, she rode the beat that was thumping deep inside her coochie and concentrated on giving this playa his money’s worth. His pockets was deep and his dick was little, so the next two hours was gonna be a breeze. Hell, after tonight, the rest of her life would be a breeze. And she didn’t have nobody but that stupid bitch Juicy to thank for all the good tongue, and the good fortune, that had fallen right in her lap.

                  •                  •                  •

Monique never could stand Juicy’s ass.

She’d known her from 136th Street, and used to tease her retarded brother Jimmy in school all the time. Juicy’s grandmother was sanctified, and used to look down her nose on Monique’s mother because she had ten kids by ten different daddies and couldn’t control none of them.

Monique had moved across town in the ninth grade and forgotten all about Juicy, but years later here that bitch came, strutting her shit up in Monique’s territory like she was special or something. Monique had felt herself fill to the top with envy when G brought virgin-ass Juicy up in the Spot, then shut down his whole operation and took her up on the stage and asked if anybody had fucked the bitch or even sucked her.

“Who does that bitch think she is?” Monique had fumed to her girl, a stripper called Honey Dew. “I shoulda raised my hand and screamed, ‘Me! Me! Me! I sucked that phony bitch out and I fucked her too!’” Monique laughed hard at the thought. “G woulda dropped her so-called virgin ass so quick she would still be wandering around Harlem trying to find the train station.”

“Who cares?” Honey Dew shrugged. “G don’t fuck with no hoes, and don’t no real bitch wanna be pinned down by an old head like him no way. That niggah is grimy and cold-blooded, and I’m glad he won’t touch nothing but a virgin. That means my ass is safe. So you can dead all them thoughts you been thinking about you and him, Monique. Your pussy meter been clicked too many times, because just like the rest of us, your ass been
run through
up in this Spot.”

“Who said I wanted G’s old ass? Yeah, that niggah’s paid, but shit. So is Pluto. I’m straight with what I got.”

“Bitch, don’t front. Everybody can see how hard you trying to be down on G’s dick. And since he’s the one feeding your stankin-butt boo Pluto, you might wanna watch that shit. I hear Pluto’s funky ass can be a bitch-buster too, you know.”

Monique let Honey Dew’s warning bounce off her. Yeah, Pluto could get stupid with his hands sometimes, but every ho working the Spot, including Honey Dew, would have slit Monique’s throat if it meant they could get closer to her man. Stank drawers or not.

But Monique had really been steaming inside the night G pronounced that Juicy was gonna be his new woman. Her young, dumb ass had stood up on that stage grinning like she was the shit. Like she was the prize that had been chosen by the king. While Monique, who was G’s top stripper and big-money flatbacker, had to stand there and watch that bitch get the kind of top billing that should have been hers.

But Monique wasn’t no damn fool. And she had to give it to Juicy. The bitch was fly. She had killer curves, good hair, and a real pretty face. But she was square and too damn stupid for her own good. A playa like G needed a real bitch who understood the game and could watch his back. He needed a bitch who could contribute to his empire and make shit happen for him on all levels. A trick like Juicy wasn’t good for much more than sitting up on a bar stool looking tight all night, and although Monique knew she was one devastating bitch herself, she was working with a real brain too, so she was much more valuable to any niggah’s hustle.

So for two years Monique hated on Juicy and mind-fucked her every chance she got. G’s money was being well spent because that trick stayed draped in fly, expensive rags, with her hair and nails done to perfection every day. Monique made damn sure she kept right up with her too. She had always made sure her shit was whipped butter from head to toe, but with Juicy on the scene she put even more effort into her style, sauntering up in the G-Spot with so much pussy-appeal that niggahs stopped in their tracks and pulled out long bank just to watch her step out of her panties.

BOOK: From the Streets to the Sheets
5.81Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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