Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang (6 page)

Am I?
I mean, so what if thinkin’ ’bout bustin’ a bitch’s face up and it bein’ all bloody had my pussy on fire, that doesn’t make me nutty. Does it? “Hell no, muhfucka,” I say, laughin’. “I ain’t no nut. I’m a real bitch; all day, e’ery day.”

I slip into my jeans.

“Oh, word?”

“All day, e’ery day,” I repeat.

“Then do what a real bitch does, ma, and take them clothes back off and finish what you started,” he says, standin’ up. “You ain’t finish wettin’ my man up.” He walks up on me. I stare at his chunky dick. Wit’out thinkin’, I lick my lips. “And my man don’t like to be cheated outta bein’ up in some good pussy.”

He pulls me into him.

And instead of steppin’ outta his embrace like my mind was tellin’ me to, I let the muhfucka scoop me up, carry me over to his bed, pull off my jeans, remove my panties and bra, then bury his face back between my legs eatin’ my already soppin’ wet pussy. True, I wasn’t feelin’ this nigga at first, but, right now—the way he’s comin’ at me, the nigga has me turned the fuck on. On top of the fact a bitch still gotta nut clogged up inside ’er that needs to be plunged out.

“You gonna let me get some more’a this pussy, ma?” he asks, lookin’ up at me and dippin’ two fingas into my sticky snatch.

I lift my legs, bend at the knees, and part my pussy open wider. “Yeah, nigga…stretch my pussy, muhfucka ’cause this’ll be da first and last time you hit this good shit, so you need’a get wit’ da program before I decide to change my mind and shut shit down.”

“Daaaaamn, ma, it’s like that?”

“Like I said,” massagin’ my clit, eyein’ him all sexy like, “you want this pussy, then you betta beat this shit down,
now,
’cause there ain’t gonna be no lata.”

“Then I guess I better make it pop,” he says hurriedly gettin’ up to grab another condom. He rips it open then rolls it down onto his bricked dick. “And this time, I’m on top.”

I smirk. “Whatever, muhfucka; fuck all that you talkin’. Feed me da dick, nigga.” He laughs, slappin’ his cock up against my clit, makin’ my pussy twitch. The shit feels real heavy. “Stop teasin’ me, nigga,” I snap, ready for his dick to stretch me open. I tell ’im to hit it from the back, knowin’ he’s gonna spit in a matter of minutes as soon as I start makin’ my ass clap ’round his cock. A muhfucka can’t handle this juicy shit from the back for too long.

He pushes the head in. Tip drills me, then goes all in, grabbin’ me by the hips. The nigga ain’t hittin’ the bottom, but he’s damn sure knockin’ the sides out. “Oh, fuck…this pussy’s good as hell.”

I crane my neck, peep the nigga over my shoulder tossin’ his head back. I squeeze my muscles, grab at his dick. Make the nigga’s body shake. “Yeah, nigga…take this pussy…fuck it wit’ that fat-ass dick…” I’m nuttin’ but it ain’t bringin’ down the walls. I close my eyes, replay beatin’ that bitch’s ass earlier, keep rewindin’ her whole grill splittin’ open. I start buckin’ my hips, throwin’ the ass up on the dick.

“Oh, fuck…aaaaah, shit…you not gonna let me hit this pussy again, ma?”

I grunt. “No, muhfucka…” My nut is swellin’; my walls are shakin’. This nigga’s dick is stretchin’ me, but it ain’t guttin’ me. I squeeze my eyes tight. Blood splatters. “…uhhhhh…”

My pussy rapidly milks his dick.

“Ohhh, fuck yeah…just like that…squeeze that dick…aaahhh
shit, ma…can I get some more’a this good shit, ma? I wanna keep hittin’ this wet pussy…”

More blood splatters.

I’m on the verge of crashin’ waves of creamy pussy juice. I urge the nigga to hit it harder; to dig it out faster. I’m almost there. I slide my hand between my legs, take two fingas and work my clit. More blood splatters. “Uhhhh…fuuuucccck me…”

“Can I keep hittin’ this pussy, ma?”

“Uhhh…nooooo, nigga…aaaah…”

“Let me keep hittin’ this, ma…”

“Uhhhhh…Shut da fuck up and fuuuuuuuck meeeee, muhhhhhfucka…”

He starts slappin’ my ass. I block out his grunts and groans. Concentrate on my fist connectin’ to that bitch’s face. More blood splatters. But it’s not enough to spin’a bitch into a seizure. I need more.

“Bang it harder, muhfucka…is that all you got? What, you scared of da pussy, nigga?”

He grabs me by the waist, rapidly slams himself in ’n outta me.

“Oh, you wanna talk shit, ma? You want a muhfucka to beat ya guts in?”

I’m clutchin’ the sheets. My eyes are shut tight. I have a 9mm wit’ a silencer in my hand. I buck my hips. Moan. “Uhhhhhh… ohhhhh, shiiiiiit…”

I slam my chrome into that booga bear’s grill, knockin’ her fronts out. More blood splatters. I let out another loud moan.

“Ohhhh, shit, ma, your pussy is soooooo fuckin’ wet…Goddaaaaamn…”

“Fucccccck me…fuuuuuccccck me…” I chant, wildly windin’ my hips ’n bangin’ my ass back up on the dick. I raise my gun. “Uhhhhhh…oohhhhh, yesssssss…”

I pull the trigger.

“Yesssssssssssssss….”

I pull the trigger, again.

My pussy muscles squeeze this nigga’s dick in sync to me dumpin’ my clip into her dome.

CHAPTER FIVE

Gotta nigga wantin’ to stroke me wit’ his dick…wantin’ to feel this pussy heat on his face…beggin’ me to drop down on them lips…roll my hips…squeeze his head wit’ my thighs… nigga wantin’ me to nut in his mouth…yeah, muhfucka… let’a bitch coat ya tongue wit’ dis waterfall…open wide, muhfucka…close ya eyes…here comes ya surprise…

M
y ringin’ cell wakes a bitch up outta a deep-ass sleep. I peep the screen, shakin’ my head. The word Nut lights up on the screen. It’s my nickname for this nigga Alley Cat I met a while back. “Yeah, whaaaat?” I answer wit’ ’tude, glancin’ at the clock over on the nightstand. It’s eleven o’clock in the mornin’ I stretch. Can’t believe I’ve slept most of the day away.

“Yo, wassup, ma? How you?”

“Aggravated that you still callin’ me. How can I help you?”

He laughs. “Yeah, aiiight. Front if you want, but check this out, beautiful. I’ma keep callin’ ya sexy ass ’til you stop playin’ games wit’ a muhfucka.”

“Who said I’m playin’ wit’ you?”

“Nah, ma, I ain’t say nuthin’ ’bout you playin’ wit’ me. I said you playin’ games, big difference. If you were playin’ wit’ me ya hands ’n mouth would be full wit’ a buncha dick, feel me?”

“No, I ain’t feelin’ you,” I state, sittin’ up.

“Not yet, you ain’t. But you will be; real talk.”

This cocky muhfucka makes me sick
. I hold back a grin, though. No matter how much ’tude I serve this nigga, he stay tryna fuck me. That’s the problem. This muhfucka ain’t used to a bitch turnin’ his ass down. He’s the kinda nigga used to bitches droppin’ they drawers whenever he wants. Well, he might be lookin’ for a fast piece’a ass, but the nigga ain’t gonna get it here unless it’s on my terms. Hmmph. If you ask me, I think the nigga’s borderline crazy. ’Cause if a bitch was always comin’ at me sideways ’n all reckless and whatnot I’d be tellin’ that ho to eat shit, then be out.

But this nigga right here won’t let up. Even when the nigga stood in front of me and blocked my way in the mall down in Phoenix, I thought he was a damn nut. Fine, yes. But, a damn problem, for sure! On some real shit, I wasn’t gonna give the nigga the time’a day if Chanel’s dumb ass wasn’t all up in the mix eggin’ me to give the nigga sum air play.

Earlier that day, he was tryna holla as me and Chanel were walkin’ outta the hotel we were stayin’ in. But we paid the nigga dust. Most niggas just leave it alone, but this muhfucka got up and came up on us like he was really pressed tryna push the issue. Chanel’s simple-ass entertained ’im, but I kept it movin’. See, I had already peeped the nigga the day before at the All-Star Jam Session chillin’ wit’ a buncha niggas.

Then I saw ’im later on that night down in the lobby. And, yes, the nigga was fuckable. And, yes, the nigga was dipped ’n blingin’. But he was sooooo fuckin’ arrogant, too! I knew the minute he opened his mouth that he was used to bitches sweatin’ his ass and droppin’ down ’n wettin’ his dick up at his beck ’n call. And I know it fucks wit’ ’im that I ain’t that kinda chick.

I ain’t gonna front. When the nigga walked up on me and
Chanel at the mall, I tried to act like I wasn’t beat, but the muhfucka had this kinda confidence that was mad sexy; still, a bitch knows when a muhfucka ain’t up to no good. And my gut told me that this nigga right here, mmmph…is a walkin’ magnet for drama. But when he stepped up in my space, I kept it cute and gave ’im some rhythm—just a taste, for a hot minute. I had’a laugh when he said I was actin’ like he was the muhfucka who had broke my heart. But I quickly checked his ass and let ’im know I ain’t the one to let a nigga break shit on me. Little did he know, a bitch was still mournin’ the loss of good dick. Shit, I went from gettin’ this pussy beat up on’a regular to not gettin’ it at all. It had been a minute since I was gettin’ served by some dick that wasn’t attached to a bullet. Then just like that, it was over. So, my ’tude had nuthin’ to do wit’ bein’ evil. It was ’bout a bitch grievin’ ’n needin’ a good dickin’.

Annnywaaaayz, for the last year or so, the nigga’s been hittin’ me up on some let’s chill-type shit, and I still ain’t rocked wit’ ’em. And he still ain’t lettin’ it go. The shit cracks me up.

“
Whaaa
teva,” I tell ’im, gettin’ outta bed. My stomach starts growlin’, remindin’ me that the only thing I had today was that damn blunt. Ohmigod, a bitch could eat three dicks and still have room for a nut or two. That’s how hungry I am.

I go downstairs to fix sumthin’ to eat. “What, you bored? None’a ya lil’ hoes ’round for you to play wit’?” I ask, openin’ up the ’fridge. I pull out the carton of eggs, some cheddar cheese, and a green pepper. I decide to fix an omelet.

“Nah, beautiful, never that. I can always find me a broad to get at. But, that’s not what I want.”

I pull out a skillet. “Oh, really? So, what you want?”

“Yo, I’ma keep it gee wit’ you, aiight?”

“Oh, please do.”

“I want some pussy, straight up. And I wanna
fuck
.”

I laugh, choppin’ the green pepper, then peelin’ an onion. “Nigga you talkin’ like ya nasty ass ain’t already gettin’ it in. I know betta.”

He laughs. “Yeah, my dick stays wet. But I’m tryna get up in some new pussy.”

“Nigga you ain’t even smooth wit’ ya shit. You straight raw wit’ it. No kinda finesse. Ain’t no classy bitch feelin’ that. Save that shit for them boogas.”

He laughs. “Check this shit out, ma. I’ma grown-ass man. I ain’t got time to be bullshittin’ on da pussy.”

“Well, that shit might work wit’ them bottom of the barrel bitches, but it ain’t workin’ for me.”

He keeps laughin’. “Bottom of da barrel, top of da barrel, it don’t matter. As long as da pussy’s bangin’ ’n I can fuck ’em over da barrel, it’s all gravy.”

I shred my cheese. “Well, I ain’t lookin’ to fuck.” I crack two eggs. Then beat all the ingredients while the pan heats up. Then I pour e’erything in.

“You ain’t sayin’ nuthin’ but a word, ma. I got you. I know how’ta make love when it calls for it.”

“Oh, really? And when does it call for it?”

“When a chick is worthy of bein’ treated respectfully. When she ain’t beat to know how much dick a nigga’s got hangin’ between his legs. Or bein’ preoccupied wit’ the size of a muhfucka’s feet, or what kinda whip he’s pushin’.”

Now I ain’t gonna front, a bitch was wonderin’ how many inches this black muhfucka was holdin’. Shit, I already done seen da nigga’ dick print, so I already know what it is. But I’m damn sure not preoccupied ova it. And a bitch definitely ain’t gonna ask ’bout it. I’ll leave that shit for them thirsty-ass cluckers he got on his team. Bird-ass hoes. I’ll find out what’s really good wit’ da nigga’s dick
if and when I decide to rock his top. In da mean time, a bitch’s gonna keep it cute, and stay on mute.

I take the spatula and fold my omelet. My stomach growls louder. When my food is finally done, I slide it onto my plate, then sit down at the table.

“Yo what you eatin’?”

“An omelet.”

“Oh, you cook? That’s wassup.”

“Yeah, I can do a lil’ sumthin’. But that’s not a bitch’s purpose in life.”

“So you sayin’ I can’t get my grub on?”

“Not if you lookn’ for
me
to cook. My name ain’t Aunt Jemima. And I ain’t ya mama. So, hell no, muhfucka.”

He laughs. “Yeah, aiight. I see you like talkin’ real reckless.”

“And I can back it up, muhfucka, trust.”

“We’ll see. Like I said, you talk a lotta shit.”

“Whaaaat
eva
. Take it, or leave it.”

“Yeah, aiight, yo. I hear you. Right now, I’m tryna take it.”

“So you be fuckin’ a buncha birds?” I decide to ask, nixin’ his last comment. Not that I really care ’cause I already know what it is. Still the nigga has piqued my curiosity.

“On occasion,” he says. “And them the ones I
fuck
. And use this big-ass dick as a weapon of destruction to slaughter the hell outta the pussy.”

I roll my eyes up in my head. “Whateva nigga. Ya dick game probably whack as hell.” I tease, gettin’ up to put my plate in the sink. He laughs. I open the ’fridge and grab a bottle of Dasani water, then open it and start guzzlin’ it down. “You probably one’a them quick nut type muhfuckas.”

It’s time for another blunt
, I think as I go back upstairs. This time I grab the haze and roll two fatties.

“Yeah, you think that shit if ya want,” he says, laughin’. “But I can show ya better than I can tell ya, ma. I ain’t that dude who be runnin’ his mouth ’bout what he can do to da pussy, then don’t deliver. They don’t call me Daddy Long Stroke for nuthin’. Believe that, ma.”

I suck my teeth, walkin over and sittin’ on the bed. I spark the blunt, crossin’ my legs. “
Whaaat
eva. You too damn stuck on ya’self.” I take a deep pull.

“Nah, baby…I’m tryna be stuck on you.”

“Muhfucka, what I tell you ’bout callin’ me ya damn
baby
. Ya ass is fuckin’ hardheaded. I bet you used to get ya ass beat a lot growin’ up.”

“Nah, never that,” he says, laughin’. “I got my ass beat once. That’s it. Other than that, the only thing that was gettin’ beat was this dick.”