Ruthless (15 page)

“Oh, shit. That shit's sexy as fuck. Aaah, shit, your mouth feels better than pussy. Damn…wish my wife could handle my dick like this…”

I proudly spit-shine his pole, throat-fuck his cock. Gurgle and suckle him. Give him an Oscar-winning porn-star performance. My spit glands go into overdrive as I neck him down, gulping and
gurgling. My neck, throat and head all working in sync to deliver the ultimate deep throat experience.

“Aaah, shit yeah…” he whispers. “Oh, yeah, baby, suck that dick. Oooooh, ssssssshiiiit…you love daddy's big dick down in your throat, don't you? You daddy's nasty little cocksucker, aren't you…?

Nigga,
I think to myself, coating his dick with spit and neck juice,
I'll be whatever you want as long as you handle what I need handled.

I grunt out my answer, gulping and slurping.

James rams his pelvis into my face and I swallow more of him, all of him. There's nothing left, just his tiny balls brushing against my chin every so often as I bob and neck weave. My pussy tingles and twitches as I swallow and swallow, milking his big dick, coaxing a nut out of it, making it harder and thicker inside my throat.

I focus. Steady my breathing, extending my tongue out, lapping his balls. My clit is on fire. Wet flames roar through my pussy. And I'm not sure how much more of this I can take before I shove a finger—or two, or three—inside of my boiling snatch. Before I am demanding James suck my clit and tongue my pussy. Before I am riding his face down and dirty.

The overwhelming urge, the burning need, to nut pushes its way through my uterus, shakes my walls, causing my clit to throb.

Slowly, I pull James' dick out of my throat, then look up at him licking my smeared MAC-glossed and spit-slick lips while stroking his rock-hard dick in my hand. I lean in and lick around his gonads—smooth, computer geek balls; swollen, cum-filled chocolate nuggets dipped in man musk.

“Oooh, yeah…that's it. Suck them balls, baby.” I suck one in, then the other—and I still have room in my wet, slippery mouth for a set of two more. I soak them with spit. Gently roll them around in my mouth.

He shakes and moans and chants how good my mouth feels. Professes how magical my tongue is. Groans out how wet and warm my throat feels. He holds my face and eases his man marbles out of my mouth.

He grabs his dick, slaps my face, my lips, with it. “Finish sucking on this dick. I'm ready to bust a nut down in your throat.”

“Yeah, daddy…mmmm…give me that hot cream…”

I lick up and down both sides of his spit-slick shaft, then glide my lips along the underside of it and kiss his balls one last time.

He moans. “Yeah, baby, lick them shits…ooh fuck…wish my wife knew how to handle them balls the way you do, baby…oooh, yeah…”

I smirk.

“You love this head game, don't you?”

“Hell yeah…you got that demon head, baby. Have a man all possessed ‘n' shit.”

Demon head? Oooh, I like that. I'll have to use that.

I swallow him into my mouth again, looking up at him as he peers down at me in amazement. I give him my infamous deep-throat special. No hands, all neck, rapid head bobbing, tongue swirling and gliding along the length of his dick.

James moans and pants. His eyes roll up in the back of his head. His face is twisted. His bottom lip pulled in, his teeth bite down into the meaty flesh of his lip. The feeling is getting to him. My throat becomes a rushing waterfall of warm, wet, tight pleasure. “Aaah, motherfuck, shiiit…mmmm, motherfucker…god…daa-aamn…aaah…shit, baby…mmmph…you about to make me bust this nut… mmmm…”

My pussy swells with excitement and lust by his constant moaning and panting and grunting and growling. He cries out. “Aaaaaaaaaah, fuuuuuuuuuuck!”

He begins to pound harder with deep, long strokes. His dick swiftly, effortlessly, glides in and out of my groaning throat. James' hips thrusts as he palms the top of my head with one hand, then inches his hand up his polo shirt and tweaks one of his nipples. I grip his ass, squeezing and pushing it as he fucks in and out of my gaping, gulping throat. My mouth drools. His cock is coated with a mix of spit and precum. Some of it pools out of my mouth, sliding down my chin, then puddles down into the carpet.

“Aaaaaah, aaaaaah, aaaaaah…oooh, oooh, oooh…mmmm…” His ass muscles tighten, the balls of his booted feet lift, he rocks back on his heels, then plants his size-thirteens back onto the carpet, dipping at the knees. He grunts. Thrusts. Then convulses. His body quaking as a torrent of thick, briny cum blasts down in my throat, filling my mouth. I continue sucking, greedily siphoning out every drop of his nut. His pubic hair is saturated in spit and cum.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck…ohhhh, ohhhh, ohhhh, ohhhhhh…”

He is still coming, another round of hot nut bolting from his dick. My cum-soaked throat becomes an overflowing reservoir of nut and spit. I suck him until his dick softens, then plops out of my gushy mouth. I swallow, hard. Glide my tongue over my teeth to catch any remaining droplets of his nectar, then swallow again.

I stand. Lick my lips. Wipe the corners of my mouth with sticky fingers, then lick them clean. “I believe you have something for me,” I finally say, savoring the last drop of him and reaching into my purse, pulling out a pack of unscented wipes. I wipe my mouth, then my hands, discarding the wipes into his trash.

“Yes, I do.” He blows out a heavy breath. “Whew, give me a sec to get my head right. You got me spinning.”

I smile. “You know this deep throat is dangerous.”

“Baby, head that damn good needs to be outlawed. To get sucked
into a stupor should be a crime.”

I eye him as he reaches for the window, plants a hand up to steady himself from falling as he stuffs his glazed dick back into his underwear, then pulls up his khakis. I can tell by the dazed look in his eyes that I have his ass still weak from the ten-and-a-half-minute suck session I put on him.

He fastens his belt, then wobbles over to his cubicle. He pauses, taking another deep breath. “Damn. I need a cigarette and I don't even smoke,” he says as he shuffles through a manila folder on his desk, pulling out a white envelope. “I have everything you need right here.”

He hands me the sealed envelope.

I smile, sliding it into my bag. I pull out my compact and a tube of Coral lipstick, gliding a fresh coat over my plump, just-finished-sucking-a-big-black-dick lips. I check myself in the small mirror, popping my lips.

When I am done, I toss everything back in my bag. Then hand James an envelope. He gives me a quizzical look, peering into the envelope. He blinks at the wad of hundreds.

“What's this for?”

“For the hard dick,” I say, tossing my hair, then walking off. I don't give him a chance to speak before I am spinning on my heels. “It was nice doing business with you,” I say over my shoulder as I maneuver my way around sets of cubicles toward the bank of elevators out in the hall.

“Anytime, baby,” he says. “The
pleasure
was all mine.”

I ignore him. We've both gotten what we wanted. So there's nothing else to be said.

The only thing on my mind now is getting to the nigga who had been a thorn in my side from the moment he learned who I was. Mmmph. I super-soaked his dick down one damn time, then the nigga turned all nutty on me—after sending me an email a few
months later wanting another round of these soft lips and this wet neck—when I kindly told him, “Thanks. But no thanks.”

Yeah, he had a long, fat, juicy dick. And, yeah, back then one of my dick-sucking rules was to never give up the neck to the same nigga more than three rounds. So technically I could have spun his top another round, or two. But I didn't. I didn't want to. There was something about that nigga that seemed a little off.

And I was right. The bitch-ass nigga tracked me down and started calling my salon, threatening and harassing me, nonstop. Having niggas bust out my car window, and smash out the window in my salon. Then the nigga took it a step too far when he hid in wait behind a set of bushes in my yard, then jumped from out of them as I prepared to stick my key into my front door—after having been out most of the evening on another one of my late-night dick-suck prowls. The nigga admitted he had been following my every move.

“This shit ain't over, bitch!”

Oh you got that right,
bitch!
It's far from over.

So you best believe. The
only
thing that has my attention at the moment hides behind the screen name MydickneedsUrtongue2.

Watch your back, motherfucker! I'm coming for you…

Some niggas will take their regrets to their graves; others will repent…

“M
iss Pasha, girl, I gotta 'hold of this…nigga-bitch! Yes,
gawd!
I bailed his black ass out. Yes,
fahverGawd!
Got his no-good monkey-ass…strung up…like the dirty nigga-coon he is! Greasy muthafucka ain't know what hit 'im 'til his black ass dropped. We…”

We? Who's we?

“…Been takin' it to his muthafuckin' skull all night! Now I need you to get ya high-class ass on over here so we can finish peelin' the black off his back…”

My pulse quickens as she talks a mile a minute, sounding like she's just finished running a marathon. She's breathing heavy in my ear.

“…I ain't wanna do him like this,
lawdGawd
knows I didn't! But he had'a learn, goddammit! He tore his muthafuckin' drawz with me…kidnappin' bitches. He ain't had no business tryna do me like this, Miss Pasha, girl…”

“Ohmygod, Cassandra! Slow down.
Who
are you talking about? I mean, who is
we?
You're talking—”

She cuts me off. “Sugah-boo,
boom-boom!
Is you gettin' dicked in ya ears right now or is you not listenin' to a word I'm sayin'? Who you
think
I'm talkin' 'bout? Don't do me, goddammit! Stop actin'
like you gotta brain full of nut. You know I ain't in my right frame of mind right now, Miss Pasha, girl. You know this nigga-coon got my insides all gutted up in shame. Now I gotta hope I don't shit on myself fuckin' 'round with this no-good nigga-coon. I'ma kill his monkey-ass, goddammit…Darius punch his goddamn balls in…!”

In the background all I hear are loud grunts and groans, followed by piercing yelps, like someone's being tortured.

I cringe.

“…He tried to do me, goddammit! He wanna kidnap bitches for niggas… Nigga-coon, you ain't had no goddamn business gettin' involved in no shit like that, goddamn you! And what the fuck you do with the money you got paid, huh, nigga-bitch? 'Cause you damn sure ain't pay ya child support with it. Darius, do him good, goddammit! Soon as I get off this phone…'ma take a blade to his throat! So what if she was suckin' a buncha dick… that ain't have shit do with you…!”

I hear more grunts in the background, followed by groans, then a piercing scream.

I frown.
Is she motherfucking serious right now?!
Now I'm annoyed that this bitch is talking sideways about me and I'm right here on the phone.

“Knock his muthafuckin' teeth out, Darius, goddammit…!”

“Ummm, hello? Hello? Do me a favor, Cassandra, if you're going to talk shit about me, at least
wait
until I'm off the damn phone.”

“Now wait a minute, Miss Pasha, girl. Ain't nobody talkin' shit 'bout yo' ass. I respect the fact that you a cum-guzzler, sugah-boo. I'm sayin' shit that's true. Don't do me.”

I take a deep breath. Count to ten in my head. Decide to let it go. “Cassandra, where are you?”

She tells me she's at her son's barbershop, Gutter Cuts, on Grove Street in Irvington. I almost swerve off the road hearing that. I
quickly regain control of the wheel, glancing at the digital clock. 9:38 p.m.

There is no fucking way in hell I want to be on
that
side of town, on
that
particular street, at
this
time of night—alone, driving a big-body Benz. Grove Street is about as gutter as the name of her son's barbershop.
Gutter Cuts is right! One wrong turn, you might end up getting the
guts
cut right out of you!

I tell Booty I'll be there in about fifteen minutes, then disconnect, checking in my rearview mirror for Lamar's SUV. I flick on my flashers, quickly pulling over on the side of the road. Lamar stops his truck behind me. I eye him as he gets out and makes his way over to the car, a hand on the handle of his gun tucked in his waist.

I roll my window down.

He has a concerned look on his face, looking around. “Yo, you good? E'erything aiight?”

“I need to make a detour. Do you have plans tonight?”

“Nah, what's good?”

“I have to make a stop by Gutter Cuts…”

“Over on Grove Street in Irvington?”

I nod.

“This
time of night?”

I give him a blank stare, raising a brow.

“Aiight-aiight, I was only askin'. I got you. How long you think you gonna be over there?” I tell him about thirty, no more than forty-five, minutes. He suggests I park my car and let him drive me in his truck. I agree. He tells me he wants me to follow him to one of his boys' custom-detail shops about fifteen, twenty, minutes away. That he'll pull my car into one of the garages, where it'll be safe.

Thirty minutes later, we're pulling up in front of Gutter Cuts. He hops out, first, coming around to open my door. I tell him he
can wait for me. That I shouldn't be inside for too long. He tells me no worries. That he'll be right here. He stands outside, leaning up against the passenger door, watching as I walk up to the shop's doors, taking in the sway of my hips. I can feel his eyes on me.