Sex in the Hood Saga (22 page)

Timbo got even bigger and harder as Duke looked down at Duchess' long, elegant giraffe legs straddling the gold arms of this throne. The chair was pushed back from the glass desk so her back didn't hit the edge.

“I loooove this position,” she whispered, cupping his face in her hot hands as her big, blue metallic eyes glazed and rolled back a little like she was buzzing off too much Cristal. She was riding him so tough right now, he wouldn't be surprised if she shouted, “Giddyup, mothafucka!”

Her right fingertips rubbed her clit, making her pussy drip hot cream all down Timbo. Good thing Duke had pulled his jeans down to his ankles and pulled his shirt up to his chest.

Duchess' titties, which she pulled out of the scoop-neck of her pink T-shirt, were poking over the edge like torpedoes aiming at Duke's mouth. The cinnamon-colored circles with sweet little points made him suck like tomorrow would never come. He loved how those suckers went in soft and got hard against his tongue.

She loved it, too, because her pussy was starting to squeeze like she was about to cum.

Her eyes were half-closed now as she moaned, “Oh, Duuuuke.” In fact, she looked like she was drunk. He was afraid to see how wild Duchess would be if she got some champagne in her. And a blunt? She would tear Timbo up. Break it off.

No, Duchess would stay intoxicant-free for now. This was all the intoxication she needed, right here. Duke slammed his hips up, up, up. Her long, straight black hair bounced all over the glass desktop, her shoulders, arms, and the tops of her milky white thighs.

She was just wild right now because it was new. This was her first dick, and last dick, so she wanted to try it out every way possible. Then her ass would calm down. Otherwise, if they fucked all day, every day, his work would come to a standstill.

They wouldn't get everything ready in two weeks for when Knight was supposed to come home.

Her sex coma had already put them behind schedule a day and a half. All of Monday was wasted. Half of today, Tuesday, was eaten up by having Doc Reynolds come and give her smelling salts or whatever the fuck that was. Now they could have been halfway through the tour if she hadn't muzzled him with that big red clit she shoved in his mouth as he was describing her job duties up in this Egyptian palace.

I wonder how long do it take for Duchess to concentrate after I hit it? If I leave her up here to work, I know she gon' start messin' around wit' Honey. My girl looked at her new executive assistant like she wanna sop her up wit' a biscuit an' slurp her down whole. Lips, titties, ass, legs, from head to toe!
If Duchess was this addicted to dick already, how would she act after she got her first taste of pussy?

She was losing her heart and soul between his. Duchess was going to cum any second now. Duke could tell by the way her pussy was squeezing around Timbo like a hand milking a cow, just like Mama Johnson had showed him as a kid down on her farm in Alabama. If his dick were an udder and Duchess was the hand that was milking it, then she would suck him dry at this rate.

Duke grabbed the sides of her hips. He fucked up, up, up, like an upside-down jackhammer on that pussy. He was beating it up, giving it a black eye. Maybe if she were sore, she wouldn't want to fuck for a while. But damn, she didn't even get sore the first time.

“Yeah, Duke. Pound that pussy! Pound it!”

Her titty fell out of his mouth. She kissed him softly. Her lips were so sensuous and hot, he could suck on them all day long.

Neva tasted anything so good.
Just like Adam must have said when Eve gave him a bite of that sweet apple. This kiss was sucking the life out of Duke Johnson. He was breathing hard, heart pounding, ass muscles burning, abs aching.

Timbo went soft.

She got still. Her eyes opened real wide. Her pretty black, arched eyebrows drew together. She looked down.

Timbo flopped out with a silvery shine, like a dead fish plopped on a tangle of wet black seaweed. Duke's chest rose and fell as he tried to catch his breath. Beads of sweat on his forehead trickled down, itching all over his face. His shirt was soaked. He didn't sweat this much during their sweet-ass cherry pick-a-thon.

The way she was looking at him felt like her eyes were slicing straight through his heart. Like he failed. Like he tricked her. Like he don't love her.

Hell naw.
Timbo surged. His dick rose straight up, like Frankenstein did when the mad scientist flipped the switch and made the lightning bolt jolt life into the creature made of dead body parts.

“Yeah, baby,” Duchess purred like a damn cat.

She raised up, speared her pussy down on Timbo, and got that mellow smile back. “Oh, Duke, I love it. Loooooove it.”

Duke loved it too.

Duchess held back a scream every time Duke said “baby mommas” with so much pride in his voice. As if someone who was not even old enough to buy beer should be proud to have five kids by three different girls! But she was laughing too hard right now as five adorable little kids pinned him to the floor here in the playroom. Carpeted with a plush A-B-C pattern of red, yellow and blue, the huge room had murals of jungle scenes, a giant fake tree whose hollow trunk had cushions for reading, and enormous stuffed animals-lions, giraffes, gorillas, flamingos, tigers. They were all arranged amidst a kid-sized Hummer and Barbie Jeep that really drove, and a movie theatre area with mini recliners, a popcorn machine and a state of the art flat screen monitor. This playroom was a stop on her tour of Babylon's fifth floor, where the three “baby mommas” lived in their own apartments.

“Attack!” shouted one little boy who was a fifty-pound clone of Duke, from the bald head to the genie eyes to the tiny silver hoop earrings.

“Daddy down! Daddy down!” shouted another Duke clone, this one about a year younger than the other.

A chubby girl, about the same size as Victoria's two-year-old cousin, giggled as she climbed up Duke's shoulder.

“Help me!” Duke cried playfully, flailing his arms, which two more toddlers—a twin boy and girl—grabbed. “It's attack of the babies!”

A tooth-sucking sound drew Duchess' attention to the three nannies who were sitting on a nearby plush red couch flanked by book cases.

“Is gon' be attack o' some baby mommas when they see a snowstorm done blew up in Babylon,” said the one with long, brown braids. All of them wore black jeans, crisp white cotton blouses and white leather loafers. No jewelry. No long fingernails. Just snarls on their faces as Duchess glanced their way. Duchess' cheeks stung, slapped by their negative energy.

“I got a cousin who lighter 'n her,” said the small, plain nanny. “We can't hold it against somebody for how God made them look.”

“Yes, we can!” The other two high-fived each other. They were whispering so Duke couldn't hear them.

“Renee, you always tryin' ta make nice,” the girl with braids said. “Even though you work wit' Queen Evil. Milan already half crazy, but she gon' be triple crazy—”

“Not if she remember what happened to Sunnie,” one nanny said. “Kicked out on her ass 'cause she didn't act right. Now little Precious think I'm her momma. But l ain't mad at nobody. I love that baby like she mine.”

“Plus you got Sonnie's apartment,” Renee said with a big smile. “An' clothes. An' maybe even a taste o' The Duke.”

The girl made a zipper motion over her lips, but her laughing eyes flashed a big “Yes!”

“Where white girl stay?” one of them whispered.

“Penthouse,” another mumbled.

“I escaped!” Duke shouted. He stood. All the kids screamed with delight. They were latching onto his legs like he was a pole they wanted to climb. “Gimme kisses. I need ten. Zeus, do the math. How many kisses each baby gotta give they daddy?”

“Two!” the boy exclaimed. Duke raised him with one arm like a forklift. The boy kissed Duke's beautiful cheeks. Duke did the same for each smiling child.

“Bye-bye, Daddy!” the apple-cheeked girl giggled, waving as he and Duchess stepped into the hallway and closed the door.

“Take care o' mine,” Duke said as she walked ahead of him toward the elevator. The hallway had plush black carpet, exposed brick walls and gold Egyptian-style sconces lighting the way past doors stained a rich shade of red.

Duchess' legs felt like pistons being pumped by red-hot sparks of jealousy.

“You ‘take care of mine' what?” Duchess asked. Her insides were vibrating with attitude.
If Duke fucks all these women, then he's gotta fuck me double what he gives them.
Duchess privileges.

“My kids. My baby mommas.”

“Why are you so proud that you musta been fifteen when you became a father?” Duchess crossed her arms and stared hard at him as they stood at the sleek stainless steel elevator framed by the same exposed beams and sandblasted brick as she'd seen throughout this former warehouse building.

“I'm proud because I'm doin' right. My kids and they mommas got the best o' e'rything. I take care of my own, right here, where I can make sure they fed and not growin' up around the kinda bullshit I saw.” Duke's jaw muscles flexed. “An' all my baby mommas know. Bring anotha nigga up around my kids? That particular female, she out. Evicted. I keep my kids.”

“Like Sunnie.”

The muscle rippled harder over his jaw. “Sunnie set a good example. Since Knight been in jail, my top boy was Big Moe. But Big Moe an' Sunnie, they storybook romance was turnt into a horror flick. They attraction turned fatal. They liaison turned dangerous.”

Duchess wanted to smile at his clever play on movie titles, but the words twisted painfully in her gut, like a sharp gas bubble. Did that mean they were dead?

“Tell me they pulled a Romeo and Juliet and not—”

“Not!”

“Well, who are they, your baby mommas?”

“They gon' hate you,” he said. “But long as they get theirs, they straight.”

“Their what? Their sex?”

“Money. Apartments. Clothes. Dancin' in videos an' at concerts. Some of 'em doin' a video shoot today, downstairs. An' they practicin' fo' my birthday party. Tha's when I'ma present The Duchess.”

“Present?”

“Yeah, once they see you a sista on the inside an' the outside, they gon' respec' you jus' like e'rybody respec' me. All my females dream o' bein' picked as The Duchess. You so clueless, you ain't even hip to how much pull you got.”

“All
my
females?” Duchess busted out laughing, but she got dead-serious just as quickly. “Don't ever lump me into the ‘my females' category. Like they're your fleet of sports cars and you just pick which one you want to drive for the moment!”

Duke pulled a phone from his belt. A blue light was flashing on the front until he pushed a silver button on the side then clipped it back to his waist.

All of a sudden, Duchess felt another twinge of jealousy. His phone was constantly ringing. Was it business or booty calls?

How could she ever know? Part of her was submitting to this situation as a business deal so she could learn to be just like The Duke. But her emotions were raw, front and center, too, and they were getting in the way when it came to all these women.

“Yeah, girl!” a female voice echoed in the distance, down the hall. She was one of many in a huge crowd of voices that were getting louder. Duchess kept her glare locked on Duke, who was staring into his phone and pushing the button as if to check who had called.

“An' I was like, ‘Fo' real?'” one girl said, shooting words out of her mouth with dizzying speed. Duchess turned slightly. A stream of girls—all as flashy and pretty and sexy as if they'd just stepped out of a music video—poured into the small elevator area. Giggles erupted as they approached.

“Hi, Massa Duke,” they said, a chorus of sweet voices.

His eyes glowed the same way Victoria's and her friends' eyes used to glaze over with temptation when they walked into Mrs. Fields cookies.

The girls packed the six-foot-by-six-foot space between Duchess, Duke, and the exposed brick walls. Duke was like a tower of machismo in a swirl of pretty faces, perfect hair, and wild clothes.

The sultan amidst a tiny fraction of his harem.
What if someday I become a sultaness with a harem of equally sexy guys? Then I wouldn't have to worry about whether Duke would give me some dick when I wanted it. Like I did today upstairs. I could have my pick of studs all to myself.

“Wha'z up?” Duke's deep voice vibrated through the sex cloud that was rising along with the fruity, floral, and spicy scents of the girls' perfumes, lotions, hairspray, and gum.

The sultan was surveying it all, especially all the butts packed in tight jeans. One girl's backside was freakishly large, each cheek literally rolling up-down, up-down like two basketballs in a bag that was bumping against someone's leg as they carried it. She stopped near the elevator.

Her side view reminded Duchess of that horrible day, just a few weeks ago, when Brian shoved pictures of the Hottentot tribe in Africa into Victoria's face. The otherwise thin women had enormous buttocks that protruded at a ninety-degree angle from the smalls of their backs. Some of the women were even captured and put on display in carnival-like, traveling freak shows throughout Europe.

Brian, who was apparently doing a paper on it, shouted, “I saw this in the library today and it reminded me of your ass!” Then he busted out laughing.

“If you think I'm so fat, why are you so proud to be with me?” Victoria had shouted back.

“Because you're brilliant. And beautiful. And I'm just teasin' you, sweetie.”

Why was I with that jerk?
Because his family was so prestigious ? Because Daddy said it was important for my future to stay connected to one of the richest and most powerful families in not just Detroit and Michigan but in the country? “Old money speaks louder and deeper than the whisper of the nouveau riche,” Daddy used to say.

“I am fo' real,” said the girl who first caught Duchess' attention. She kept talking a mile a minute through lips glossed pink. A fountain of maroon-tinted braids danced over her head as she said, “An' he was like, ‘Fo' real, doe!' It all jes' happen' so fas'!”

The girl had giant, hot pink letters splashed all over her impossibly tight jeans and denim jacket, which was open to a pink rhinestone camisole in front that was so tight and skimpy, two brown arcs of nipples dotted its top edge.

“Guuuurrrrrlllll,” her platinum blonde friend responded. She had false eyelashes and a see-through white mesh tank top with white jeans. Her nipples pointed through the mesh like brown peanut M&M candies. “You ain't gotta take dat shit, fo' the simple fact that—”

Duchess glanced at Duke, whose eyes were devouring every one of these gorgeous girls. His stare was like an open mouth under a delicious piece of pizza when the cheese dripped, steaming hot. He looked like he wanted to slurp down every drop of the sex that was oozing from these girls, even from the one in the yellow rhinestone bustier. She wore auburn-hued side ponytails that swayed as she talked about testifying in court for some complicated legal matter. The flawless skin on her toned shoulders, and the beautiful curves of her waist above her jeans made it impossible to think straight. If Duchess felt this entranced as a girl, then what in the world was Duke thinking?

His dazed and seduced expression left no doubt.

Those jealousy sparks popped through Duchess' whole body and prickled up through her skin. She was mesmerized, though, by all these girls. Who were they? What were they doing here? Did they always dress like that? Duchess couldn't look away from the girl in white leather daisy dukes and a tiny bolero jacket with knee-high boots.

“Then I sent his rims,” the girl said. “Twennie-foes like you ain't neva seen. An' I was like, I'ma get wit' him if it kill me!”

“Guuuurrrrllll, you lay some o' yo' sweet shit on dat ma'fucka, he gon' be out cold.” She held up her hand like a stop sign. “Guuurrrrlll, you know I'd be like, talk to the hand, Negro.”

“You know I did! When he pull up, he was like,” the girl deepened her voice, “‘Dang mami, you thick!' An' I was like, ‘Is yo' dick thick?'”

Her friend giggled.

“An' my ass,” the girl said, slapping her butt, “Sssssttttt. Hot. Gucci, head to toe. Nails, hair, did like a queen. One look an' he was los'!”

Duchess smiled. These girls had so much personality and excitement.

“Duke, we heard 'bout you finally found you a Duchess,” said a girl in jeans with rhinestones down the outer seam. The girl raked her fake-lashed eyes up from Duchess' feet to her eyes. Nutmeg-hued eyes smouldered as she stared at Duchess then Duke. “She look soft. Let us show her some moves.”

“She'll see all o' y'all dance at my party,” Duke said with too much lust in his eyes.

Duchess' cheeks burned as she imagined all of these girls shimmying their asses around Duke as he stood there with his hands crossed like those rappers did in videos. As if he were the king and all the women in the world were simply born to serve him.

“Y'all goin' to rehearsal?”

“Yeah,” said another chick who blew him a kiss then glanced at Duchess with hazel eyes a glow with mischief.

Duchess shook her head to stop that black voice in her mind that kept rewording everything she thought. The voice was just echoing the speech cadences she was hearing around her.

“Bang Squad in'a house!” the girls cheered, raising hands over their heads, flashing long acrylic fingernails painted metallic gold. Their voices thundered as they sang, “Babylon rule, wit' Dtown cool, urban jewel, win any duel, jack a fool, sexy seductive, serve an' protect. In Babylon, Duke an' Duchess get respect.” An equal number of girls were smiling and scowling at Duchess as they sang. Why hadn't Duke introduced her?

He was nodding to the beat as the elevator doors opened. A dozen girls packed in, but a crowd remained. The girls kept singing, but one girl glared at Duchess and sang, “In Babylon, Duke love constant sex.” The girl stuck her tongue out at Duchess in a way that was both snotty and seductive.