The Kat Trap (6 page)

He closed his eyes, and in that split second, I quickly reached down into my bag and pulled out my black silencer gun and stuck it behind my back.

“Oooh, you got my pussy so wet. Stroke that dick, daddy. You want me on my knees suckin’ that dick?”

“Yeah, baby. I want them pretty dick-sucking lips all over this fat white cock. Turn off that light and bring your pretty black ass over here and suck all over this dick, you sexy black bitch.”
Oh, yeah, you definitely ’bout to get ya fronts knocked for that, cracker bastard!

“That’s right, talk nasty, muhfucka,” I said, reachin’ over and turnin’ off the light, then slowly walkin’ over to him. The only light
in the room was comin’ from the bathroom. Just enough to make this scumbag nigga look like a damn glowworm. I eyed the digital clock: 1:32. I had eight minutes. “Lay back and close ya eyes, muhfucka. I got something real hot for ya ass.”

Theesssrrpp!
Before the back of his head made it to the bed, I had shot him in it. “That’s for ya wife, nigga.” I slammed the barrel in his mouth.
Theesssrrpp!
“And that’s for ya dentist, muhfucka.” Blood gushed out from the back of his head, soaking up the bed.
Theessrrpp!
I shot him in his balls. “And that’s for the black bitch, sucka.” I was glad the only thing I touched besides his dick was the lamp, which I went back over and wiped before leavin’ his ass splayed out on the edge of the bed with his brains oozin’ outta his skull and less than a minute to spare.

T
en a.m. the followin’ mornin’, I was at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, pickin’ up my rental, then headin’ toward the Buckhead section of Atlanta. I hated Atlanta. It was hot, muggy, and had more fuckin’ traffic than a bitch could stand. I wanted to get to my hotel room, take another shower, and chill.

Two hours later, I was showered, changed, and struttin’ through Lenox Square Mall loaded down with some bangin’ shit outta Hermès, St. John Boutique, and Louis Vuitton. A few niggas tried to holla at a bitch, but I kept it movin’. I ain’t gonna front, they were fine as hell, but they had the game fucked up if they thought I wasn’t up on Hotlanta being the capital for dick-lovin’, fudge-packin’ niggas. Fuck what ya heard. I like my niggas strictly ’bout lickin’ the clit and smashin’ the pussy. I ain’t got no time tryna play the guessin’ game of who’s on the creep suckin’ dick
and takin’ it in the ass, that shit’s for the birds. And I ain’t the one! So, nigga, is you crazy?! Hell no, you can’t get my muthafuckin’ number. Ugh!

I glanced at my timepiece. It was almost two-thirty. I still had a few hours to kill before I made it do what it do. I hated when time dragged. I was so ready to get this shit over with. I began to tingle and get moist between my legs tingled, thinkin’ ’bout that big-lipped nigga suckin’ on my titties, and lappin’ and slappin’ my clit with his tongue. I couldn’t wait to serve him a dish of this pussy.

When I finally finished shoppin’, then gettin’ over to UPS to have my shit shipped to Jersey, it was already five-thirty in the evening. A bitch was beat, and needed to take another long, hot shower, then catch a quick nap. I liked bein’ well-rested and alert when doin’ a job. As far as I was concerned, to be aware was to be alive. Bein’ a tired bitch opened the door for mistakes, and a half-assed job. A sloppy bitch was a liability.

No sooner had I gotten out of my clothes and was makin’ my way to the bathroom, when my private cell phone rang. I pulled it outta my red Hèrmes bag, then peeped the caller ID. It was Chanel.

“Hey tramp. What’s good?” I asked, starin’ at myself from the side in the hangin’ wall mirror. Fuck a J-Lo, Beyoncé, or any of them wannabe-fab, stankin’ video hoes shakin’ and poppin’ their asses. I knew I had a bangin’-ass body. If I were a clit and pussy licker, I’d bury my face all up in this fat ass. I ain’t no nigga but I ain’t gonna front, if I had a dick, I’d fuck myself silly.

“You trick. Where you at?”

“I’m outta town, why?”

She sucked her teeth. “Ho, you stay goin’ somewhere.”

“Don’t hate, bitch. Instead of lyin’ on ya back fuckin’ them broke-ass niggas, step ya game up.” Chanel and I were probably
the tightest outta our crew. We lived and grew up in the same building across the hall from each other, and were both the only children of single moms who were Spanish, though her mother was full Puerto Rican. And they had both gotten knocked by a stiff black dick, so we shared a special connection and understanding of each other. It didn’t hurt that she was also a fly chick with curly brown ringlets that bounced off her shoulders when she walked. And her body was almost as tight as mine. With her beautiful caramel-coated complexion, big brown doe-like eyes, and a beauty mole bitches dream of having over the right corner of her full lips, she looked fresh off the cover of a damn magazine. Chick was definitely a dime; but not quite as hot as me. I ain’t hatin’. I’m just sayin’. That’s my girl, fuck what ya heard. I’m keepin’ shit real. Still at the end of the day, if I wasn’t mad cool with her ass, or if I was one of them weak bitches worried ’bout the next bitch, chick could and would be a serious problem.

“I hate ya stank ass,” she said, laughin’. “Ain’t nobody fuckin’ no broke niggas.”

“Oh, I forgot. They ain’t broke. Them niggas cheap as hell!”

“Least I’m fuckin’. Shit. You still ridin’ them fingas.”

“Yep, I sure am,” I snapped, laughin’. “And them fingas know how to push the button and keep my pussy wet; and I ain’t got to worry ’bout some nigga short-changin’ me, either. Now, what’s your excuse, ho? And what you want, anyway?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…whatever! Anyway, I was callin’ ya ass to see if you wanna meet up for drinks tonight, but since you all ghost on a bitch, scratch it. Hit me up when you touch Jersey.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

“So, what’s good with that nigga pushin’ the Bentley? He get at you yet, or what?”

“Nah,” I lied. Yeah, she my girl and all, but her pussy gets wet
like mines. And chick likes to fuck like the next bitch. I had already peeped how she was tryna clock him in the club and out in the parkin’ lot, so I already know what time it is. Until a nigga’s ya man, it’s open season. And a bitch in heat is always lookin’ for prey. She don’t care who else got their eye on it, get caught sleepin’ and she’s gonna swoop down on the dick and take ya spot. A hood bitch is always schemin’. It is what it is. “If he calls, he calls. If not, it’s whatever,” I said, sittin’ at the foot of the king-sized bed. I leaned back on my forearm, then spread open my legs to let the cool air in the room hit my pussy. My nipples got hard as ice.

“I heard that. But the nigga was
fine.
And you can’t tell me you ain’t wonderin’ how the dick’s hangin’.”

“Actually, I’m not,” I said, lyin’ outta my ass, ’cause on some real shit, I already knew I was gonna fuck him the first chance I got. But since e’erything ain’t for e’erybody, there was no need for her to know that. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back tryna imagine him between my legs long strokin’ this tight pussy. I ran my hand over my slit, then teased my clit with my two fingas.

“Girl, I don’t know why not. That’s the first thing I thought when I peeped him. The nigga looks like he got some bangin’ dick. You need to stop frontin’ and go ’head get you a taste.”

See, I learned a long time ago that sometimes ya gotta know when to sit back, keep ya grill shut, and listen. Let a bitch flap her jaws ’cause if ya listen long and hard enough, she’s gonna slip up. “Hmm…maybe,” I said, pullin’ my fingas outta my pussy and off my clit, then lickin’ ’em. “But since you sound so ready to ride his dick down into the mattress, I’ma tell ya what. How ’bout you fuck him and let me know what’s really good.”

“If ya don’t want ’em, I might,” she said, gigglin’. I didn’t even
know the nigga, didn’t even know if he was a good fuck or not, and for some reason I was startin’ to get vexed that this bitch was seriously thinkin’—or fuckin’ jokin—’bout tryna get at him. But I kept my shit in check, and let her ass keep talkin’.

“Well, the nigga ain’t my man,” I admitted. “It’s open invitation, right? So do you.”

“Nah, girl, you know I don’t get down like that. I’d never do you like that. Another bitch, most def. But you my muthafuckin’ peeps. You can try ’n front if ya want, but I know you was clockin’ his ass. But, I ain’t gonna front. A bitch could really use an upgrade on some dick ’cause Divine’s shit ain’t hittin’ on nuthin’. The dick is thick as hell, but the nigga nuts in like six minutes. And he can’t eat pussy to save his natural black ass. I swear if it wasn’t for him payin’ the note on this truck, I’d dismiss his ass.”

I rolled my eyes up in my head. I hated when a chick dissed a nigga who was takin’ care of her ass. Lousy fuck or not, a bitch needs to know when to keep her mouth shut. What might be a whack piece of dick to her, may be exactly what the next bitch needs to get off. I tell ya, some bitches ’bout as dumb as they come. They really think a wicked head game and a deep pussy is gonna put them on top. Yeah, maybe for a minute, but ya best believe once the verdict is out on the streets that ya ass is a trick, ya rep is a wrap. Believe that. Real niggas ain’t tryna wife no hoes. Yeah, he gonna fuck her, might even splash up in her raw. He might even keep her laced in the hottest shit, but at the end of the day, she still gonna be a damn ho to him, real talk. And niggas run their mouths worse than bitches, especially when it comes to who’s suckin’ ’n fuckin’ who.

Over the past two years, Chanel’s been really gettin’ it in with these niggas. Ever since she got played by this big-Willy nigga
she was fuckin’, she been straight wildin’ out with the niggas. Divine is like the fourth nigga she’s fucked in the last six months tryna keep her bills ’n shit paid. That shit is straight nasty to me. Get ya ass up and get a damn job! I mean, there’s nothin’ wrong with slayin’ a nigga’s pockets, but it’s a dumb bitch who lets that shit be her only hustle. And these bitches kill me with no credit, no savin’s, nothin’ to fall back on. If they got credit, it’s either maxed the fuck out or fucked up; and if they got a few dollars stashed, it’s just that—a few damn measly dollars, nothin’ major.

“Chanel, you do know you a certified trick, right? I mean, really. What the fuck! You sound like a real bird. What you need to do is find ya’self a hobby, take ya ass back to school, do somethin’ constructive with ya’self instead of bobbin’ ya neck up and down a nigga’s dick, and chasin’ niggas to support ya ass.”

Oh, trust. I know if a nigga wanna trick his money on some pussy or brain, then oh fuckin’ well. I think a real bitch holds shit down for herself, by herself. She knows how to make her paper, and get it poppin’ without leanin’ on a dick to do it. Hell, I know what I’m doin’ is far worse than what she’s doin’. But say what ya want. I’d rather slump niggas for a livin’ than have them hump up in my guts for one. I might be many things, but a gold digger ain’t ever gonna be one of ’em. I don’t need a nigga lacin’ me with ice ’n shit, payin’ my mortgage, car note, or anything else, ’cause a bitch like me buys her own shit.

“Say what ya want,” she said, soundin’ offended. “Hustlin’ these niggas
is
a job. And a bitch like me is gonna
always
hustle a nigga off his paper. Fuck what ya heard.”

“Do you, sweetie,” I said, gettin’ heated listenin’ to her stupid ass. “But tell me this. What’s really good with a bitch who—after all the fuckin’ and all the suckin’ is done—has nothin’ to show
for givin’ up her ass other than rug burns, a wet hole, and some shit that ya had to whore for? What’s really good with a bitch with a pussy the size of a parkin’ garage because she done let every muhfuckin’ wanna-be balla run all up in her so she can get laced? Bitch, you bigga than that, that’s all I’m sayin’. Get ya mind right.”

“Yeah, whatever!”

On the real, the only reason I was comin’ at her neck is ’cause she’s my fuckin’ peoples. Otherwise I wouldn’t give a fuck. Do you. See, unlike Tamia and Iris, Chanel not only has street smarts, but the bitch is bright as hell. That makes her ass a serious threat. She graduated top in our class, and hustlin’ niggas is all the bitch wants. She could be a lawyer, engineer, whatever! Humph. If her ass stopped trickin’ for a minute she might see what I’m sayin’. But right now she’s too wrapped up in a nigga’s dick stroke and his pockets. Like my mother always said, “The smartest bitch can still be the dumbest bitch.” And there ya have it!

“That nigga Divine is big on ya ass, Chanel. The nigga don’t cheat on ya. And if he does, he keeps that shit tucked on the low. He don’t bring drama to ya ass. He don’t call ya out ya name, and keeps ya ass laced. And that still ain’t good enough. You still got ya eyes and mind shiftin’ to the next nigga. Keep up, and ya gonna find ya’self like the rest of them greedy bitches…with
nothing.
”

“Bitch, I ain’t call ya ass for no damn lecture.”

“Whatever.” I was done.

“And what is it you do again, huh, tramp? None of us seem to know since ya always top secret ’n shit.”

I had to laugh to myself. A real bitch moved in silence. Thought she knew. Girls or not, the less they knew the better. The last thing I needed was one of them hoes sittin’ around drinkin’ and
smokin’ and blastin’ off at the mouth. Then before ya know it I got feds ’n shit sniffin’ ’round like fiends tryna be all up on mine. It’s bad enough I have to watch how I make moves. Can’t be flashin’ and shinin’ and tryna buy up too much shit without havin’ some way to explain how I can afford it. Them feds got eyes and ears everywhere, listenin’ and clockin’ niggas. Lucky for me, my moms got major paper from her accident a few years back, so I can say she hit me off with gifts ’n shit. But still, a bitch gotta know how to move.

“And you never will,” I said, lookin’ over at the clock while getting up to go into the bathroom.
We been on the phone for almost forty-five minutes talkin’ ’bout shit,
I thought. “Look, trick, love ya, but I got shit to do. I’ll hit you when I get home.”

“Fuck you, too,” she said.

“I’ll be sure to,” I replied, laughin’. We hung up, then I jumped in the shower, rinsed my ass and pussy real good. When I was done, I dried myself off, took another one of the hotel’s plush white towels and wrapped it around my body, then lay across the bed. I needed a power nap.

At ten p.m., I was in my target’s room with my legs spread wide and bent at the knees, lyin’ in the middle of his bed. I pressed the back of my head into the pillow and arched my back, palmin’ the back of this nigga’s smooth bald head as he ate my pussy inside out. The muhfucka’s lips were heaven—soft, warm, and wet, and felt so damn good on my pussy. He dipped his tongue in, then flicked it across my clit a few times, then darted it back into my pussy.

“Yeah, nigga, just like that,” I moaned. “Make me cum, daddy…yes, ooh…fuck me with your tongue, nigga.” I pumped my pussy in his face, wrapped my legs around his neck, then begged him
to fuck me deep. He flicked my clit with his thumb, then his tongue. He slathered my pussy lips with his wet mouth, then lapped up my kat juice the minute my slit started leakin’. The nigga was teasin’ me, makin’ my pussy churn. “Mmmm…oh, yes! Get all up in that pussy…make it nut, nigga…oh, yes!” I moaned again. “Feed my pussy, nigga.”

He stuck two thick fingas in me, pressin’ on my clit, flickin’ his tongue while finger-fuckin’ me. He moaned and slurped my pussy until I came in his mouth.

“Damn, baby, you taste good,” he said, swallowin’ my sweet cum, then lickin’ his slick, sticky lips.
That’s right, muhfucka, good to the last drop,
I thought, studyin’ him as he got up from between my legs.