The Kat Trap (7 page)

“It feels even better,” I said, gettin’ on my knees and spreadin’ open my ass cheeks. I wanted him poundin’ my pussy with his thick, long dick. “Come fuck my pussy,” I said, lookin’ over my shoulder as he rolled a Magnum down on his dick, which was smooth with big veins and curved to the right. The nigga slid his dick in, then fucked me from the back, deep and hard. “That’s all you got, nigga? When you gonna fuck me, huh, muhfucka? Make my pussy nut, nigga. Make me feel the dick, punk.”

“Yeah, you a nasty, shit-talkin’ ho,” he said, slappin’ my ass. My pussy grabbed his dick. He slapped my ass again. My pussy grabbed his dick again. “Oh, you like a nigga slappin’ ya ass, huh?” He pulled his dick out to the head, tip-drilled my hot hole, then plunged his dick back in me. I threw my ass up at him, backed my pussy onto his dick. “That’s right,” he said, slappin’ my ass again, “fuck this big, black dick. Work that ass up on this dick.”

“Stop teasin’ me, nigga. I’m still waitin’ for you to fuck me. Don’t be scared. Beat this pussy up, muhfucka.”

The more shit I talked, the harder he worked to rip my insides out. The nigga was fuckin’ me so damn good, and grabbin’ me by the back of the head. I had to keep pushin’ his hands off my hair in fear he was gonna yank my wig off. I hated to have this fuck session end. I glanced at the digital clock. It read 9:50 p.m.

I straddled him and started ridin’ his dick, bouncin’ up and down on it. “Damn, fuck that dick, bitch,” he said, reachin’ around me and slappin’ me on the ass. “Give me that wet pussy. Yeah, that’s right, bitch, yeah…just like that. You like this big dick?”

“Yeah, nigga,” I moaned, slammin’ down on his dick. “This dick feels good.”

It was ten o’ clock. I had to hurry this along. “You like this tight pussy? You wanna nut up in my pussy, muhfucka?”

“Oh, shit. Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. Ride that dick. You want me to bust this hot nut in your guts?” he asked, squeezin’ my ass cheeks together to clamp around his cock. “Gotdamn,” he groaned, “you got some good muhfuckin’ pussy. That’s right, make it grab my dick.”

“Cum for me, daddy. Give me that nut, baby,” I begged, squeezin’ my pussy. “Oh, yeah.”

“It’s comin’. It’s comin’. It’s comin’.”

I galloped harder.

“Give it to me, muhfucka. Yeah, baby, give me that hot nut.”

“Mmmm, fuck. You ridin’ the shit outta that dick.”

The minute he closed his eyes and twisted his face, I leaned over, and pulled my Glock out from underneath the mattress where I hid it when he went into the bathroom. “Make that dick shoot for me, muhfucka. Uh, shit. Give me that nut, nigga.”

“I’m cuummm—”
Theessrrpp!
I shot his ass between the eyes. A pool of blood seeped out from the back of his head. I climbed
off him, pulled off the condom, then wiped him down. When I finished removin’ the sheets and wipin’ off any remainin’ traces of my presence, I dipped outta his room and quietly took the elevator back up to my suite on the eighth floor. It was ten-thirty. I flipped open my cell and dialed.

“What’s good?”

“I know why the caged bird sings.”

“That’s wassup. I’ll get at ya.”

“Bet,” I said, shuttin’ my phone, then headin’ for the shower.

“
Y
ou have a collect call from…Naheem…at the Wyoming Correctional Facility. To accept this call, please do not use three-way or call waiting features or you will be disconnected. To accept this call…”
I waited for the computerized recording to finish, and pressed one. “Hello?”

“Aye, yo…’bout time ya ass is pickin’ up. What, you ain’t got no love for a nigga? I’ve been tryna get at you for a minute, but you ain’t never home. What’s good with you? I hear you out there doin’ big things, shinin’ and flossin’ and got every nigga from here to Miami tryna get at your sexy ass.”

I started laughin’. “You silly. Niggas ain’t checkin’ for me like that. It ain’t even that serious. I’m chillin’. Yeah, it’s been a while since we’ve talked. And nigga, you know I’ma always have love for you. I’m just doin’ me.”

“Yeah, aiight. I can’t tell. I don’t get no letters, no visits, nothin’ from you. I thought we were bigger than that. I mean, damn! I know I’m not ya man ’n shit no more, but I’m sayin’…shoot a nigga a kite from time to time.”

Humph. I wish the fuck I would
. “You already know how I feel ’bout those visits. I’m not with ’em. And I ain’t beat for writin’ letters. I accept ya collects, so be thankful.”

“Oh, word. It’s like that now? When I was out on the bricks you wasn’t talkin’ all slick ’n shit. Now a nigga on freeze and you all brand-new. I see how you doin’ it. It’s all good, though. A nigga ain’t gonna be down for long. The minute I touch, shit gon’ change. And you better have that pussy nice and tight, too. I don’t want you givin’ up my pussy to none of them punk-ass niggas.”

I sighed. “Whatever, nigga!” I said angrily. “Why must we go through this shit every time you call? I didn’t get ya ass locked up, you did. Perhaps ya didn’t get the memo. So, let me give it to ya now: I ain’t no little-ass girl anymore. You can’t spit that shit to me and think it’s gonna be sweet. I’ma fuck who I wanna fuck.”

“Yeah, aiight,” he said, soundin’ tight. I could tell by the tone in his voice that the idea of me ridin’ another nigga’s dick was a bit much for him. “So who you fuckin’?”

“None of ya muhfuckin’ business, that’s who,” I said, rollin’ my eyes.

He started laughin’. “Yeah, aiight. I’ma see what’s really good with you in a minute, baby. Believe that. Fuck ’round and I’ma have another case.”

Whatever!
He’s been sayin’ that “in a minute” mess for almost five damn years, and his ass was still sittin’ behind bars and barbed wire. I don’t know what kinda time clock he was usin’ but he needed a reality check, and quick. The nigga wasn’t punchin’ out anytime soon. I glanced at my 18kt timepiece dipped in ice.
This nigga is burnin’ my jack with his bullshit,
I thought.
I really ain’t beat for this shit tonight. He got two more minutes, then I’ma bang on his ass.
“Naheem, is there somethin’ you want? ’Cause if not, it’s been real. I got shit to do, so—”

“Aye, yo…what’s good with ya peoples?” he asked, cuttin’ me off. “I hear they out there real reckless with theirs.”

“What you talkin’ ’bout?” I asked, gettin’ ready to flip into bitch mode. “Reckless how?”

“Well, from what I hear, ya girl Tamia out there bein’ a real rabbit, poppin’ E’s ’n shit, and suckin’ and fuckin’ everything wit’ a dick.” I twisted my lips.
E pills?
This nigga musta banged his head on his bunk for real, talkin’ that shit. Suckin’ and fuckin’, yeah, okay. And I know the bitch’ll get lifted off some smoke. But pills, nah, that ain’t even her flava. I kept my mouth shut, but inside I was ready to check his ass on the real. “And ya girl Iris out there fuckin’ wit’ this nigga from Long Island whose pushin’ major weight, and he got her frontin’ for him. And Tamia got that shit.”

That shit?
Of course a bitch’s first thought was the Alphabets, ’cause that’s the first thing you hear when someone’s talkin’ ’bout someone with the package. “What shit you talkin’ ’bout?” I held my breath.

“She got herpes.” Okay, on some real shit, I don’t know if I was relieved that it wasn’t HIV/AIDS or not. But a bitch was pissed that a nigga behind the wall was callin’ me with this mess.

“Where’d you get that shit from ’bout Iris?” I asked.

“One of my mans I fuck wit’ up in here is his peoples. And you know don’t shit happen on the streets that we don’t know ’bout.”

“Hmm. And where’d you get that shit ’bout Tamia?”

“’Cause another one of my man’s brothas was fuckin’ wit’ her for a minute on the low, and now he got that shit. He tellin’ cats he got it from her nasty ass.”

“Well, you got ya facts twisted. Ain’t no way Iris frontin’ shit for no nigga. She might be stuntin’ his ass, but frontin’ him? Nah, nigga, you got the wrong one. And I know damn well Tamia ain’t on it like that.”

“Nah, baby, real talk. My mans got flicks of ya girl Iris wit’ his
peoples, mad chillin’. I’m tellin’ ya, dude got her straight rockin’ his dick. The cat’s stretchin’ her neck, and got her pushin’ them thangs for him. Matter of fact, he got like five or six bitches in his stable makin’ that shit do what it do. And that shit wit’ Tamia, I don’t really know how true it is, but word to life this ain’t the only nigga sayin’ it. There’s another cat she supposedly done did dirty, too. You know I’ma real nigga, and I ain’t gonna say shit that ain’t real.”

“So, if you know all this, then why you askin’ me? Both of ’em are grown-ass women. Iris can do whatever she wants. I’m not her keeper. And I ain’t got shit to do with Tamia’s pussy conditions.”

“Yo, just tell ’em both to be easy. Shit is real hectic out there.”

I knew what he meant. The streets were hot. ATF, TNT, FBI, DEA, SWAT, niggas were gettin’ bagged and popped left and right. Iris knew this. It’s on the news, in the papers, on the radio. The drug game, major paper or not, came with some serious risks. Some people gotta live it to learn it. And that mess ’bout Tamia, I refused to believe that shit. Yeah, when the bitch was in her teens she mighta got reckless with it, but she knew shit was too fuckin’ serious now. A bitch could end up with some shit she can’t get rid of. Fuck that, ain’t no way this ho was bein’ that damn stupid. But if it was true, then she’d get what her hand called for. A bitch can end up at the bottom of a river for some grimy shit like that.

“That’s on them,” I finally said.

“Yeah, but that’s ya peoples. And one’s fuckin’ wit’ a real live nigga, wit’ a whole lotta enemies. I hope she knows what she’s stepped into. And the other is playin’ wit fire fuckin’ these niggas’ lives up. Some of these niggas she’s fuckin’ got families ’n shit.”

I twisted my face up. “Okay, so you tryna say she’s responsible for what the fuck these niggas bring home to their chicks. Fuck
that! That’s on their stupid asses for creepin’, and for fuckin’ a bitch raw. So, them niggas get what they get.”

I hated that shit! Muhfuckas always wanna blame somebody else for their shit crumblin’. You play reckless, then you die reckless.

“Nah, I ain’t sayin’ that,” he said. “’Cause them niggas should know how to move. But at the end of the day, she should be responsible enough to tell ’em.”

“Oh, please,” I snapped. “If the bitch wasn’t bein’ responsible fuckin’ a nigga raw, what the fuck makes you think she’d be responsible enough to wanna tell the next muhfucka her pussy ain’t right. Obviously,
she
had to get it from some nigga.”

Okay, I ain’t gonna front. Listenin’ to Naheem’s ass got a bitch sizzlin’ mad. First I’m thinkin’, why the fuck is he talkin’ loose on the phone? I thought they listened in on all those lines. Then I’m thinkin’, if what he was sayin’ was true about Iris, I was gonna scream on that dumb bitch. Fuckin’ a nigga pushin’ weight was one thing, but bein’ his gofer or
mule
was a whole other thing. We all knew a few chicks on lock for takin’ the weight for some nigga. And while her ass is doin’
his
bid, doin’
his
time, he’s makin’ moves with the next bitch. We used to laugh at them silly-ass hoes.

And if that bitch Tamia was out here fuckin’ niggas knowin’ her pussy was rotten, and wasn’t tryna tell them niggas, then that was some real foul shit.
What the fuck is these bitches thinkin’,
I thought. I needed to call them hoes.

“Who’s the nigga Iris’s fuckin’ with?” I asked, already knowin’ he wasn’t gonna pass off that kinda info. I didn’t even bother to ask him ’bout the nigga talkin’ that shit ’bout Iris ’cause I wasn’t tryna believe it.

“Ask ya girl.”

I sucked my teeth, then took a deep breath. “Uh, why’d you call me again?” I asked.

He lowered his voice. “I was tryna bust this nut wit’ you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Nigga, please. Not today you won’t. You betta take that shit somewhere else.”

“Come on, ma, real quick. Let me hear some of that nasty shit you like.”

I sighed. “Look, Naheem. I gotta go.”

“Oh, so you just gonna leave a nigga’s dick stiff.”

“Well, if ya nasty ass kept ya hand outta ya pants and stopped strokin’ while talkin’ to me, the shit wouldn’t be bricked the fuck up. So that’s on you. Call me one day next week, aiight?”

“Yeah, baby. I can do that. When?”

I thought for a minute. “Hmm, like Wednesday or Thursday night.” Those were days I knew I wouldn’t be home. A bitch wasn’t beat to listen to any more of his prison-yard gossip, and I damn sure wouldn’t be phone-fuckin’ him.

“Bet. You know I love you, right?”

“Like you love that bird you fuckin’ with?”

“Oh, here you go. What, you jealous?”

I laughed. “Nigga, get a grip. That bum bitch ain’t in my league.”

“Maybe not. But she’s holdin’ a nigga down; more than what I can say ’bout you. You bounced on a nigga, so what was I supposed to do?”

I decided to ig that shit he was talkin’ ’bout me bouncin’ on his ass. As far as I was concerned he needed to get over it. “Do you,” I said. “I ain’t hatin’. I’m just sayin’…ya girl’s a pigeon, that’s all.”

“But she’s keepin’ my dick wet, and my commissary up.”

I knew all too well ’bout them hoes suckin’ dick and a nigga finga-poppin’ her pussy up in the visits whenever they could get it off. Yeah, them some real straight hood rat and rabbit bitches fuckin’ a nigga in a damn visitin’ hall.

“I bet she is. But she ain’t wettin’ it like I wet it. Ho can’t even
mind fuck ya right. And I
know
she ain’t slayin’ the dick like I slayed it, ’cause if she was you wouldn’t be tryna phone-bone me. Bitch probably can’t even stretch her neck. Yeah, you got ya’self a real door prize,” I said, laughin’.

“Fuck so funny?” he snapped, gettin’ agitated. He hated when I reminded him of how good this pussy and head game were. “I’m doin’ what I gotta do to get through this shit, know what I’m sayin’? But a nigga tryna come home to you, real talk.”

Wrong answer,
I thought. For a second, I considered how he used to be dipped and paid, and how he used to have a bitch screamin’ out his name and ready to climb walls every time he slammed that big, black dick in me. Oh, well. That shit was old news! His ass was locked the hell down, dead broke from spendin’ hundreds of thousands of chips on lawyers ’n shit, and havin’ a bunch of fiends and backward niggas on his team who either smoked up or hustled up his ends. He couldn’t do shit for a bitch like me. Ain’t no way in hell I’d give him any rhythm when he got out.

Keepin’ shit real, I still had feelings for him, so I didn’t have the heart to bust his bubble and remind him that shit was really over for us; that my love for him wasn’t the kinda love a bitch had for a nigga she was tryna ride or die with. But a nigga behind the wall got enough shit to deal with; I figured ain’t no use givin’ him somethin’ else to stress about. He’d find out soon enough.

“Yeah, okay,” I said, gettin’ off my bed to remove my jewelry. I stripped out of my clothes, then switched my naked, juicy ass into the bathroom to turn on the jets to my Jacuzzi. I decided to soak and unwind before I called Tamia and Iris.
Better yet,
I thought,
I’ma wait ’til I see them bitches, then I’ma see what’s really good
.

“Aiight, baby. It’s almost count. I’ma hit you next week.”

“True,” I said. We said our good-byes, then hung up. I went downstairs to my bar and poured myself some Hennessy, then rolled a blunt. For some reason, talkin’ to Naheem had a bitch stressed the hell out. I came back upstairs with my things and went into the bathroom. I lit my candles, put in my Corinne Bailey Rae CD, then stepped into the tub. I slid my ass down into the bubbles, sipped my drink, lit my blunt and took two long pulls, leaned my head back, then closed my eyes, thinkin’, rememberin’…

See, growin’ up, all a bitch like me had to do was walk in a room and niggas would be tryna check for me the minute they spotted me. I didn’t have to floss in front of no nigga tryna get his attention, poppin’ my ass and titties. Hair, face, and wears, always on point! I stayed turnin’ heads.

My moms not bein’ able—or
maybe
not wantin’—to buy me the flavas didn’t stop my flow. At eleven, I learned how to get the shit I needed and wanted, and by the time I was thirteen, I was a pro, makin’ my own ends. There were a few boosters ’n shit who taught me how to lift shit—from jewelry to high-end pieces—so a bitch stayed laced in all the hot shit. And I kept my pockets lined. Anyway, the way my wears clung to my bangin’ body, niggas knew what time it was. I was a real grade-A, top-shelf bitch. Like I told ya from gate, I was
that
bitch all the niggas wanted to fuck with. But I gave ’em no play.

Other than the young nigga I fucked for that burner to slump my mom’s crab-ass nigga, there were only two cats back then who could ever say that they had fucked me. ’Cause unlike the
rest of them young bitches, I wasn’t hot in the ass. I wasn’t lookin’ for trouble and drama like a lot of them fast asses. I wasn’t beat for chasin’ bottom-of-the-barrel niggas hustlin’ backward. You know. The niggas who hugged the block all day and all night, who stayed gettin’ high but were always broke as hell, pullin’ in enough peanuts to buy them a pair of constructs or a fresh pair of Jordans. I wasn’t that kinda bitch. And I didn’t stay runnin’ the streets seven days a week like a lot of them hoes either. I took my ass to school every damn day instead of dippin’ out, and did my shit right after school and on the weekends, feel me?