Retribution (2 page)

He grabs my hips, thrusts upward. Attempts to stab his dick into my wetness. “Yeah. You already know what it is.” I press my lips to his again. Our tongues meet. And our kiss ignites another burst of flames inside of me as I reach in back of me and guide the head of his dick in. I ease it in between the lips of my pussy. Fuck the tip of his dick. Raw. I roll my hips nice and slow until I am sitting all the way down on his dick. I lift my hips up halfway, slam back down, then rodeo fuck him, serving him up a dish of hot, naked pussy.

He grunts.

I moan.

He moans.

I grunt.

He cups my ass. Thrusts his hips up into me. We find a rhythm and fuck each other as if it's our last night on this earth. Shit, if we ever get caught it just might be his. Still, we both know we're playing a very dangerous game.

“Aaaah, fuck…ooooh, shit, baby…I love fuckin' this pussy…”

“Yeah, daddy…fuck this slutty pussy…oooh, yes…”

“Uhhh…uhhh…shit…fuck…I'm gettin' ready to bust…”

I quickly lift up off his cum-coated dick, my pussy juices sliding down his shaft and wrap my mouth over it, sucking the nut out of him. The head of his dick hits my tonsils as I swallow him all the way in, dick and nut down into my throat.

And it's good to the last damn drop!

I pull his dick from out of my neck. Lick it clean. Then smack my lips together as he dozes off, lightly snoring.

A hard, horny dick has no conscience. It'll fuck a bitch over if she lets it…

I
ease out from under the rumpled sheets, still damp with sweat and cum from an all-night suck-and-fuck-athon, grabbing my buzzing cell while slipping on my silk robe. I quietly slide open the balcony door, then step out into the early morning light. I slide the door shut behind me, rolling my eyes the minute I hear his voice.
I hate everything this motherfucking nigga stands for!

“Yo, what da fuck is you doin', yo? I been callin' ya ass all muthafuckin' night, yo. Don't have me bust yo' ass, Pasha. Word up. Let me find out you back on ya bullshit, ya heard?”

This nigga's crazy.

Shit, he's
always
been fucking crazy! But it's gotten worse.

I suck my teeth. “And what are you gonna do, Jasper, kill me this time?” I say sarcastically. Although I'm half-joking, half serious, knowing that if he could body me, he would. But as it stands right now, I'm worth more to him alive than I am dead; particularly since everything—the house, the cars, the bank accounts, and the businesses he now own—is in my name. A smart nigga wouldn't be so caught up in the material shit. But Jasper is. And as insurance in case this happy-handed nigga ever decides to really toe-tag me, I've made sure my son is the sole beneficiary of everything and I've assigned my attorney as the executor of my estate.

Jasper will be left with nothing, if I can help it.

“Yo, fuck outta here. I'ma bust yo shit, that's what. You already know what it is, yo. Now act fuckin' stupid if you want, ya heard? I keep…”

I shake my head. His threats are of no longer any consequence to me. And to think I once loved his ass with everything in me. There was a time—before the prison bid, before all of the cheating, before the lies, before everything else happened between us—when I believed that Jasper was the only man for me. I thought I would love him forever. Mmmph. What a goddamn joke!

Ain't shit forever! Not love, not life…nothing!

All I have in me for this nigga is contempt. I hate his black ass. The way he looks at me, the way he smells, the way he touches me, makes my skin crawl. Jasper's a grimy, ruthless motherfucker. And I hate him. I know he's my son's father—and there's nothing I can do about that. But, God forgive me. Sometimes I wish this nigga dead for what he did to me. This dirty nigga had me locked up and tied up and gagged down in some dusty-ass basement. Then let his goons violate me. Yeah, I did my dirt while he was on lock. But what this dirty nigga did to me is unthinkable, unconscionable. It haunts me. And it's some shit I can't, I won't, ever forgive him for.

No, a snake nigga like Jasper has to be dealt with, carefully.

“Don't have me fuck you up, yo…If I ever find out you playin' me, yo…I'ma fuck you up…to teach you a lesson…”

I knew my transgressions—sucking a string of random dicks while Jasper was incarcerated—would cost me. I had gotten greedy. I let it consume me. Let it become an obsession. And instead of quitting while I was ahead, I let my thirst for dick and cum control me. And, as a result, I kept posting ads on that godforsaken
website Nastyfreaks4u.com, soliciting men who sought out getting some anonymous head. And with the promise of providing a toe-curling experience and giving men some of the best mouth, tongue, and throat work around, I started living up to my screen name,
Deep Throat Diva,
throat-swabbing niggas like there was no tomorrow.

Problem is, niggas started getting strung out. Some crazy nigga started harassing me. Another started stalking me. Then the nigga tried to snatch me up in my own yard. I had to fight the nigga off of me. Had my next-door neighbor not pulled up when he had, I don't know what that crazy nigga might have done to me. And of course I refused to call the police. I couldn't.

What was I going to tell them? “Hi. I'm known as Deep Throat Diva in cyberland. I post ads online to suck dick, and I sucked this nutty nigga crazy. Oh…and by the way, my fiancé—who's been locked up for almost five years—can't ever find out that the woman he wants to marry is a cum guzzler or he'll beat the shit out of me.”

Really?

You think?

Umm, no thank you. That was news I didn't want out. It was info I had hoped to sweep up into a tiny box of lies and keep locked away before Jasper got home. But it didn't happen that way. Something went tragically wrong. Someone got up in Jasper's ear. And the shit blew up in my face.

Now wait. You judgmental bitches can think what you want about me. I
loved
Jasper. My dick sucking had nothing to do with how I felt about him at that time. There was no emotional connection to any of them niggas I sucked. All they were were a bunch of hard dicks. It was all about what I needed/wanted to fill a sexual void. I had no intentions of ever fucking anyone other than Jasper.
And, at the time—somewhere stuck in between my neglected libido and loneliness—I concocted this twisted fantasy of believing that as long as I didn't give up my pussy to any other nigga that Jasper and I could live happily-ever-after once he was finally released from prison. And he'd be none the wiser to know that the lips he kissed were the same lips that stayed wrapped around a bunch of different dicks and had been glazed with more nuts than I care to remember.

But it didn't work out that way for me. My happily-ever-after didn't turn out so happy for me after all. And I'm sure you know, or can at least imagine, how the rest of the story ended for me.

If Jasper would have just beat the shit out of me, I could have handled it, deservingly. I would have worn my ass whooping proudly, knowing I caused it. And maybe things with us would be different. Maybe he would have found it in his heart to forgive me. Maybe we could have moved on from it. I don't know.

What I do know is, after what that bastard did to me. Whatever love I had for him has turned into deep seething contempt. Everything I believed in, held on to, was shattered the moment Jasper leaned over my hospital bed, smirking. His eyes still haunt me. The way he stared into me, cold and calculating. The whole time I was missing, I had hoped and prayed that he'd be out looking for me, that he'd be stricken with worry. And all the while that motherfucker knew where I was. Because
he
was behind it all.

No one has any idea what happened to my spirit down in that basement.

The humiliation.

The fear.

The disrespect.

Somewhere in between the second or third dick shoved into my
mouth, I lost pieces of me. By the fifth dick, everything inside of me snapped. I was broken. By the sixth dick, I became numb. I crumbled up and died inside.

Jasper did that to me.

Okay, I did that to me.

Still…I didn't deserve
that!

Anyway. It was only supposed to be temporary—posting ads, only something to do until Jasper came home. That's what I kept telling myself every time I posted an ad. Cheating—well,
fucking,
on Jasper wasn't a thought for me like I said. But celibacy was taking its toll on me. How was I supposed to go five fucking years without dick? I missed the feel of a hard dick—his hard dick. My pussy
ached
for it. But I stayed true the best way I could.

I had promised Jasper before he had gone to prison that I wouldn't let another nigga fuck me while he was locked up. Still a bitch like me needed something more than an assortment of dildos and vibrators to fuck to take the edge off, until Jasper was released from prison. So I posted—what was supposed to be a one-time thing—a sex ad looking for men who wanted throat work. I didn't think I would get swamped with replies from men from all walks of life—some married, some single, some shacking with women, some freakier and kinkier than others—looking for a good dick suck.

So what started out as mere curiosity and a means to an end quickly became an obsession.

My guilty pleasure.

My dirty little secret.

Dick sucking consumed me.

And there was a hefty price to pay. But I didn't think it would almost cost me my life. Okay, okay, I'm lying. I
knew
I was playing
with fire, taking dangerous risks creeping out in the middle of the night and sucking random niggas off in their cars in parking lots, parks, or motel rooms. I
knew
Jasper would kill me if he ever found out. And I believe he would have bodied me if I hadn't been pregnant with our son at the time. Still…that didn't stop him from degrading me, then beating the shit out of me, almost to death, no less—even though I was pregnant. And he knew it.

I can still remember the shit as if it were yesterday.

“Remember she's not to be hurt…”

“No doubt, I'll just rough the bitch up a bit…”

“C'mon, man…chill out wit' all that…she's pregnant…”

I can still hear their voices, deep and unrecognizable, in my head.
“Bitch, if you so much as flinch, I'ma dead ya ass right here…Now do what I tell you and I won't haveta spill ya pretty lil brains out all over this concrete…”

I can still feel their hands on me. The niggas who snatched me up that night at the mall. My hair being violently pulled and my head snapped back. I can still hear the click of the gun, pressing against my temple.

“…I promise you. On e'erything I love. I will
kill
you, bitch…”

I continue replaying pieces of that night in my mind. I fight back. Attempt to get away. And, then…in one swift motion there's a blade pressed up under my throat.

“…I'ma slice ya muthafuckin' throat, ya heard?”

A lie is never a lie, until you get caught in it…

I blink.

“…Pasha,
what da fuck, yo?!”
Jasper shrieks in my ear, jolting me back to the present. “You hear me talkin' to ya ass?”

I gaze out into the Pacific Ocean, breathing in the morning breeze while taking in layers of orange, red, and yellow as the sun rises from the horizon. Sometimes I wish I could blink my eyes three times and make this nigga disappear for good. I swear. If I were a snitch-type bitch, I'd have his ass set up and feed his ass to the feds. They've been watching his slick-ass every since he got released from prison. And he knows this. But his dumbass is still caught up in that life, thinking he can't be touched.

I understand the game. It's hard to get out of. I know the risks that are involved. Someone's bound to get at you at some point, whether it's the feds, some jealous-ass hater, or a hungry nigga looking for a come-up. Either way, when your time's up, it's up.

And I recognize it was Jasper's drug money that made it possible for me to open my salon, Nappy No More, ten years ago. Jasper believed in my vision. He footed the bill, no questions asked. And in less than three years I quadrupled his investment, even wrote him a check for the full amount, although he refused to take it.
Still, I wanted him to be clear that my salon was
mine
—free and clear, period. Not his. Or ours. Mine.

I let him know, I didn't want to keep feeling like he had claims to my shit. Reluctantly, he took the check, popping shit about only taking it to shut me up. He didn't cash the shit, of course. But I made it clear that whether he cashed it or not, I didn't owe him shit where my salon was concerned. Now here we are ten years later, and it's my hard-earned money this go-round that'll be opening up Nappy No More II out here on the West Coast as soon as the deal is sealed.

So, again, I don't need the nigga. So, why am I still with him?

Because I'm not leaving him until he pays for what he's done to me. Until I take him for every-goddamn-thing he's worth. And my staying has
nothing
to do with the threat of him
killing
me. I'm beyond that. Like I said earlier, once this nigga no longer
thinks
he needs me, I'm good as dead the next time I'm caught with another nigga's dick in my throat. Still, as far as I'm concerned, he owes me for all of my pain and suffering. And he's going to pay in more than one way.

In the meantime, I suffer and plot in silence.

A stack here, a stack there; bit-by-bit until I have every motherfucking dime of his, or at least most of it. I know Jasper's no fool when it comes to his paper. So I already know he has a load of money tucked somewhere other than in the safe tucked behind a wall panel in his walk-in closet, or the one that's built into the floor of our pool house—the one he
thinks
I don't know about. Jasper's money is long. And so is his ego and temper. So as long as I
play
along with his sick mind games and need for control, I still benefit from his drug dealing, and whatever other dirty shit he's into.