Sex in the Hood Saga (16 page)

Victoria wanted to scream. No way could she stay here and not become a sex addict or a nymphomaniac rabbit, as Tiffany and her friends back at school liked to call themselves.

“Is this like a sex army?” she asked Duke, who was standing close, to her right. His body heat, his delicious scent, his overall sexiness made her head swirl. Looking at all those naked bodies—beautiful, toned men and women of every hue, their bodies already glistening with sweat from their workout—this was an impossible situation. Even a nun would get horny up in here.

Nobody back home would believe her if she told them she'd been in a gym watching three rows of twelve men, all gorgeous, laying on the floor as thirty-six women fucked them. And it wasn't anything close to normal, missionary-style sex.

The women were squatting over them, their butts pointing to the men's faces. Just like Victoria learned at the fitness club to do squats, either on the barbell machine or free standing with weights in her hands, the women were doing squats down onto big, swollen, shiny penises!

The girls' knees were all pointing out, and their hands were on their knees. It was as synchronized and graceful as a ballet.

Knowing how painful squats were to the quads, Victoria was doubly amazed that they were so in shape they could go and go.

All those dicks were enormous. The music was too loud to hear if they were moaning, but the mellow expressions on their faces left no doubt they were lovin' it.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, her cheeks on fire as Duke glanced down and over at her. He smiled.

Was this a normal, everyday activity in the hood? What in the world were they training for? Was this some kind of porno video shoot? Even the movies Brian watched never had anything like this. They always had orgy scenes in someone's living room, but never this many people in a gym!

“Faster!” shouted the woman with the whistle. She looked like a model—tall, thin but muscular, in skin—tight black leggings and a ballerina tank top. Her skin was deep tan, and the slight slant of her eyes reminded Victoria of a girl in her school whose father was black and whose mother was Vietnamese. The sexercise coach had a wild mane of curly, jet-black hair with maroon streaks framing her dark eyes, button nose and full cheeks. She was very hip, with a sort of Bride of Frankenstein look.

“Okay, girls. Slow down,” she shouted. Her voice was raspy and commanding. “Faster . . . faster . . .”

The girls were literally slamming their butts down on the guys's six-pack abs. One guy in particular looked like Duke. He was tall, muscular, and dark chocolate, and he had gray eyes. The woman fucking him was even darker, like blue-black, and she looked like that popular New York runway model from Africa who was showcased in all the fashion magazines—super tall, thin, with strong facial features, and short hair.

Every time she rose up, Victoria stared at the guy's giant dick, which was pointing straight up, covered in a glistening red condom. A few veins zig-zagged on the side.

Did Duke's dick look like that? Was it that big? Bigger? How could all that go inside that girl? It looked like she was sitting on a telephone pole!

The scent of sex made her dizzy. It was salty, sweet, intoxicating.

This is sheer torture.

Her hands were trembling with lust, with fear, with excitement. There was no way she could stay here and remain true to her vow to stay a virgin. No way.

But what about her mix-race sex power? Did it only have lethal effects on white men? Did everything that Mommy said apply if she were with a black man? Or woman? These women looked just as delicious as the men. And what if she made love with Duke and wanted more men? Could she control the power?

Her mother said she could use it to get whatever she needed or wanted. But how? She had died before she could explain any of that.

Victoria squeezed her pussy. It was so wet that if she stuck her fingers in it, she could pull them out, make a scissor motion with her fingers and form a web of clear pussy juice. One touch to her clit right now and she'd cum.

“I have to leave!” She stood on her tiptoes to shout into Duke's ear over the loud music. Celeste throbbed in the heat of his body, his scent, that mesmerizing onyx sparkle in his eyes that were devouring her like candy. “Duke—”

“Ain't no way in hell I'm gon' let you leave right now,” he said with a hard tone. Every word sent a wave of goosebumps over her hot skin. Inside, she felt numb. An icy fist of fear squeezed her breath.

“What, are you gonna kidnap me?”

“Betta me than the FBI. B'sides,” he shrugged, “who would know?”

“My grandmother.” She crossed her arms.

“What she gon' do? Duke Johnson the police around here. That sick old woman can't do a damn thing.”

“Henry.”

“Pound Dog work for me. He ain't gon' bite the hand that feed him. He put you in my hands. Remember, Miss Daisy?”

“Don't call me that. The lawyers would find me.”

“Lawyers want one thing—money. And your daddy money gone, so now that massa dead and they shipped yo' pretty black ass off to the ghettolands, they work done. 'Less they gon' take you in themselves, which they ain't. They don't give a damn about a little spoiled half-black bitch wit' no dough.”

Victoria glared at him. She did not blink as her brain focused on her mother, her power, Celeste. She had to use that power to escape this situation. Now. She had to use the female wiles Mommy told her about—the mix-breed woman power of many races packed into her brain, body and spirit—to get her way. She had to gain control over her life by figuring out how to tap into that power.

It was the power Duke thought he was exerting over her right now. In a Motor City minute, though, she was about to harness it, hone it, and hurl it right back at him. She would do it so fast and sweet that he wouldn't know what hit him. He didn't even realize the monster that he wanted to create would someday dominate him with the same sex that caught his attention.

And so it was done in Victoria's mind.

She wouldn't fight it, for now. She would stay. She would work for him. She would learn any and everything. She would go inside Duke Johnson's mind, sit down, takes notes, and train herself to be the female version of him. The Duchess.

Then, forever holding onto this feeling of frustration, fear, and unfairness at life, she would lash it all back on him, crush him under her submission. And rule over the Duke and his Babylon. Finally, she'd break away, go to college, live her original dream of opening a business, and climb the traditional ladder of success with the stealth and street smarts she was about to learn from Duke.

“Checkmate,” she said flatly, staring into his eyes, unflinching. Not sweating. Not breathing hard anymore. Motherfucker. Let's do this.

“Checkmate what?” he asked.

“I'll work for you. Teach me everything I need to know. Now.”

Duke's onyx eyes sparkled down on her. They were smiling, probing, questioning.

“Bet,” he said, offering a hand. “Let's shake on it.”

Victoria shook, squeezing his hand hard so he wouldn't feel that every muscle in her body was trembling. She was lying to herself when she vowed to maintain her virginity and only work for Duke for as long as it would take to move away for college. But for now, she had to go along to get along as Duke put her on a crash course to learning street life, his vision for Babylon, and the rules of the game.

She would start her education with this bizarre gym class orgy where, for the moment, all her fear and frustration was exploding in the hot throb between her legs. Her palms were so hot, she could hold a piece of bread between them and make toast. She squeezed her pussy lips to get a grip on her lust so it wouldn't take over her mind, but they were so slippery and swollen, it made her shiver.

She leaned closer to Duke. Her right nipple rubbed against his arm. A moan escaped her lips. “Duke, what is this?” she asked.

He turned slightly, staring down at her with those big, gorgeous dark eyes with the bejeweled irises. His face was as luscious as his bald head, with all that coffee bean brown skin she wanted to slurp, suck, lick, and bite.

“Duke, I feel dizzy,” she whispered.

“You should,” he said playfully. “Anybody would lose they mind, seein' all this pussy an' ass.”

“No—”

“Yes,” Duke said. “You probably so on fire right now you can't think straight.” He put his arm around her back, resting a hand on her shoulder. She shivered. The hot scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, the hardness and height of him next to her was so intense, her chest was literally rising and falling as if she'd just sprinted at a track meet.

If he touches my bare skin, I'll faint.
She couldn't believe how electrified she felt with his hand on the velour fabric of her zip-up jacket. She looked into his eyes; the deep, penetrating tenderness of his voice made her cheeks burn.

“Baby girl, you look like you need some love so bad.”

He pulled her closer. Her lips felt hot and swollen with lust. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

Victoria's lips pressed directly into the center of his chest. His hot skin under her mouth was soft and sweet. She inhaled his scent of designer cologne, spicy male musk, and sex.

The rise of his pecks touched the sides of her mouth, her cheeks. This was her spot. She rubbed her face in small circles there, not caring that all these people were around them or that Beamer was watching. The men and women who were fucking on the floor were so into their groove they probably couldn't care less.

A whistle blew and a deep male voice boomed through the gym. “Ladies, on your knees!”

Victoria turned to see a man, he was small, with dark, wavy hair and a white warm-up suit, taking over from the Asian looking chick.

Duke grasped Victoria's shoulders and spun her so that the back of her body pressed into his chest, stomach, thighs. A huge, hard, hot rod pressed into her butt. She arched her back slightly, but stopped herself.

She imagined Henry saying something like, “Dude, she want it. That horny bitch need some dick bad.” So, now Duke felt it was his duty and part of his premeditated plan to basically abduct her to take care of her hormonal crisis, which was bad enough for any eighteen-year-old girl.

“Check this out.” Duke's deep voice vibrated through her more potently than ever, since their bodies were touching.

She leaned her head back into his chest. His chin rested on top of her head. He planted a kiss in her hair. Victoria closed her eyes. The warmth of his body, the comfort of it, made her want to stand there forever. It felt so good, nothing mattered at the moment. Not the wild, crazy fuck fest in front of them. Not the fact that she was an orphan in the ghetto with nowhere to go. Not the fact that she wanted to indulge the very urge that terrified her with the threat of deadly consequences. All that mattered right now was the affection and protective embrace of the urban god behind her.

Hot tears stung her eyes, blurring the sextravaganza before them. She blinked hard, letting the tears fall down her burning cheeks. With her eyes cleared, her body calm, she watched the action.

In one graceful motion, all the women rose up out of the squat position, aimed their open palms at the red floor mats, and dove forward with the liquid motion of acrobats. They fell to their knees, straddling the men's legs at their shins.

The men didn't just fuck them doggie style, they alternated and balanced on each leg as they pounded away.

“Harder!” the man commanded. “Pump it!”

The men fucked furiously. A few women cried out. Their boobs were bouncing, hard nipples pointing down at the floor.

They looked like Victoria did in the mirror when she made herself cum. She was sure the giant dick rubbing into her ass right now could only make that sensation a million times more amazing.

“Now, slow and controlled,” the man commanded.

The men slowed down, still moving in unison as gracefully as a dance troupe.

A guy who was grimacing cried out, “It fuckin' hurts!”

The commander's legs sliced like white scissors as he strode toward the whiner. “Look like you love this shit or you'll get twenty minutes straight!”

The sternness on the commander's face and in his voice made Victoria sober up for a second. This wasn't for fun. This was serious training for something. If Babylon did executive protection, what did fucking have to do with being a bodyguard?

Unless these men and women provided a different kind of secret service . . . Prostitution.

So, right now they were working out to be strong and lean, but also to fuck with Olympic strength and endurance.

Sexercise. Daddy used to always tell her the key to success in business was to do what nobody else thought of, then market, market, market!

The whistle blew. “Switch!” the commander shouted.

What in the world kind of place was she in?