Sex in the Hood Saga (25 page)

The scent of their sex made him as mellow as when he breathed in second-hand ganja smoke. Except Timbo was about to blow. Duke's whole body was trembling. Her electric jolts made him convulse, making his dick feel like it was about to shoot with the force of a firehose.

She was cumming again, shaking so hard her shoulders were shimmying, her legs twitching, and her hands were trembling. She was pounding the pussy like there was no tomorrow.

Timbo was taking it, too.

“I got this dick!” she moaned. “I got all this dick.”

He groaned. Deep. Raw. Like he had never heard himself groan before. Like a bubble was rising up from the deepest part of his core. Like that sound that came out of Prince's mouth as he died. It was a sound he never wanted to hear again, especially from his own mouth. Like a part of him was dying.

Duchess glanced back. Her eyes looked supernatural, all glazed with lust, chunks of hair stuck to her wet cheeks, lips red, open, like a lion that just took the juiciest bite out of the panther it killed.

She was still fucking. Her pussy squeezed as she came. His dick throbbed as he blew his nut, and their sex power juice mixed into some toxic chemical that was going to make both of them crazy.

Duchess banged down more, more, more, until Timbo got tingly like his elbow when he hit the funny bone. He wanted to scream “Stop!” but pussy shock treatments stole his voice. He wanted to grab her, push her off, but his arms felt like lead. He wanted to buck up and toss her off, but the stallion was tame.

Duchess shot up, letting Timbo slip out and collapse like a dead seal on his groin, which looked like a black sand beach frothing with their salty sex juice.

Duke trembled, every muscle in his body. And he couldn't stop, not even when she stepped off the bed and walked toward the bathroom. Duchess glanced back at him with so much power in her eyes, Duke felt sick.
Look like my body language spoke loud an' clear all right . . . that I'm the punk mafucka who layin' here like some limp-ass jelly. Hell naw!

Duke is crazy if he expects me to concentrate on super fly girl clothes, Ebonics, and ghetto psychology while Honey is prancin' around in a tight little white dress.

Duchess strutted across the white marble floor in blood-red patent leather stiletto boots and a sleeveless black cat-suit. She stepped up the stairs to the raised area where Duke was sitting on a gold throne behind the huge, thick glass desk.

“So, you're making me into a thugstress, right?” she said playfully, strutting the way runway models did it on TV reports of fashion shows in New York. “That's a cross between a temptress and a thug, with a sort of Cleopatra feline look.”

“You my chameleon who can switch between ghetto fabulous, Wall Street white girl, an' sexy diva,” Duke said. “Damn, baby girl, yo' booty be poppin' in nat. Bend over an' shake that ass.” His hand was over a huge bulge in his lap.

“Oooohhh, I've never looked so sexy,” she said as the designer, Gregor, rolled that giant mirror in front of her. In it, she could also see the rack of equally seductive jeans, dresses, skirts, and jackets she had already tried on.

“Especially with this tan,” Duchess said, loving her darker skin thanks to the tanning booth Duke had installed in the penthouse for her. “I feel like one o' those sexy comic book women with superhuman powers. Duke . . .”

He looked pale.

A soft cloud of Honey's perfume—musky with a hint of floral—enchanted Duchess' nose moments before she turned to see the girl's titties come to halt just inches under Duchess' mouth.

Honey's fingertips on Duchess' arms brought to mind that lightning ball at the science center. The girl's touch made purple bolts shoot through Duchess' skin, through her body, lodging in a hot, sizzling glow between her legs.

She attached two gold armbands in the inward curves just above her biceps.

“Just like Cleopatra wore,” Honey said with a husky voice that flowed like slow molasses over her lips. Her honey-brown eyes mirrored the lust that was making Duchess feel like she could touch her finger to the bottom of a lightbulb and make it glow.

“I love it,” Duchess said, glancing down at the gold cuffs on her arms and Honey's fingers on her skin.

“That cuff is superb,” the designer, Gregor, called across the white marble floor here in the Babylon HQ offices. The slender, cocoa-brown guy pushed his silver glasses up into a mop of black ringlet curls. Wearing a blue suede pantsuit, he made “OK” signs with each hand.

“Duchess,” he said, turning toward the rack of clothes that Victoria Winston wouldn't have taken a million dollars to wear in public. “The whole Cleopatra look is just spectacular with your long hair. I've got one more thing. Honey, get her some eyeliner.”

Duke laughed. “The finishin' touches on the sex monsta we creatin'. You still so horny, you turnin' yo'self on jus' lookin' at yo' own damn thighs in the mirror. You finally free to love how yo' round ass curve up like two big buttered buns, makin' yo' pussy drip.”

She threw a satin glove at him. “Stop!”

“Gregor, you see Duchess musta hid yo' iron between her juicy thighs. Honey, don't y'all see steam shootin' outta her pussy? Whoosh! Hot steam burnin' e'rythang in sight. Come burn me, baby!”

Honey giggled as she strutted over to one of the mummy cases flanking the desk. Duke's eyes were on Duchess. She could see him in her peripheral view, while she watched Honey's round, plump ass move under the flowy white chiffon of her little dress. Her thighs caused automatic mouth opening and watering.

When Duchess looked at them, all she could do was imagine her open mouth sucking on that soft, flawless skin.

As the designer jingled something behind Duchess, Honey opened the money case, which contained shelves. She bent over at the waist. The dress rode up, and wet, molasses-brown pussy lips smiled at Duchess. Honey's pussy was fat and bare; shaved hairless, nestling a sweet brownberry treat with a side of fresh cream, displayed right under perfect curves of a plump ass.

Duchess wanted to crawl up behind her and just eat. Her knees weakened; her whole body felt like she just fell into a hot bathtub. Celeste shot hot gusts of steam into the crotch of this sleeveless black bodysuit.

“Here we go,” the designer snarled over that jingle sound.

“You all can have a little sexcapade on your own time. I have three more clients.”

“We'll take e'rything.” Duke's voice boomed across the office. He did not stop staring at Duchess as she watched Honey strut back to her. “Leave the rack.”

Duke pitched a hand and tossed the money case. Gregor caught it. The suction sound of a tin being opened then closed inspired the designer to whisper, “Every day is Christmas at Babylon. I'm most grateful, Master Duke.” There was the sound of the clothes rack wheeling out, doors opening and closing, and Gregor was gone.

“Yeah, all them clothes make me wanna have a sexcapade,” Duke said, “wit' my chameleon. Hope you know how lucky you is. My baby mommas would suck dick for days to get all this loot for free.”

Honey giggled, sending gusts of hot breath against Duchess' neck. Honey's mouth stayed slightly open as she leaned up with a black cosmetic pencil. Duchess closed her eyes as the soft tip lined her lashes, with one outward stroke at the comers of her eyes.

The heat of Honey's body drew Duchess' nipples to hard points in the black cat-suit. Her chest rose and fell.

“See, yo' body heavin' 'cause that homegirl within tryin' to bust free,” Duke said, his hand on his dick. “Now you got a ghetto space ranger to the rescue.”

“Here, let me adjust this,” Honey whispered, unfastening the halter top at the back of Duchess' neck. It fell open.

Gregor dashed back in, jingling. “Wait, one more”—he stopped in his tracks—“thing.” He was holding a gold chain with coins attached.

Duke nodded.

“Here,” Gregor said, attaching the belt around Duchess' waist. “Hell, who needs clothes anyway?” Then he dashed out.

“You gotta stay a chameleon,” Duke said. “I seen it on my kids' videos, a lizard that change colors to match the background.”

“Our colors match nice,” Honey whispered, curling her fingertips into the belt, gently scratching Duchess' waist. She stuck out her tongue, and while staring into Duchess' eyes, Honey tickled her tongue across those exposed nipples.

“Mmmmm,” Duchess moaned and twisted, making the necklace jingle. “My pussy could boil an egg right now.”

“I bet it would come out gold,” Honey whispered.

Duke's tone was all lust as he talked. “Wit' Moreno, you gon' be lily white in a pinstripe suit, an' the baddest black bitch crossed wit' yo' daddy business brains on the inside.”

Honey's face was like a doll. Her lips were so perfect, Duchess had to taste them.

“You smell like sugar,” Duchess whispered.

“My lotion and lip gloss,” Honey said. “It's called Brown Sugar. Taste.” She leaned close.

Duchess' head spun. She closed her eyes. She had kissed Tiffany so many times, but she'd never been so excited. Oh my God. Honey's lips were soft fire. They parted when they met Duchess' trembling mouth, and Honey just placed them there for a long moment, like she knew this was all new to Victoria, so she was taking it slow.

Deliciously slow. Dizzying. Satin soft, hot, loving she could suck on these lips all day long.

Victoria's pussy convulsed. One touch and she could cum.

Her entire being felt so electric, she felt like she could look up at the sky and make lightning shoot from her eyes. Touch her pussy right now, or let her just see Honey's sweet playmate for Celeste, and thunder would pound the sky.

Honey pulled back just a few inches. She was pouting. Her beautiful eyes glowed with lust, mirroring Victoria's emotions exactly. Her back arched, rising and falling with heavy breathing.

“Right now, we fadin' to black,” Duke said. “An' seein' how you can become one wit' female beauty.”

Duchess was drunk, as if Honey's lips were a champagne fountain. Honey pulled back then purred, “Aren't we s'posed to be teaching you how to talk like a sista? As your executive assistant, it's my responsibility. So,” she whispered, “if you ev'a meet up wit' one o' dem fed pinpricks, what cha gonna say?”

“Ahm gon' say,” Duchess jerked her neck a little, tightened her lips, “hell naw, I ain't neva heard o' no white bitch name Victoria Win—what?”

Honey's deep, raspy laughter was infectious. Duchess and Duke cracked up.

“She don't need coachin',” Honey told Duke.

“Yeah, she do,” he answered. “Let me sprinkle some wisdom on Miss Daisy. In the hood, rule numba one: Anything you say or do and anything anybody make up about you can and will be used against you, so don't tell nobody nothin'.”

Duchess could stare all day at Honey's plump, dark brown breasts. They were all hoisted up in her face, mounds that invited her to rub her face all in the crack, on the soft parts, suck on those nipples forever.

“I always had a ‘no information' policy,” Duchess said.

“Most things are nobody's business, for sure.”

Honey pulled both sides of her dress so that her nipples popped out. With her mouth open, Duchess moaned as she dove toward them.

“For sure, Miss Daisy,” Duke mocked. “Now say, ‘fo' sho'. Where you come from, Miss Daisy say ‘fer shewer.' Now The Duchess say ‘fo' sho.'”

“Maybe you didn't notice the big, pretty tittie that was in my mouth,” Duchess said, playing mad. She pressed her lips together, drew the corners of her mouth back, tilted her head slightly and said, “Quit pissin' me awf, ma'fucka!”

“Day-um,” Duke exclaimed with sparkling eyes. “You quick. Com'ere, bof y'all.”

As they went up the steps, Duchess watched Honey's ass, her juicy legs and the hump of her plump ass in that little Cleopatra dress. The hot, wet swell between Duchess' legs created torturous friction.

“Duchess,” Duke said, patting her throne. “Come sit next to me. Honey, show her what you got.”

Duchess sat on Duke's thigh, facing the desk. Honey sat on the desk. She leaned back, stuck her legs in the air, and with a flash of those gold lace-up sandals, she spread her legs.

The round curves of her ass cheeks against the glass desktop formed a sort of platter for Honey's sweet meat. All those shiny folds of pink-brown flesh, it was like those party trays with ham and roast beef sliced so thin it looked like a crumpled piece of satin.

That was what this girl's big, brown clit and shaved pussy lips looked like. All Duchess could do was bend down to indulge in this most feminine delicacy. First, she ran her tongue up one lip, down the other. All the while she was grinding her pussy against Duke's leg.

Honey cupped her big, juicy breasts, sticking her tongue out to lick her own nipples. Duchess wrapped her lips around the plump brownberry, and delicious shivers wracked Duchess' body.

Duke felt it, so he raised her a little, yanked down the bottom half of the cat-suit, and shoved his huge, rock-hard dick inside her. She gasped into Honey's pussy. Then she did the windshield wiper motion. Honey quivered immediately.

“Ooooh, Duchess, you do that good.” Honey frantically sucked her own nipples, staring with hungry eyes down at Duchess, who was peering over a bald brown hill, the dress crumpled around her waist and under her boobs. “You eat pussy like a pro.”

As Duke thrust up into Celeste, he reached around and stuck his index finger inside Honey's pussy. His knuckles bumped Duchess' wet chin. Duchess pulled back to watch, loving Honey's round, juicy ass pressed down on the glass desk, two circles forming a base for that fat, plump, bald pussy dripping honey as sweet as the name implied.

Duke's fingers pumped in and out of her pussy. His dick slammed up into Duchess' pussy. She shivered faster, more intense. Her nipples were hard as rocks between her fingertips.

She loved the sight of his beautiful brown hand contrasting with Honey's meaty folds.

Honey's pussy was wide open in her mouth; it was a dream.

So was Timbo inside her right now, giving Celeste what she needed.

The fireball between Duchess' legs was about to explode.

Honey was quaking, moaning, shrieking, clawing, pulsating around Duke's finger.

Duchess screamed as orgasm melted her core. But she was terrified, because her veins were pumping red-hot opium. It just melted her mind into a raw, fiendish mass that would make her do anything to get more of the sweet stuff she just sampled with Duke and Honey.