Cairo - Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

I frown. “Nigga, you ain’t my man. And you ain’t runnin’ shit.”

“Whatever, yo. Shut that shit down, Kat. And let’s make this shit pop wit’ us. I’m tryna play for keeps, baby.”

I tilt my head. “What are you sayin’?”

He walks outta the den. Tells me he’ll be back. That he wants me to open the box he brought me. He walks back in, carryin’ it under his arm, handin’ it to me. “Open it.” I sit down on the sofa, then untie the ribbon, liftin’ the lid. The flowers are beautiful. Two dozen orchards and birds-of-paradise.

“Thank you,” I say, liftin’ up the card, then pullin’ it outta the envelope. I read it: I LOVE YOU, KAT, MORE TODAY, THAN THE DAY BEFORE. I WANNA BUILD A LIFE WIT’ YOU, BABY. WANNA BE ALL THE MAN YOU’LL EVER NEED. LOVE, YA MAN FOR LIFE…

“The flowers and card are beautiful. But you still haven’t told me why I should give you anotha chance.”

“There’s another box inside there,” he says, liftin’ up the flowers, then pullin’ it out. I blink. “Kat, I’m not goin’ anywhere. You’ve cursed me out, pulled a gun out on me, and moved three thousand miles away, and I’m still here, still standin’, still feelin’ what I feel.” He opens the box. “I love you, Katrina Rivera, and I wanna be ya husband, ya lover, and ya friend. I wanna grow old wit’ you. Raise mini-mes and mini-yous. And explore da world, and each otha, wit’ you—and only you. I wanna die knowin’ I loved you and you loved me back, baby. Will you marry me?”

I feel myself startin’ to hyperventilate. It feels like e’erything ’round me has stopped as I stare at the two-carat rock. My words get stuck in the back’a my throat.

“Ya peoples and my moms helped me pick out da ring. If it’s not what you want, we can go pick out sumthin’ else.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s beautiful,” I say, feelin’ myself becomin’ overwhelmed. I’ma fly, buttery bitch wit’ a buncha secrets. A cold-blooded killer, a ruthless bitch, wit’ dozens of bodies tagged wit’ ’er name on ’em. And—although I don’t plan on bodyin’ anyone else, I can’t say what I’ma do if I get the urge to pop anotha muhfucka’s top, like his if he tries to do me dirty.

“Well, baby…will you be my wife?” I look at ’im wit’ tears runnin’ down my face. I stare into his eyes as he kisses my tears. “Yo, you my fuckin’ heart, girl. Let’s make this shit official.”

I nod. “Yes,” I finally say in a whisper. I lean ova and kiss ’im in a way I’ve neva kissed any otha nigga. I kiss ’im wit’ a purpose I neva knew existed inside’a me. I kiss ’im wit’ more passion than I eva thought imaginable. And ’cause I’m that bitch, I slip my tongue deep into his mouth, and welcome ’im into the Kat Trap .

Cairo resides in Northern New Jersey. He divides a lot of his time between Jersey and southern California, where he is working on his next literary creation, Man Swappers. His travels to Egypt are what inspired his pen name. You can email him at: cairo2u@verizon.net. Or visit him on his website/blog at www.booksbycairo.com, or at www.myspace.com/cairo2u, www.facebook.com/CairoBlacktheauthor, or www.blackplanet.com/cairo2u

My panties are wet and my body is hot and ready. I am so fucking horny watching my sister, Porsha, down on her knees sucking dick. I watch as she bobs her head back and forth, making swishy-popping noises with her mouth as she slurps, gulps, and swallows the thick, eight-inch dick in front of her.

“That’s right, Sis,” I urge, grinning and sexily eyeing the six-foot-three, two-hundred-and-twenty pound, caramel-skinned stallion she’s kneeling before. He palms the back of her head, eyeing me back. My tongue traces my cherry-red painted lips. “Throat that nigga’s dick, Passion. Rock his top, like Mommy taught you.” She swallows him down to the base, juggling his balls in her hand. “That’s my girl. You’re making Mommy so proud of you.”

Porsha, aka Passion, enjoys connecting with a man’s inner spirit, empowering him to be less inhibited. She encourages him to relax, relate, release and…enjoy the moment.

I thumb my nipples and they pop up like chocolate Hershey kisses, eager to be licked, suckled, and devoured by his hot, hungry mouth. But, tonight, there’ll be no touching. He is only allowed to look.

“You like looking at these pretty titties?” I ask him, seductively shaking them at him. I lift up my left breast and flick my long tongue over my nipple. He pulls in his bottom lip. I switch to my right breast, then do the same thing. “You wanna suck these nipples?”

He groans. “Ohhh, yeaaaah, baby…aaaaah, fuuuuck…” I can tell Porsha’s head game is getting the best of him. He is straining to hold it together; struggling not to spill his creamy yogurt without permission.

“Motherfucker,” my other sister, Persia, barks, snapping her whip, “You better not cum until I tell you to. You understand me?”

“Yessssssss…uhhhh, shiiiit…”

My sister, Persia—aka Pain, is domineering and commanding. Tonight, she is the mistress of ceremony, if you will. She enjoys creating scenarios and role-playing almost as much as she enjoys administering pain. Although she’ll tell you, quick, that she is not a Sadomasochist, or a Dominatrix, she’s the one who enjoys wearing the latex and leather getups with six-inch pencil boots and red nail polish and lipstick, dragging men around by collars and chains. And you can see the gleam in her eyes every time she causes a man to whimper and beg.

And, then, there is me—Paris, aka Pleasure. I am turned on by watching my two sisters bring a man to his knees just as much as I enjoy having him watching me pleasure myself. I enjoy seeing a man experience intimacy, and allowing him to fulfill his hidden carnal desires while connecting with his fantasies. I am the one who lets them watch me fuck myself with fingers or toys, or a combination of the two, wishing it could be them lost in between the slick folds of my pussy. It is in the knowing that he can not touch, that he can not smell, that he can not taste, the essence of my womanhood—unless, I allow him to—that brings me the most pleasure. I enjoy seeing a man experience sensual and sexual gratification. And, it is within the dark confines of his mind that my sisters and I transform deepest desires into flesh-to-flesh reality.

“Yes what, you sneaky motherfucker?’ Persia barks, bringing my attention back to her. “Fucking your best friend’s sister, you nasty motherfucker.” She walks over to him and snaps a nipple clamp onto his left nipple.

He winces. And bolts of electricity shoot through my clit. “Aaaaah…yes, Mistress Pain.”

“You like watching his mother, don’t you? You like gazing at her big, wet pussy?”

Bitch, you wish. My pussy ain’t big , I think, cuttin’ an eye at her. I smack the front of my pussy, then spread my lips so he can see for himself how tight it is.

He licks his lips. “Yes, Mistress Pain.”

“Tell your friend’s mother how pretty she is.”

Porsha sucks him ferociously, taking him all the down in her throat while she smacks, pops and pinches her clit.

“Aaah, oh, shit…” he moans.

“Look at his mother,” Persia says, turning his face in my direction, “and tell the bitch what a sexy whore she is.”