Cairo - Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

I rest my arms up on the table. “You gotta lil’ dick?”

“Is eight-and-a-half little for you?” I peep the Shelly bitch slippin’ back into the restaurant. She walks toward the bathroom as if no one sees her slide through.

Oh, that crazy-ass ho done sealed her fate, I think, grinnin’. My pussy starts to moisten at the thought. She came at the wrong bitch, now I’ma bring it to ’er . “We goin’ to your place or mine?”

He smiles, lickin’ his lips. “Mine. I’m right over the bridge.”

“Have the waiter wrap this to go, then meet me outside by your whip. I need to use the bathroom real quick.” I grab my bag and strut off.

On my way to the bathroom I unzip my bag and drop my blade back in, pullin’ out another weapon of choice to do this bitch wit’—brass knuckles. I decide not to ice-pick ’er ass or slash ’er up; just break her damn face. I slip my fingas through the loops, then quietly push open the door. I’m relieved there’s no one else in here besides her. She’s still in the stall. I sit my bag on the sink’s counter, and wait. And the minute she flushes the toilet, then steps outta the stall, I hit the bitch dead in her throat, knockin’ her backward. She grabs her neck, gasps for air. I hit her in the mouth, splittin’ her shit wide open. Blood gushes out. I hit her again. “Bitch, what was all that slick shit you was talkin’? Pop that shit now.”

She is still gaspin’.

I kick her in the stomach, rammin’ my heel into her stomach. “You ain’t gonna fuckin’ do shit, bitch!” She keels over, and I hit the bitch again. Got the ho all discombobulated. I hit her ass again, then take her by her weave and slam her face ’n head into the wall. “I don’t know who the fuck you thought I was, but you shoulda did ya homework, Booga. I ain’t that bitch. And you lucky I’m in a good mood, otherwise ya ass would be needin’ plastic surgery. But if you ever”—I bang her dome into the wall again—“come at me sideways like that again, I’ma do a one-eighty ’cross ya face, then plant a bullet in ya skull.” I let her go and she slides down to the floor wit’ her grill all bloody, still gaspin’ ’n holdin’ her throat. I spit on her. “Dumb ass bird!”

I kick the bitch in her face, then step off, closin’ the stall door. I wash my hands, rinse off my brass knuckles then drop ’em back into my bag, poppin’ my hips out the door. Still fly, still fabulous…still that bitch! I glance at my watch, smilin’. I handled that trick in less than three minutes, not bad for a bitch who’s been outta commission.

I can’t front, seein’ that bitch’s blood spurtin’ outta her face, gotta bitch’s slit sizzlin’. I quickly strut out the restaurant door, past the three booga bears smokin’ and waitin’ on chickie to come back out. I overhear one’a ’em say sumthin’ slick as I flip open my cell and hit Tone up. I peep him standin’ by his car, waitin’.

“So, what’s up?”

“You might wanna hop in ya whip, like now, and burn rubber,” I quickly say, walkin’ by him toward my rental. “It’s ’bout to be a situation in the next few minutes, so peel out now . I’ll follow behind you.”

“Whatchu mean?”

“Nigga, get in ya whip and let’s roll out. I laid that bitch out on the bathroom floor.”

“Oh shiiit,” he says, hoppin’ in his ride, then pullin’ off. I jump in my whip and do the same, followin’ him over the bridge to his spot where I plan on rockin’ his cock wit’ thoughts of that bitch’s bloody face.

Muhfucka, don’t front…who da fuck you foolin’…I see it all in ya eyes…hot like fire…nigga wanna bitch to cream on da dick…tight ass gotta nigga droolin’…got ’em wantin’ to hit it ’n split it…ass clappin’…pussy snappin’…tongue lappin’ round dem balls…ready or not…can’t hold da nut…pressin’ on da clit…muhfucka’s dick’s ’bout to spit…

“Yeah, muhfucka suck the walls outta this pussy…oh, shit, yeah…run ya long tongue on my asshole…” I’m lyin’ on my back, smokin’ a blunt wit’ my right leg cocked up over Tone’s broad, muscular shoulder, pressin’ the heel of my foot into his back. I thrust my hips upward, grind up on his face. He’s slurpin’ ’n suckin’ all over my pussy; lickin’ ’round my ass, dartin’ his tongue in ’n out. I let out a moan. Palm the back of his head while blowin’ out weed smoke. “…Yeah, muhfucka, suck my ovaries out…aaah, yessssss…”

He looks up at me; licks his sticky lips. “Damn, ma…your pussy tastes like cotton candy. And ya asshole tastes even sweeter. I can eat this shit all night.”

“Then stop all that talkin’,” I say, pushin’ his head back between my thighs, “and get back on that clit.” He does what he’s told. I moan, again. This nigga’s body is sick! Muscles for days, and his dick…well, it’s thick as a damn can, but the nigga musta measured it usin’ a defected ruler ’cause it ain’t no where near eight—uh, eight-and-a-half—fuckin’ inches. Try six; maybe six-and-a-half, tops. But, his savin’ grace is that it’s a pretty golden brown dick. And it’s extra fat and juicy. Hmmph. This nigga gotta stumpy, Humpty-Dumpty cock.

See, had this been a mark, I mighta blew an extra hole in his skull for misleadin’ a bitch. I take another pull off the blunt, hold it in my lungs, then blow circles into the air. He pulls my pussy open, dips his tongue, then darts it in and out. In and out. “Oh, shit…Mmmph…” I reach for him, pull him up. “Get on ya back, so I can ride ya face.”

He grins, shiftin’ his body. “You wanna get it in sixty-nine. That’s wassup, ma.”

“Nigga,” I snap, pushin’ him down on his back, “ain’t nobody say shit ’bout sixty-ninin’. I’m tryna grind down on ya face. A bitch’s tryna nut on ya tongue, then suck my cream off’a it while you pumpin’ ya fat-ass cock in ’n outta me.”

“Do you, baby,” he says, layin’ back on a king-sized pillow. I take the last three pulls off the blunt, place it in the ashtray on the nightstand, then grab the headboard, straddlin’ his face, then droppin’ down on his mouth. He slurps, licks and darts his tongue all around my pussy lips, then in ’n outta my slit. As I’m grindin’ on his face, puffin’ on my blunt, I’m all of a sudden not beat for the nigga. Yeah, I’m moanin’, but his tongue work is only givin’ me mini-orgasms. I switch up my position, thinkin’ if I have my back to him and I stroke his dick that maybe I can get off lovely. I don’t. It’s not ’til I close my eyes and focus on that bitch’s bloody face that my nut swells and gushes out all over his grill. “Aaaaaah…uhhhh…yessssssssss…” He gags, almost chokin’ on the bucket of cream I dump into his mouth.

“Daaaaaaamn, girl,” he says, catchin’ his breath, wipin’ his chin ’n lickin’ his lips. “You got that sweet, creamy cum. And it gushes. I been with a buncha chicks but none of ’em ever shot a nut all over my face like this.” He licks his lips—again, then sucks his fingas. “Damn, you got that goodie-goodie. You can fuck ’round and have’a muhfucka slippin’.”

I grin, glancin’ over my shoulder at him through hazy, weed-filled eyes. This nigga’s a cutie and his body is fuckin’ sick, but I swear I’m really ain’t beat to fuck ’im, I think, reachin’ for his extra meaty cock. But I wanna see this fat-ass dick spit . I squeeze it, then begin slowly strokin’ it. I wrap both of my hands ’round it, spit on the head of it, then put in work. I rapidly jack his dick; edge the muhfucka to the brink of blastin’ off, then slow down the pace, leanin’ over and twirlin’ my tongue ’round the head. The nigga moans. His dick gets thicker. And for some reason the muscles in my pussy start to contract.