Cairo - Deep Throat Diva

“Fifty says I can make this bitch’s jaws lock,” the nigga wearing yellow shorts says. He pulls out a fifty dollar bill, slapping it on the pool table. Red Shorts bets him.

“Yeah, aiight,” Red Shorts says. “Make it lock, muhfucka.”

Yellow shorts steps up to me. I look up at him. “Damn, this bitch is sexy,” he says, pulling his shorts down. His dick is real short and fat. I keep a straight face, slipping him in my mouth. It doesn’t take much effort to swallow him. But the nigga proves me wrong. His dick is a grow er, not a show er. It starts off small, but grows into a long, thick dick. I slurp and gargle and slob him down until his knees start to buckle. Niggas in back of him are cheering him on. Hooting and hollering. But in the end, he loses. The nigga starts shooting his seeds all over the place. Everyone laughs. “Yeah, muhfucka,” Red Shorts says, sparking another blunt. “Just what I thought, nigga. That bitch’s neck game is da truth.”

The rest of the night these niggas take turns getting swabbed. Finally they decide they want to get creative and have me crawling around on the floor. Shouting out orders like: “Get on ya fuckin’ knees.” When I don’t move quick enough someone comes at me yelling, “I said get on ya gotdaamn knees, bitch!”

Someone else yells, “I’ma fuck that throat real good. Crawl, bitch.”

Then someone else demands, “Look at this dick, bitch! Look at how hard you got it. I’ma face-fuck the shit outta you. Open your motherfucking mouth. Say, ’Aaaaah’, bitch!”

“Where the fuck you think you going, bitch? You’re going the wrong way. Crawl ya ass over here …”

“Nah, fuck that,” another nigga says. “Bring ya ass over here. My dick needs to get wet, too…”

“You surrounded by a buncha dicks, bitch…suck ’em all…there you go…suck on all them fuckin’ cocks,” another nigga shouts.

“Open wide, bitch…Say aaaah.”

“Aaaah, shiiiiiiiiit. This is one deep-throat suckin’ bitch, yo…”

“Lick my fuckin’ balls, bitch. Yeah, teabag them shits.”

This shit goes on for what feels like forever. There’s a long glob of spit hanging from my chin. Cum dangles from my lashes, drips from my nose, is smeared all over my face. My knees are starting to burn; beginning to ache and bleed from crawling on the concrete. I’m gasping for air; gagging. Gulping in air.

Every last one of these masked niggas have made me feel cheap and dirty. But I suck them and make their knees buckle and their bodies shake, holding back my tears. I want to get out of here. Every so often I turn my eyes over toward Calm One. He watches me quietly, reassures me with his eyes that this shit’s almost over.

I continue sucking, continue slurping, continue teabagging until they all can barely stand. Calm One finally walks over and puts an end to the show. He tells them all it’s a wrap. Tells them they need to get me out of here. He helps me up off my knees. Walks me back over to the chair, then handcuffs me. Everyone stands around bragging, gloating, and clowning those who nutted faster than the others. Then they all follow Calm One upstairs. It isn’t until the door closes that I keel over and throw my guts up.

When the door opens again, someone shuts the light off. It closes. And I am sitting here in pitch darkness. There are no sounds. No one is stirring around upstairs. I think I hear steps creaking. But I am not certain. I can’t say anything. Then out of nowhere there’s a dark shadow swiftly up on me. I can’t make out who it is. Everything is black. He is wearing all dark colors and a mask. A gloved hand quickly goes around my throat and, at any moment this nigga—whoever he is—will either beat me unconscious or kill me. The latter seems to be his intention.

Iawake in excruciating pain. There’s a vicious throbbing in my head. I try to open my eyes to take in my surroundings. But… my left eye feels heavy as if someone has placed a weight on top of it from being punched in it. My right eyelid flutters. I attempt to open it against the bright white lights, but it is too goddamn painful. I can hear a machine beeping next to me.

Slowly, reality finally sinks in…He didn’t kill me. He left me for dead. But I am alive! Somehow, I am in the hospital. I am not sure if I should be thankful that those crazy motherfuckers didn’t murder me like they threatened, taunted, they would. Or if I should be pissed the fuck off that they didn’t.

My lips burn and feel cracked and sore. I attempt to swallow, but my throat is raw and dry. There’s a tube in my right arm. Probably an IV tube, I think, wincing at the thought of having been blindfolded and beaten and choked and forced to do sexually degrading things to a room full of unknown niggas who took turns having their way with me—fucking my throat, nutting in my mouth, my face, while slapping me around. OhmyGod, I hope none of them niggas gave me an STD, or infected me with HIV or Hepatitis. How the hell will I ever be able to look at Jasper? What do I tell him? That I was kidnapped? Raped? That I sucked a bunch of dicks and turned a few niggas out? What can I possibly tell him?

Someone comes into the room and starts fumbling with the tube in my arm, checking my fluids. A nurse, I believe. As she’s leaving from my bedside, someone else enters the room. Jasper , I say in my head. Before he ever opens his mouth, I know it’s him. I can feel his presence; smell his scent.

“Is she okay? Has she awakened yet?” I hear him ask.

“She’s stirred some,” the female voice says. “But she hasn’t actually opened her eyes. Her vitals are good, so that’s an excellent sign.”

I try to speak, but my jaw is wired. My lips are dry. My body is weak and sore. I groan, wanting to lick my chapped lips.

“Hey, baby,” he says. I mumble words inaudible to him, forcing my one eye open. Jasper’s face comes into view as he takes my hand into his. He smiles at me. “Don’t try to speak, baby. You had me worried as fuck, yo.”

I scan the room the best I can with one eye. See the nurse walking back into the room. He tells her I’m awake. “I’m going to get the doctor to come in and take a look at her,” she replies, turning around.

“Aiight, cool,” Jasper says.

“How long have I been here?” I ask, straining. It hurts to talk; it burns when I swallow. Four days, he tells me. Tells me an early morning jogger found me lying in the park, bloody and unconscious, and dialed 9-1-1.

“Why would someone wanna do this, yo? You know how fucked up I’ve been over this?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper, turning my head from him. How the fuck do I tell him that I literally sucked a looney nigga out of his crazy-ass mind? How do I tell him that I was bored and horny and got caught up posting ads for oral sex? That I’ve become a full-fledged cock and cum whore?

“Damn, baby. You had a muhfucka so fuckin’ worried ’bout ya sexy ass. Word is bond! You had a nigga stressin’ hard, yo.” He squeezes my hand, then brings it up to his full lips and kisses it.

Jasper becomes quiet, staring off into the distance. I watch him out of my one good eye, wondering what’s going through his mind. He looks tired, worried. And my heart aches, knowing that I’m the cause of his troubles. I squeeze his hand, bringing his attention back to me. When he turns to look at me, I notice tears gliding down his face.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I hear myself asking in my head, feeling myself becoming overwhelmed with care and concern and guilt and love for him. “Talk to me.”

He shakes his head as if he can hear me. “I’m so fuckin’ glad you aiight, feel me? This shit…not knowin’ where you were had ya man fucked up, for real, yo.” His voice trails off as he’s wiping his tears. “I’ve never cried over no fuckin’ chick before, yo. That’s how fucked up this shit has been for me.”