Sister Souljah - Life After Death

When I finished showering, I couldn’t find no towel in his dark bathroom. So I stepped out cautiously, dripping wet and butt naked. When I did, there were now twelve flames up high each atop of a metal pole. I didn’t see him, though. However, I could see his fucktastic gymnastics bedroom, that was out of this world. It was not expensively designer decorated. It was not made of sterling silver, platinum, gold, or even pearls. It was made only of sturdy steel. What made it dope, though, was its uniqueness. This nigga had a huge bed covered by a black silk duvet, black silk sheets, and six black silk pillows that were not too fluffy. That was all high-end normal, but what made it ill was the bed was enclosed by a network of monkey bars! The same monkey bars we had in city parks, except his was much wider and taller and more intricate. The mattresses sat in the middle. The bars ran high up to the high ceiling overhead and to the left and right and front and back and side of his bed. It was elaborate. In big city parks, the monkey bars were made for a bunch of kids to go climbing and swinging all at once. But his bars were higher and stronger and apparently made for one man, him. I walked around amazed by his setting and slowly searching for him. I was turned on by his hide-and-seek. The heat from the flames soon dried off the droplets of water from my shower. My skin was warming. When I rounded the back of the bars I looked up. He was hanging up there naked. No, he was doing chin-ups on a metal chin-up bar and his dick was definitely longer than his tail. Now all I craved was to feel his strong stroke that he guaranteed he had.

He must’ve felt my feelings. “Grab hold of both my ankles,” he said as he lowered his body overhead where I was standing. I did. He restarted his pull-ups with me holding on like crazy beneath him. After six pull-ups, my fingers began to slip. He jerked his body sideways, which threw me down to his bed. I loved the feel of the fall. Beneath the silk duvet, his mattress was not soft. He leaped down swiftly and flipped me over facedown. It felt like under the silk bedding there were rubber thorns. Next thing I know, this nigga got his nose pressed deep into my ass. Both of his hands were pulling both of my butt cheeks open. He withdrew his nose and hands and then laid on top of my back.

“You overdid it,” he whispered in my ear. “The asshole is too clean.” I ignored him. I was concentrating on how good the weight of his body felt on my back and the rubber thorns felt pressing up against my front. He put his hands in my hair, massaging my scalp. All niggas do that with a bitch like me. They are each amazed that my silky long black hair is real and grown up from my scalp. Most chicks catch fever if a nigga even thinks about putting his hands in her hair upsetting her glued-in, stitched-in, laced-in, braided-in weave.

Massaging my shoulders, my feminine diamond-cut back, my tight waistline, and my rump, he eased off of my body. Without leaving his bed he slipped some kind of cloth around both of my ankles and my body jerked up feet first. I was in a dangling upside-down type of headstand. With both of his strong hands, he pulled my legs apart until I was stuck in an upside-down split. When he had me in the position he obviously planned to have me in, he buried his face in between my thighs and began “cleaning” my pussy with his tongue. I didn’t notice it when we was in his black Jag, but his tongue was unusually long. It was sweeping into each area of my most intimate space. I was trapped in the good feeling he was making me feel. Then he sucked where he had been cleaning and held the suck until my insides bursted in his mouth. It felt so incredible. He knew he was good at it . He pulled his face back and said, “I promised to clean it.”

He reached up, released my ankles, and I fell to the mattress again in the midst of multiple orgasms. It created such a thrill in me. I was out of control of my impulses. He leaped down beside me on the mattress and looked into my eyes. I wanted him to tongue-kiss me. He didn’t. He plunged into me with that hard, strong and thick, long flesh pipe. It was the strongest stroke. He was right. It was the best feeling. Each pump created such intense pleasure it felt like even my eyes would pop out of their sockets. Cumming continuously, I ran out of breath and energy even though he was doing all of the work. He flipped me around. Next thing I know he pushed into my asshole before I could say “No! I don’t get down like that.” It was either before I could say no, or was I really with it? Was I so overstimulated that I just let it happen? Wanted it to continue?

Several strokes later, the twelve flames went out all at once. I couldn’t feel him pumping anymore or the weight of his body pressing down against my back. I was in complete blackness once again. Shocked, I couldn’t feel my arms, my legs, or my own pussy anymore. The feeling was not even numbness. Even numbness would have been a feeling. It was as though my arms and legs no longer existed. My body felt like it was just one long flowing thing without a sturdy spine. I need to get to a mirror, was my instant thought. Then I remembered that a dead bitch doesn’t have a reflection.

But hadn’t he made me come back to life though? Didn’t he give me limbs that feel and a pussy that pulsated? Didn’t he say he saw me clearly and even described what I looked like accurately? So maybe I will see my reflection this time . But how will I find a mirror in the dark? And even if I find one, I still won’t be able to see. How could my body move forward without legs and arms? Before I could formulate the answers to my own questions, I was crawling without legs or arms, fingers or toes. But clearly I was moving forward searching for a mirror. I smelled something I had not noticed before. I lifted my head a little and felt light-headed. I was realizing that now I was hungry. I had never been hungry since I was shot dead. My mouth involuntarily opened widely, then snapped shut solidly. I was chewing meat, soft bones and blood. I was swallowing, satisfying my hunger on the floor, in a corner, in the dark.

A doorbell or a ringtone, I couldn’t tell the difference. But I heard his voice answering. He wasn’t on the floor where I was. He wasn’t even on the bed where he and I had been seemed like seconds ago. His voice was coming from way up high. He must have been sitting at the tip-top of his monkey bars or maybe he decided to do a few more chin-ups. How could he do more exercise after that thorough sexual workout?

“UBS, what’s up?” I heard him say rough but gently, affectionately. His tone caused me to feel pissy because he wasn’t speaking to me.

“You’ll never know what’s up, you filthy bottom-feeder,” a female voice answered back. Seemed like he had her on speakerphone and I swiftly figured it was his ex.

“I know you love me. You’re always prowling around my territory,” he said coolly.

“The devil is a liar every time,” she said, passionately but calmly at the same time.

“What did you call me for? I know not just to disrespect my father,” he said strangely.

“Your father can go straight to hell,” she said hatefully.

“That’s funny,” he laughed genuinely.

“What did you do with my mother?” she asked oddly. I thought it was bizarre. Ex-lovers heated over their parents! “You and I need to make a deal this time,” she said desperately.

“Too late. It’s over. If you don’t want to come to my playpen, talk face-to-face in my bedroom, you and I will never have any deal to make, or anything to discuss,” he warned and invited her at the same time.

Next I heard the sound of fireworks, like on the Fourth of July. I suddenly saw explosions of sparkles. That bitch must’ve been real mad. But if she wasn’t here in his bedroom and she was on the phone, how did the fireworks happen?