Sister Souljah - Life After Death

“Good job,” he said as he was now able to walk in and around with zero glass crackling. He took back his flashlight and returned with a pair of soft furry slippers, which he slipped onto my feet. “Get in the shower,” he said, “because I know you want to. But remember how I like it. Don’t overdo it.” I didn’t say nothing back. Of course I remembered. Leave the ass half dirty, and he will clean my pussy with his tongue.

He had lit a scented candle in the bathroom that normally stayed unlit and in complete blackness. There was a tiny vase with six dead daisy flowers. I appreciated the gesture. I never seen no plants, trees, or flowers down here. He must have went through so much to obtain these. In the shower there was a new bar of soap with the paper still on it. I unwrapped it. I’m happy. Under the warm downpour my mind began to wander. As I instinctively slid my hand between my thighs to suds up my privacy, it occurred to me a lot of shit changed since I was a teen. Niggas used to love the bush. Used to call it the nappy dugout. Now top bitches get their pussies waxed for smooth access and to receive better head, no hairs left between his teeth or caught in his throat. I laughed. I missed having manicures and pedicures. I missed shopping and switching up my hairstyles at the salons of my choice. Even in lockup, I could always get my hair done if I really wanted to. I could get my v-waxed too, believe it or not. But there was no reason to. I didn’t want to look good for a thousand locked-up bitches. Winter Santiaga is strictly dickly. I love to be top looker for the men to lust and the women to envy. Prison deads most of that freedom flow. But on the night before my release, I chose the top, most talented scrub girls, masseuse, hair and nail stylists on lock to doll me up precisely according to the designs in my mind. They knew it was a privilege. They knew it was a first and last golden opportunity. They each did their job as though they wanted to leave an impression on me that might pay off for them big time one day when they step out from the cage. Every inmate in there believed in their heart and bones that I was headed to becoming the realest and the brightest superstar.

“Don’t you want this dick?” His voice jolted me. I threw back the shower curtain and smiled in great anticipation. “Turn off the water,” he commanded me. I did. “Now, come here,” he said and I could already smell the scent of the weed. He shut the door, closing us both into the small bathroom space. He pulled the lighted blunt from behind him where he was holding it hidden inside of his palm. He turned the lighted blunt around and put the lit-up side in his mouth. He held it with his teeth and blew the weed shotgun smoke into my mouth and I sucked in like a champion. I don’t know if he laced his weed. But here at the Last Stop Before the Drop, the weed was three times more potent than any weed I ever toked.

Both nude and standing close together, I could feel our feelings as though they were filling up the air, replacing the shower steam that was there moments ago and mixing in with the smell of the soap on my body, the smoke in the air, and the scent of the weed. I felt his erection grazing my skin. He handed me a short glass. I wafted it and swooned on the aroma of Hennessy.

“Where’s your glass?” I asked him.

“This is the last glass left in the house,” he said as I swallowed. Ooh, my head was nice. I was feeling more than good. He relieved me of the now-empty glass, set it on the sink. He grabbed my hand, placed it on his dick. I held it gently like a tight leash. He led me this way as he walked out backwards into the blackened corridor without tripping on his steps.

Back in his playpen, all twelve torches were lit now. He laid me on top of the dinner table. There was no tablecloth or cutlery, plates, or food. I was nude on my back. He placed the linen stirrups, which now hung over the table, onto my ankles. Then he spread my legs eagle, squatted down, and stood back up holding the Hennessy bottle in his left hand. I was like, Hell yeah, that’s my shit! My pussy trembled when he poured the liquor inside of my most intimate space. The shocking coldness caused me not to say nothing. In what seemed like seconds he was lapping up the liquor with his long tongue. Wonderama!!! Oh, what a feeling. He kept the licking coming. His stirrups kept my legs spread all the way open. I came so hard my body jerked up into the sitting position on top of the dinner table. I wanted to thank him, give him head as passionately as he gave me. I leaned further forward to remove the stirrups. He kicked the table out from under me with his powerful legs. I was now hanging upside down. My head was close to the floor. He walked behind where I was hanging and buried his nose into my ass and began whiffing. Whiffing turned to him spreading my cheeks and licking there, which no man had ever done. I was helpless and overwhelmed and overjoyed. He then slid his body beneath me. Must have sensed that I wanted to please him. It was quite a maneuver to give upside-down head. But, I locked my lips around the tip and my hands around his pole, like how I held onto the moving pole of the merry-go-round horse long ago.

He spanked my ass six times. Even that felt good. “You were the sexiest with the scar. What happened to it?” he asked. It was the first time I was proud of the scar. And in the momentum of pleasing him, my lips locked around his joint, I even wished I could bring the scar back. He removed the stirrups, broke my fall, and carried me with one arm like I was a beach ball or a basketball he was about to play with. He sat me on his weight bench in the straddle position. He adjusted the back of it to recline partway. He moved a pin to steady it, and it clicked into the locked reclined position. He fucked me in such a way that my back could not move and there was no resistance. When he stroked, he would hit the target each time. It was more than the friction of our flesh or the dimensions of his pipe that thrilled me. It was the choreography of a sexual encounter with him. It meant to me that he knew exactly what he wanted me to feel and how he needed to design it to deliver the highest sexual high.

“Stand up,” he ordered me off the bench after a full stroking, but my legs were still trembling and a bit wobbly from the orgasms and maybe the weed-Henny mixed somewhere in it all. He yanked me up. Pushed his right hand’s pointing finger in my pussy hole and thrust his thumb in my ass. He steadied me this way, held like how a nigga carries a six-pack, while his left hand adjusted the bench. He withdrew both fingers. He pushed me down face-forward on the same weight bench that was now locked into a position where my head was by the floor and my ass was up high. He spread my ass cheeks and plunged between them. “I really like you, bitch,” he said as he stroked. “And your ass is the most comfortable to me. That’s good,” he said as he stroked again. “I’m an ass man,” he added. The whole sexual encounter was perfect, minus those four words , I’m an ass man, which, come to think of it, he said in the heat of his own passion. Still, I didn’t like it.

It didn’t seem to matter though. The twelve flames that he had lit when I was showering all blacked out at once. The weight of his body was off of me. Somehow now I was on the floor instead of his weight bench. I got immediately worried. I didn’t want to be back crawling on my belly with no legs and no arms. I wasn’t! Whew! I had legs and I could feel and move them, all four of them. My tongue was hanging out and I was panting from the athletic sexual experience. I tried to shake myself into a reality. Clear my weeded-Henny head and figure myself out. I laid on my belly. My front legs extended in front of me and my back legs tucked beneath me. Still panting, I couldn’t seem to close my own mouth or keep my tongue from hanging out. I wagged my tail. After I did, I didn’t need no lights or mirror to confirm it. I felt it. Now I, Winter Santiaga, with my same mind, fully awake and aware, was a real, bona fide bitch! I had turned into a fucking dog.