“Mmmmmm, Trenda! Don’t stop! Suck that muthafucka!” Darius yelled as he ejaculated.
Trenda Fuqua, the sultry, short, thick, beige-colored woman wiped cum off her chin, cheek and neck. “I told you to tell me before you nut; I damn near got some in my mouth!” She stood, snatched the long blonde wig off her head and threw it in his face. “You know I don’t drink babies.” She then glared at him and thought, not yours, anyway.
Darius reeled his dick in and zipped up his pants. “It ain’t gonna hurt you to swallow every now and then, baby!” He grinned and rubbed her short, neat, rusty-red afro. “Besides, it’ll make your hair grow.”
She slapped his hand off her head, picked up her purse and removed her equalizer—a stainless steel Butterfly Knife she called “Baby.” In three quick flicks of her wrist, the razor-sharp blade left a two-inch scratch across his tan, flat stomach. “Bitch! Are you crazy?” He wiped the small beads of blood with his fingertips, looked at it, then glared at her. “I should knock the shit out of you!”
She held the blade inches from his navel. “Next time you put your hands on my head without my permission, I’ll show you what your intestines look like.”
He smiled as he put on his white T-shirt, bulletproof vest and dark blue uniform shirt. “That’s no way to talk to a friend.”
She closed up the Butterfly, placed it back in her purse and removed a tube of rose-colored lipstick. “You stopped being a ‘friend’ once you started shakin’ me down for your sick-ass sex fantasies.”
He buckled his utility belt and adjusted his pistol as she applied a coat of her lipstick. “From what I hear on the street,” he picked up his uniform cap and placed it on his faded haircut, “I’m the only friend you got. I heard last week that one of the ‘deliveries’ you made to Orlando came up two-hundred-and-fifty-grand short. Now the Island Boys are lookin’ for you. And you know those Haitian gang-bangers don’t play.”
“That’s some bullshit. You know goddamned well it was your punk-ass partner, Tyrone, that robbed me.” She fixed him with an icy glare as she put away her lipstick. “And I know you got half the money.”
He walked over and stood in front of her. “You might wanna watch ya mouth.” He grinned as he gazed at her bare breasts. “Besides, that’s the kinda shit that happens when you’re late with my payments.”
She picked up the wig, placed it in her purse and glowered at him with her green eyes. “Kiss my ass; don’t make me have to turn your dirty ass in…I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ you no more.”
He upholstered his Glock, snatched her by the throat and placed the barrel in the cleavage of her thirty-eight D-cup breasts. “Look, you dope-runnin’ ho’, you got it twisted; I’ll tell you when it’s over. And don’t you ever threaten to tell anybody, anything about me. You got that?”
She thought about what he and his partner did to her connection, Diamond, two years ago and continued to stare him down. Darius grimaced and gripped her throat tighter, cutting off her air supply. Her toes barely touched the floor as the six-and-a-half-foot tall man choked her. I swear on everythang you gonna pay for this shit,she thought right before he tossed her on the motel’s worn-out carpeted floor.
He stepped over her as she fought to catch her breath. “I’ll see you here at the same time next week. Bring the short-haired blonde wig with you.”
A rain-filled burst of wind attacked the room as he opened the door and left. She staggered to her feet. Time to end this bullshit.
© 2011 Curtis L. Alcutt