Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

I wave, tauntin’ her. “Bye, bye, sweetie. Get the fuck outta here wit’ that nappy ass weave, you raggedy-ass bitch. And, on ya way out the door, make sure you think ’bout me while I’m fuckin’ what you can’t have tonight; toodles.”

I purposely say this to set her off more. And it works. She starts yellin’ and screamin’ a buncha extras while bein’ pulled by the arm. I watch as she’s bein’ dragged outside.

Tone immediately starts apologizin’, leanin’ up in his seat. “Yo, I’m sorry ’bout all that. That broad is fuckin’ crazy; that’s why I stopped fuckin’ with her. If I woulda known she was gonna be up in here I wouldna met you here.”

“Don’t sweat it,” I say, watchin’ her exit the buildin’. “That bitch don’t really want it wit’ me, trust.”

After e’erything settles down, the waiter comes back askin’ if we want anything else. I decide I wanna have dessert. That lil’ ruckus done gave me the munchies. I order a peach cobbler. I watch as the waiter walks off, then asks, “So she’s the bird you were guttin’?”

“Yeah, something like that. We met at a club a while back and kicked it a few times. But I cut her off when I found out she was on parole. She got too many issues for me.”

I knew it! “Let me guess,” I say, keepin’ my eye on the door, “for assaults and weapons, right?”

He nods. “Yeah, and drugs. I ain’t with that. I’m tryna make things happen. The last thing I need in my life is that kind of bullshit.”

“Mmmph,” I grunt, twistin’ my lips up. “Well, looks like she done brought it to you.”

“And you know they’ll probably be outside waitin’ with a crew. But it’s whatever. My man’s in ’em will be on alert in case shit pops off. I just feel bad that I got you all up in it.”

I shrug, shakin’ my head. “I’m not fazed. Like I said, they don’t want it wit’ a bitch like me.”

He pulls his phone out and texts someone, then sits the phone on the table. He leans in toward me, restin’ his forearms on the table. “Yo, so did you mean all that shit you was sayin’ to her?”

“All what shit?” I ask, playin’ stupid.

“You know. How you’re gonna take me home with you…and you know…”

“Fuck you?” I finish for him.

He nods, pickin’ up his phone when it buzzes, lettin’ him know he has a text. “Yeah, that.”

The waiter returns wit’ my dessert. I wait for him to bounce, then say, “Is that what you want?”

He grins. “Hell yeah. Who wouldn’t? You bad as hell, ma.” He texts back, then sits his phone back on the table.

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.

CHAPTER FOUR

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