The Kat Trap

He laughed again. “I am, baby. I am. You got a nigga’s shit bricked, real talk. But I can wait. Trust me. I’m a real patient-type cat.”

“And good things come to niggas who wait,” I said, gettin’ back on Interstate 15, hittin’ sixty. Ugh, if I’da been in my own whip, I’da been pushin’ a hundred by now. I ain’t gonna front, talkin’ to him and smokin’ that blunt had me feelin’ real relaxed and fuckin’ horny. A bitch was ready to fuck. I’ma do this mark tonight. “Listen, I’m outta town for a few days and I’m on my way back to the hotel. Can I hit you up later?”

“Most def,” he said. “Be safe, baby.”

“Thanks. I will,” I said before disconnectin’ the call.

By the time I got to back to the hotel it was almost 9:45, and I still hadn’t eaten. So I ordered some Chinese food from this spot up the street from the hotel and had it delivered. Since it was only Monday night, and my mark still had another four days left at his conference, I had hoped to quietly knock on his door to try ’n get a feel of this nigga. If things went well, maybe get a dose of dick tonight, and again two more nights before I slumped his ass. But of course I got sidetracked and ended up chillin’ in the room.

Besides, Cash had called just before I got outta my rental to see what was good. He wanted me to murk his ass tonight, but I told him no. I assured him I’d have a bullet in the nigga’s head before midnight Wednesday. I wanted to watch him for a minute—see how he moved, then make my move. In the meantime, I wanted to do a little sightseein’, and see what was poppin’ with the nightlife. I had heard the Gaslamp Quarter was live Thursday thru Sunday, and a bitch wanted to stretch this trip out as long as I could to see all of what beautiful San Diego had to offer.

After my shower, I blazed another blunt and paced the floor in my purple lace panties with my titties bouncin’ free and my hair wrapped in a white towel. I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand: 11:19 p.m. I slid open the patio door, then stepped outside. I smoked my blunt, starin’ out at the marina. It was absolutely gorgeous and peaceful out. Definitely a night for deep, slow fuckin’.

I finished the rest of my blunt, then slid my hands down in my panties. I pressed on my clit, brushed my finga ’cross it, teasin’ it while lightly pinchin’ my nipple. A bitch was horny! Unh-uh, I need more than this. I stopped what I was doin’ and raced back into the suite. I dumped open my bag, grabbed what I needed, took a towel from outta the bathroom, then went back outside.

I laid the towel across the patio chair, sat down, then draped my legs over the arms of the chair and slid the head of my dildo into my pussy, teasin’ my slit with the tip. I rested my head on the back of the chair and pushed my make-believe dick in halfway, then quickly pulled it out. I did it again and again until I couldn’t take it anymore, then plunged it deep into my pussy. I moaned. I wanted some real dick bad, needed to be fucked rough. I slammed my dildo in and out of my pussy with one hand and jerked my clit off until I shot my nut all over the dildo. I pulled it outta my wet, sticky pussy, then sucked the juices off it. A bitch was spent. I got up and took my ass to bed.

Seven a.m., I was up, showered, dressed, and on my way out the door for breakfast in the waterfront restaurant. If my hunch was right, I’d catch my mark there. I walked through the tropical garden, and couldn’t believe how beautiful it was. The parrots and pond set it off just right. I peeped the pool and all the swayin’ palms and decided I’d have to do a few laps before I bounced.

When I stepped through the door of the restaurant, I quickly scanned the area. Voila! Just like I suspected, my mark was sittin’ at a corner table, readin’ a newspaper and drinkin’ a cup of coffee. I had to give it to him, for an older cat, the nigga was fine and definitely fuckable. I switched my ass toward an empty table two tables away from him. I made sure I sat where he could see a fly bitch in all her goodness. Even in my brown bob-cut wig and brown contacts, I was sexy and sensual. I stood up and removed my brown crochet poncho. Underneath, I was rockin’ a brown one-piece Lycra cat suit. The shit clung to every curve, wrappin’ ’round my ass and titties like a perfect glove, while showin’ off the imprint of my fat pussy. I had it zipped down low ’n sexy, lettin’ a muhfucka know what time it was with my titty game.

After the waiter took my order, I got up and headed toward the bathroom, passin’ my mark’s table. I caught his eye, and smiled. His eyes lit the fuck up as he returned the smile. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good mornin’,” I replied, keepin’ it movin’. I took my time in the bathroom, standin’ in front of the mirror. I pressed on another coat of lipstick, then twirled a strand of hair, makin’ sure it was on point. The last thing I needed was tryna be fierce with a lopsided wig piece. As I was comin’ outta the bathroom, I hoped my mark was still at his table. He was. And I purposefully threw an extra shake in my ass as I walked by, takin’ my seat. I swept my eyes ’round the room to see what was what. There were a few square-type niggas at another table with two nondescript bitches, and a slew of white muhfuckas, definitely nothin’ to write home about. Humph. Then came this blonde-haired, blue-eyed, bombshell-type chick outta the bathroom. She walked by with her head up. She musta been in the stall, I thought as she waltzed by.

This ho was dipped in ice. I peeped her Jimmy Choo slingbacks and Louie Louis bag. Alright, you betta work, bitch! I glanced over my shoulder to see who she was with. She took her seat at a table on the other side of the room with a cluster of white chicks with they faces beat to death with a bunch of pressed powder and whatnot. But you could tell them bitches were paid out the ass.

When my order came, I peeped my mark glancin’ over at me several times. I smiled at him and slid my fork in and outta my mouth nice ’n slow and very sexy-like, lickin’ my lips. He smiled back. Yeah, nigga, I know you want some of this good pussy. I see it in ya eyes. Don’t worry, muhfucka, I’ma let ya dip ya tongue up in it.

I even peeped a few white cats eyein’ me on the sly. They knew a classy bitch when they saw one. And I was servin’ it lovely. E’ery so often, my target would look up from his paper, and I’d flirt with him with my eyes just to fuck with him. There’s somethin’ ’bout the way a man looks at me that lets me know just what’s on his mind. I took a few more bites of my fruit salad, sipped my glass of water with lemon, then slowly got up to leave. I watched him eye me as I slipped my poncho over my head. I flirted with him with my eyes, then smiled. He smiled. I winked and blew him a kiss, then turned on my heels and sashayed toward the exit, lookin’ back to catch him with his eyes glued to my ass. I smiled again, then strutted out the door.

Then the next two mornins I did the same shit, eyein’ him real sexy, lickin’ my lips and whatnot, baitin’ his ass, then gettin’ up and leavin’ abruptly. I was fuckin’ with the muhfucka, lettin’ him know what was really good without words. And he obviously heard me, ’cause on the fourth day, he got up from his seat, walked over to my table, and spoke. That’s right, big daddy, come on over to lil’ momma.

“Mind if I join you?”

I let my eyes linger over his body, focused on the center of his crotch, then slowly looked up into his eyes. “Not at all,” I said, smilin’.

He went back to get his things, then returned to my table and sat across from me. “So, tell me,” he said, leanin’ forward in his seat and restin’ his elbows on the table. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing here all by herself?”

I stared into his eyes. Although I knew they were brown, they almost looked black. And they sparkled. I noticed specks of gray in his mustache and beard. Damn, this old nigga was fine.

“Waitin’ for a man like you,” I said as I licked my lips.

He smiled, blushin’ ’n shit. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely.”

“Stanley,” he said, stickin’ his hand out to me. I allowed my hand to get lost in his grip. Hmm…I can’t wait to feel them big hands squeezin’ this ass, I thought.

And I’m horny. I smiled. “Natasha,” I offered. Then we spent the next thirty minutes talkin’. He was an architect from Upper Marlboro, Maryland, and had been in San Diego for over a week. Although I was actin’ like I was really listenin’ to him while he rattled on ’bout his corny-ass architecture conference, I wasn’t beat. I nodded and smiled, and gave him what looked like my undivided attention. But the only thing on my mind was tryna figure out how I was gonna get into his room, get at his dick, then shut his lights. I ain’t gonna front, his deep Barry White-soundin’ voice had my pussy lips flappin’ open. But the nigga—fine and all —was a fuckin’ bore. And that’s capital, B-O-R-E. Humph…I could see why his wife divorced his tired ass. I tried so fuckin’ hard to look interested in him goin’ on and on ’bout his buildin’ designs and his love for classical and jazz music. Oh my God, I wanted to splatter his fuckin’ brains right there on the spot.