The Kat Trap

“I’m serious, nigga.”

His hand slid between my legs. His fingas played with my clit. “I’m serious, too. Go ’head, tell me what you want, baby.”

This nigga was fuckin’ with my head. All my thoughts, e’erything a bitch wanted to say, got stuck in my brain. I let out a moan. “I want…uh, I mean…”

“That’s right, baby,” he whispered, slippin’ and dippin’ his two fingas in and outta my pussy. “Let daddy give you what you want.”

I moaned again.

The phone rang. It was my house line.

“Let it ring,” he said. “Whoever it is…let ’em call back. Right now, you all mine.”

After the eighth ring, it stopped. My heart started racin’. “I told you this pussy ain’t at ya disposal,” I said, clampin’ my legs ’round his hand. He dug his fingas deeper, like he was searchin’ for somethin’. He pressed harder, deeper, brushed my clit with his thumb. Found what he was lookin’ for. I let out a loud moan, humped his hand, yanked my head back and started buckin’.

“That’s right, baby…yeah, just like that. Bust that nut for daddy.” I grabbed his dick, stroked it. Nice ’n slow. Squeezed it; rubbed my finga over the slit, felt the precum seepin’ outta the head of his dick. “Yeah, baby. See what you do to me? You got my dick on brick.”

“We need to talk.” I pushed out in between another moan. The nigga had another nut swellin’ up inside of me.

“I’m listenin’,” he said, kissin’ all over my face, my lips, then my neck. He took his free hand and grabbed my titty, then leaned over and stuck my nipple in his mouth and started suckin’ all over it like he was thirstin’ for milk. I thought he was gonna stuff my whole titty in his mouth. He gently rolled my nipple between his teeth, then pressed down, lightly tuggin’ it.

I let out a loud moan.

He pulled his fingas outta me, stuck ’em in my mouth, then rolled up on top of me while I sucked my sweet sticky juice off of ’em. I opened my legs as wide as they could go so he could lay his dick on my pussy, teasin’ my clit.

“Fuck…oh, God…”

“You gonna let me put this dick up in this good pussy?” he asked, breathin’ all heavy in my ear. His dick was feelin’ so good pressed up between my swollen lips. My clit throbbed. “C’mon, baby…let daddy get up in this wet pussy.”

Now, I know a bitch said no—well, at least I thought I did—but, somehow the shit didn’t sound like me. The nigga had his hands roamin’ all over my body, and was kissin’ all over me—my face, my neck, my shoulders, my titties, my stomach, my pussy, my knees, all the way down to my toes. Then he turned me over and started kissin’ the bottom of my feet, my calves, the back of my thighs, my ass cheeks, my asshole, then all over my back. And before I knew it, he had pulled open my ass and slid his long dick deep into the back of my pussy. E’erything I thought I wanted to say to his ass ’bout thinkin’ he was gonna fuck me whenever he wanted, ’bout him thinkin’ he was gonna have me and them two other bitches on his cock, ’bout not tryna put claims on me, ’bout me not bein’ built to compete with no bitch for a nigga’s attention, went right outta my head.

“Uh…mmmph…oh, yes,” I moaned. “Mmmph…mmmph…uh…”

“Yeah, baby…this good, tight pussy’s all mine…is this hot pussy mine, baby?”

Hell no! I screamed in my head. But the words got jumbled up in the back of my throat and came out soundin’ like a string of deep moans. He locked his arms up under mine, then slow fucked me, askin’ the question again. The nigga had my pussy poppin’ like a firecracker; sparks were shootin’ all through me. I pumped and twirled my hips, clutchin’ his dick with my pussy muscles, but a bitch never said one way or the other if this pussy was his or not. Sometimes it’s just best to let a muhfucka think what it is he wanna think, so that’s exactly what I did. I moaned and groaned and nutted all over his dick, never sayin’ a word.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Bitch, you got a lotta fuckin’ nerve, talkin’ reckless to Tameka,” Tamia spat into the phone.

I rolled my eyes. I knew it was only a matter of time before this ho was gonna call tryna get at me. But on some real shit, I wasn’t in the fuckin’ mood.

“Bitch, get over it,” I snapped. “That shit you talkin’ happened almost two weeks ago. I ain’t even thinkin’ ’bout ya trick-ass sister. If I wanted to get at that bitch I woulda been served her, trust.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she huffed, blowin’ air into the phone. “You always tryna talk slick ’n greasy, bitch. You need ya ass beat down for real, for real.”

“Well, it won’t be that ho who does it,” I said, shiftin’ the phone from one ear to the other. “And it definitely won’t be you.”

“Whatever. You don’t really want it.”

“No, ho, you don’t want it.”

“Kat, on some real shit, I ain’t beat for ya ass, okay.” She blew into the phone again. “I swear, bitch, if this wasn’t an emergency, I wouldn’t even be fuckin’ with ya stank ass.”

“Bitch, what are you talkin’ ’bout…emergency? What the fuck happened?”

“I know you and ya moms beefin’ ’n shit, but I thought you might wanna know she left up outta here on a stretcher. I think her and that dude she’s fuckin’ with got into it.”

I blinked, blinked again, pullin’ the phone from my ear and lookin’ at it before puttin’ it back up to my ear. “Excuse me?” I asked in disbelief. “What did you say?”

“Ya moms left in an ambulance. I heard she was unconscious…”

Tamia’s voice started driftin’ as I thought about all the muhfuckas my mother let run in and outta her life; all the times I watched her balled-up, cryin’ over a nigga; saw her face all beat the fuck up, heard her beggin’ a muhfucka not to leave her. Countless times she got caught up in bullshit off-again, on-again relationships. Niggas knew she was weak, and they knew what to say to get her right where they wanted her—lost and all fucked up in the head over ’em. Muhfuckas smelled her weakness a mile away. And I hated them for usin’ her, and I hated her even more for bein’ weak and stupid enough to let ’em.

I felt like my life was flashin’ before my eyes as I half-listened to Tamia and thought ’bout all the times I ran in tryna pull a muhfucka up offa my moms, or jumped in the middle to keep the nigga from hittin’ her, or how I’d fight him, and she’d somehow always find a way to flip the script and blame me, like it was my fault the nigga was beatin’ on her ass. Like it was my fault the nigga bounced. And she’d spend days, sometimes weeks, not fuckin’ speakin’ to me, ignorin’ me, treatin’ me like I was fuckin’ invisible, takin’ her fucked-up life out on me. This is the woman I’m ’posed to feel sorry for; the woman I’m ’posed to trust and love when she always puts a muthafuckin’ nigga before me. I’m ’posed to embrace her with open arms like she really ever gave a fuck ’bout me. Yeah, well…I tried that shit. And it got me nofuckin’-where. I’ll be damned if I get sucked back into tryna save her ass from herself.

“…We all outside, and they takin’ her to Kings County,” she continued. “The police got the nigga all cuffed up ’n shit.”

I sighed. “T, thanks for callin’, but she’s on her own. I ain’t breakin’ my neck for her ass, not this time. Not ever again, real talk. I’m done tryna save a ho who ain’t tryna be saved.”

“Kat, that’s real fucked up. That’s ya moms, regardless.”

“Oh, well. Life is fucked up, and so is she. So she gets what she gets. And that’s what it is.”

“Bitch, is you fuckin’ nuts? You mean to tell me you can’t get over yourself for one minute to check for ya moms?”

I sucked my teeth. “Exactly,” I said. “Let’s be clear: I don’t give a fuck. So pump ya brakes. I don’t get up in ya relationship with ya moms, so don’t try ’n serve it up in mine. That chick, moms or not, is a grown-ass woman, and she’s responsible for her own choices, not me. So, I ain’t tryna get caught up in ’em. She’s made her choices, and I’m makin’ mine. And a bitch chooses to keep my distance from her ass.”