Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang (18 page)

He busts out laughin’ and I can’t help but to start laughin’ wit’ ’im. “Yo, you mad funny…you just fucked up my rhythm.”

He slow grinds into me. “Uhhh…whateva, muhfucka…”

He leans in and starts kissin’ me, then pulls his dick outta me, and starts eatin’ my pussy again, lickin’ ’n lappin’ all over it. I can’t front, this muhfucka eats pussy like it’s supposed to be eaten—non-stop lickin’, slurpin’, kissin’, flickin’, and tonguin’ every nook and cranny.

He raises up on his arms. My juice coats his lips as he hovers back ova me. He presses his dick up against my clit, slaps it, runs it along the center of my pussy, pushes it back in, then leans in and offers me his lips ’n tongue, again, so I can suck up my cream.

We finally change positions. And the only thing you hear is my pussy slurpin’ his dick and his balls slappin’ da back of it as he fucks me from da back, fucks me from da side, fucks me on the edge of the bed, fucks me standin’ up, fucks me bendin’ ova the chair, fucks me on top’a the dresser. Basically, he fucks me all ova da damn place. And I’m fuckin’ ’im back. I got da nigga moanin’. He got me moanin’. I’m goin’ for mine. He’s goin’ for his.

“Aaaaaah, shiiiiiiit, baby…aaahh fuck, the pussy so goooood… gotdaaaamn…”

I’m buckin’ my hips. He’s buckin’ his. “Mmmmm…fill my pussy up, muhfucka…that’s right, stroke that shit, muhfucka…”

“Daaaaaamn, baby…aaaaaah, fuck…aaaaah, shit…”

Eventually we end up fucking missionary wit’ me lyin’ top, then I sit up and ride ’em rodeo-style, leanin’ in and puttin’ a titty in his mouth. He sucks my nipple, twirls his tongue ’round it, while lightly pinchin’ ’rollin’ my other nipple between his fingas.

I close my eyes and milk da nigga’s dick, liftin’ my hips up, then rockin’ his top wit’ da mouth of my pussy.

“Aaaaah, shit…”

“You like that, muhfucka?”

“Fuck yeah…” He grips my ass, slaps it ’n makes it jiggle. “I been waitin’ for too muhfuckin’ long to get up in this shit…aaaah fuck…”

“You wanna see this pussy gobble up ya dick?” I ask, slowly turnin’ my body ’round on his shaft. I keep turnin’, twistin’ my pussy ’round on his cock ’til I’m facin’ his feet. I lean forward and brace myself on his shins, givin’ ’im a backshot view of my pussy suckin’ down his dick.

“Aaaaaah, shit…oooh…that’s wassup, baby…pussy so damn tight…hmmmm…mmmmm…” I show da nigga how a real bitch rides a dick. Show how ’em a freak-nasty bitch can handle a dick. I bring my pussy all the way down on the nigga’s dick, bounce my ass up on it. “Aaaaah, fuck, yeah…aaah, shit this pussy’s good…”

I cup his hairy balls, lightly squeeze ’n pull ’em. I speed ride the cock. Gallop up ’n down on the shit while playin’ wit’ my clit.

I glance ova my shoulder. “Stick ya finga in my asshole.” He does, and my pussy grips his dick tighter.

“Daaaamn, girl, you grabbin’ that shit!”

“You wanna see my nut splash all up ova it?

“Yeah, baby…give me that nut…ohhh, shit…dirty Daddy’s dick up…aaaah, fuck…you gonna let me get some more of this pussy?”

“Uhhh, oooooh…”—I slam down on his dick—“…hell nooooooooo, muhfucka…this is all da pussy you gonna get…mmmmmm…”

He lifts up and, somehow, in one swift move the muhfucka has me lifted up off’a the bed and he’s standin’ up, fuckin’ a bitch for filth. He dips at the knees, thrusts his dick up in me while slam-min’ me down on it. Long strokin’ my pussy; feedin’ my cat deliciously. I lay back on his chest, reach down ’n play wit’ my clit, and let the muhfucka rock my pussy ’til my cream shoots out and runs down the shaft of his thick dick, and along his balls.

“Daaaaamn, I need’a blunt,” he says, catchin’ his breath. “That shit was good as hell. You gotta muhfucka hooked, wit’ that fat, juicy pussy.”

I laugh, reachin’ for a blunt. I spark it, then take two pulls, slowly blowin’ smoke. “Nigga, puhleeze. Picture that.” But, a bitch already knows she got that bomb-ass pussy.

I hand ’im the blunt. He shifts his body, raises up on his forearm, and takes it from me. I watch ’im pull it up to his thick lips, and puff. He looks at me. He strokes my hair, then rubs the side of my face. “Look, ma, I don’t know what it is ’bout you, but a muhfucka’s really diggin’ you.” I raise my brow. “What?”

I shake my head.

“Yo, you think I’m bullshittin’, don’t you?”

“I think you’ll say whateva you think I wanna hear at da moment.” I take the blunt from ’im.

“Nah,” he leans in, kisses me on the lips, then stares me in the eyes. “True story, baby. You gotta muhfucka open.”

I blink, blink again. Shake my head. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

“I tell you what. You don’t believe me. Let me introduce you to da only woman whose ever meant anything to me. She’ll keep da shit funky and tell you what it is.”

“Oh, really? And who is that?” He takes another pull off’a the blunt, leans ova me, puttin’ it out in the ashtray, then blows weed smoke up at the ceilin’. “Well, muhfucka, who is it?”

He grins. “My moms. E’ery Sunday I have dinner wit’ ’er. I want you to meet ’er. She’s as real as they get, and she’s a good cook. She ain’t gonna front on you.”

I twist my lips up. “And you want me to meet ’er?”

“No doubt.” He gets outta bed. I watch ’im as he walks ova to his pile of clothes. He pulls out his cell. “I’ma put it on speaker so you can hear it for ya’self since you think a muhfucka’s front-in’ on you.” I sit up in bed, proppin’ a pillow up in back’a me. He shakes his dick at me while the phone rings. I roll my eyes. “And when I’m done wit’ this, I want some more’a that pussy, too.”

“Whateva.”

“Oh, you finally decide to call,” a woman says, soundin’ like she gotta taste of the streets in ’er.

He smiles. “You know I was gonna be hittin’ you up, sooner or later.”

“Mmmph, so who you whorin’ wit’ now, and where?”

I give ’im a look, shakin’ my head. “He laughs, starin’ at me. “No one, ma. I’m chillin’.”

“Yeah, right. And I’m goin’ blind.”

“Nah, real talk, ma. I’m good. But there is someone I want you to meet.”

It sounds like she’s chokin’ on sumthin’. “Say, whaaat? You want me to meet who, a woman?”

He laughs. “Yeah, ma.”

“Who is she?”

He looks at me. “This beauty I’m diggin’.” I suck my teeth, rollin’ my eyes up in my head.

“Who?” she asks, soundin’ shocked. He repeats himself. “I thought that’s what I heard you say. Are you alright? Have you banged ya head on something?”

“Yeah, ma, I’m good. And no I ain’t banged my head. Why?”

“Boy, something must be wrong ’cause you ain’t never called here wantin’
me
to meet any of your lil’ girlfriends.”

He keeps his eyes on me. Okay, so the nigga ain’t neva brought any of his hoes ova to meet his moms. I can’t front. I’m caught off guard wit’ this. I’ve neva met any nigga’s moms before. Still, I’m smart enough to know that that shit still don’t mean nuthin’.

“Yo, ma, they weren’t girlfriends.”

“I know them lil’ hot-ass hoes weren’t. I’m tryna be nice today. Does this
beauty
you want me to meet have a name?”

“Yeah, Kat.”

“Kat? What kinda damn name is that?”

He looks ova at me. I raise my brow, twistin’ my lips up. “Yo, ma, chill. That’s her nickname. It’s Katrina.”

“Mmmph. That’s more like it. Does Katrina know ’bout all them nasty-ass hoes you…” I grin, startin’ to like’ ’er already. He takes ’er off’a speaker.

“Yo, ma, chill, aiight. I gotta bounce. I’ma be thru Sunday… yes, I’m bringin’ ’er wit’ me…Aiight, aiight, I got you…See you Sunday…love you, too.” He turns his phone off, walkin’ back ova to the bed, holdin’ his dick ’n grinnin’. “Now what?”

I smirk, spreadin’ my legs ’n pullin’ open my pussy. “You tell me, muhfucka.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Family is overrated…hoes been hatin’…dislikin’ da facts a bitch been statin’…bringin’ it raw…gotta bitch wantin’ ta throw up da hands…fuck bein’ related…step outta pocket…a bitch knockin’ sockets…breakin’ jaws…ain’t shit to understand…

“O
hmiiiiiiifuckin’gaawd, Kat, you are really outta fuckin’ control cursin’ ya grandmoms out like that. That shit is straight disrespectful ’n nasty.”

Me and Chanel are chillin’ at my spot, doin’ what we do best. Blazin’ ’n poppin’ mad shit ’n cursin’ each otha out. I finally decided to fill ’er in on the rest of the hospital drama wit’ my nutty-ass family. As you already know, Chanel’s my
only
true friend. And I got mad love for the ho ’cause, on e’ery thing, she ain’t gonna tell me what the fuck she thinks I wanna hear; she’s gonna serve it to me just how I dish it to ’er—raw. Still, a bitch ain’t always tryna hear the shit. And today happens to be one’a those days.

I roll my eyes, flickin’ my hand. “Oh, well. Life’s a bitch, boo. She had no business comin’ at me da way she did.”

“It doesn’t make a difference how she came at you, bitch. That’s still ya grandmother.”

“Bitch, be clear. I’ma grown-ass woman; I don’t give a fuck
who it is. You bring it to me wrong, you gonna get handled. You act like I come at these hoes tryna bring da noise. No, sweetie. A bitch stays mindin’ ’er own business. But these bitches stay tryna serve me. Sorry, boo-boo, I ain’t da fuckin’ one.” I take another puff of the blunt, then pass it back to ’er.

“Kat, c’mon, ya
grandmoms
? It’s one thing you dissin’ ya moms and ya aunts, but ya grandmoms. That’s some foul shit. No matter what, she’s da one person you ’posed to always respect.”

“Says who?” I get up from table to check on the lasagna I have in the oven. Yeah, believe it or not, a bitch cooked. I remove the foil so it can brown on top, then start choppin’ up da lettuce, then slicin’ cucumbers for our salad. “Tell me what handbook that shit’s written in so I can smack da shit outta da bitch who wrote it.”

She huffs. “Bitch, there ain’t no damn handbook. You ’posed to respect ya elders; period, point-blank.”

I tilt my head. “Again, says who?” When she can’t give me an answer that makes sense to me, I add, “News flash, Sugah: It’s kinda hard ta respect a bitch who ain’t neva did shit for you. When a bitch ran away from home ’cause I couldn’t take all da bullshit Juanita was into anymore, that old-ass ho told me I couldn’t stay wit’ ’er. Da bitch told me she didn’t have any room for me. But she had room for all’a Elise’s kids when ’er ass was in prison. I came to that bitch cryin’ ’n she flat out told me ta take my ass back home. Didn’t say I could stay for da night, then go home; nuthin’. She straight out told me I couldn’t stay there; that a bitch wasn’t welcomed there. And you expect me to respect ’er. Fuck outta here. Grandmother or not, she can lick da inside’a my asshole. And I’ll leave it filled wit’ a buncha shit for ’er.”

Chanel coughs, chokin’ on weed smoke. “Ugh, that’s some nasty shit right there.”

“Oh well.”

“Bitch, I still think ya ass is crazy as fuck. I’m glad ya ass at least came to ya senses where da baby’s concerned.”

“Mmmph. That lil’ muhfucka is lucky. ’Cause trust, had I not walked in on them bitches doin’ that sonogram, it woulda been scraped out ’n tossed in da toilet.” Chanel stares at me, then blinks ’er eyes. I shrug. “Whaaat? I’m keepin’ shit real.”

“Whateva. All that matters is that you didn’t. We gotta lotta shit to get done before da baby comes home. I’m kinda excited ’bout bein’ an auntie.”

I stop choppin’, snappin’ my head in ’er direction. “Whoa, whoa…pump ya brakes, boo. What da fuck is you talkin’ ’bout?”

“I’m talkin’ ’bout da baby. After it’s born, aren’t you takin’ it?”

I buck my eyes, shakin’ my head. “Bitch, I
said
I changed my mind ’bout pullin’ da damn plug. I ain’t say nuthin’ ’bout bringin’ no baby up in here. Where da fuck you get me takin’ a baby outta that?”

She tilts ’er head, frownin’. “Ummm, it’s ya lil’ brotha or sista, so why da fuck wouldn’t you?”

I look at ’er ass like she’s one’a the dizziest hoes alive. “Ho, I gotta life, that’s why.”

“So you mean to tell me you’re gonna abandon ya own blood; is that what da fuck you tellin’ me?”

“
Abandon?
Ho, I ain’ abandonin’ shit. It doesn’t know me. And I don’t know it. So how is that me abandonin’ it?”

“It’s ya blood. It’s a baby you know exists, and instead of step-pin’ up to da plate you turnin’ ya back on that innocent baby.”

“Sweetie, that baby can go into foster care. I’m sure some family will adopt it, and hopefully do right by it. But, this bitch ain’t da one.”

“Let’s see. Abandonment, neglect, self-centeredness…hmmmm,
once again, here you go soundin’ more ’n more like ya moms.”

Hearin’ this shit for the second time from ’er makes my skin crawl. And she shuts me the hell up wit’ that. The only comeback I can think to say is, “Like I said, I gotta life.”

She laughs. “A life doin’ what?”

“Doin’ me.”

She shakes her head, tightly rollin’ another blunt. She seals it. “Oh, puhleeze.” She sparks up, then takes it to the dome.

I stop slicin’ tomatoes. “And what is that ’posed to mean?”

She gets up and walks ova to me wit’ the blunt danglin’ from ’er dick suckas. She takes another pull, then hands it to me. “Bitch, it means, yeah you gotta life, but ya ass ain’t really livin’ it. You fuckin’ existin’, that’s it.”

I stare at ’er. Raise a brow. “Oh, so I guess you’re livin’ life, but a bitch like me is only existin’, right? Bitch, puhleeze.”

“I neva said I was livin’ shit. I know I could do betta, but I’m good. The difference between me and you is I’m not goin’ through life pissed off at da world.”

I take two pulls from the blunt, then pass it back to ’er. I go back to finishin’ up the salad. “Sweetie, I ain’t pissed at da world. I’m pissed at bitches who keep tryin’ it on my time; simple as that.”

“Yeah, okay, boo. If you say so.”

“Think what you like, but I ain’t takin’ on another bitch’s problem. As far as I’m concerned my good deed is lettin’ da lil’ thing live, not raisin’ it.”

“Ohmiiiifuckin’gawd, I done heard it all. See, that’s ya fuckin’ problem. You so busy lovin’ ya’self that you don’t know how to love anyone else.”