Master of Power #1

Master of Power

By Erica Storm

Copyright 2016 by Erica Storm

Copyright

Copyright © 2016 by Erica Storm

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. No reproduction of this book part or whole is permitted. This book should not be scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the author’s permission.

Copyright Page

Copyright Page

Chapter One: Tonya

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Books by Erica Storm

“G
o on. Get down on your knees and get it over with. You know you want to do it. Just get down on your knees. Yes. Yes.” I heard this loud sounding voice coming from the room as if two people were in there.

I hoped the sound didn’t travel to the room next to ours, because in a quick minute there would be security knocking at our door, or bursting through the door. When the phone didn’t ring, I knew we were safe. I guess they build some hotel rooms to keep the noise at a limit, but anymore outbursts like
get down on your knees,
someone was bound to hear the loud shouting, moans, and groans coming from our room.

I had just strolled out of the shower, and was drying my hair hoping the weather would be kind to my unruly afro curls. My hair only behaved when it was wet. When it dried, not even Prince back in the day could compete with my afro.

It’s been a full week at a conference. Well if you don’t count Saturday and Sunday. This is the last place I want to be, but after watching my boyfriend, Wayne, pack his clothes and leave me, I needed to get away, so I reluctantly accepted Tamika’s invitation to tag alone with her.

I didn’t blame Wayne for his sudden departure. He and I weren’t compatible anyway. He must have thought he had lucked out because he had latched onto a college graduate with an apartment. When he had to foot too many bills, he ran like a scared rabbit being chased by dogs.

We had nothing in common except my apartment. I invested four years working on an engineering degree and college debt. I wasn’t making any money after graduation, and the rest of the time going from job to job, and traveling to conferences that had nothing to do with my degree in engineering.

So I took whatever job I could get and that wasn’t enough to pay for an apartment and that’s where Wayne came in, and that’s where he left me. And that’s when I got an extra a job in sales because I couldn’t get any decent paying work with only a Bachelor’s degree. 

Finding myself in sales, in this engineering firm, wasn’t where I had envisioned myself. I had no aptitude for sales. I rarely associated with anyone in the company, so I lost that job and while on a part time job at a department store, I met Tamika Johnson looking for conservative clothes. And looking at her with those short see through dresses, it was none too soon.

Tamika is the kind of person who can get you to tell her anything. So I spilled my guts to her about my lack of a good paying job, Wayne, and my pending homelessness, and how I didn’t want to go home to live with my mother. 

She smiled and said that she knew about a research opening in a law firm, and it would pay much more than my sales job at a department store. It was about money what can I say? And money is what makes the world go around as my mother would say.

She had this saying also, “If you can’t spend it what good is it, and if you can’t spend what’s in a man’s pocket, what good is he?” She gave me that piece of old advice because she knew I was living with Wayne, and she didn’t like him. She had lots of saying but that’s just a few I could remember, and that’s one reason why I didn’t want to go back to living with her.

When I turned twenty-one I had heard everything my mother could tell me, and anything else she had to say, I tuned out. I just stopped listening.

When I graduated from school I had dreams of designing beautiful fast cars for women. After all it’s not your great grandmother’s time where the man worked, and she had to stay at home.

I’m twenty three and I come from a generation of kids where I’m considered one of those educated arrogant spoiled black girls who thinks the world owes her something, and it probably does, but it’s not about to pay off in my life time, so I find my ass without a man, in jobs I hate, and I have to go to a conference where the speaker is a white guy who talks about mastering the power in you.

From my perspective, I’ve mastered the power in me, and I’m bored because I haven’t found a man that turns me on, and doesn’t want me to pay half on the bills.

I want the power to find a man to take me in his arms, tie me up, spank my ass if he wants to, tell me he’s my daddy, but maybe not in that order, and pay some bills so I don’t have to be stressed twenty four seven. But lately the men I meet, want all those things, and I still have to pay half the rent, food, and utilities.

Maybe I could understand if a man wanted to spank my ass before sex. Maybe I could understand him wanting to tie me up as he fucked me senseless, but I couldn’t understand him doing all those things to me, and I still had to pay half the bills. 

I’ve been working and paying my own bills since I was sixteen, and I don’t know how to be anything other than a strong black woman, that’s why I don’t need this stupid conference, and that power guy can’t teach me shit about getting what I want.

“So why am I here?” I murmured. 

My plans today were to skip the lecture and take a train to Washington D. C. from Baltimore and see some of the museums. Maybe have lunch in Union Square with my friend Tamika. But she’s the one who watches everything, and I have to account for my whereabouts to her because she got our company to send me with her to this luxurious hotel for the week. All on the corporation’s expense account. And she has to make good on our whereabouts if we are to get paid.

We have to sign in and out of the sessions we’ve attended, and bring in a copy of the sign in sheet to the head of the department once we get back, and the last conference is a must because we have to make a presentation to the lawyers in our firm. 

“Why are you talking so loud, Tamika?” I say to her as I walk from the bathroom to the bedroom. “Someone will hear you and think something else is going on in here,” I said to her when I dropped my damp towel from my head onto the chair. I reached for the hair condition in my luggage and sprayed it on my hair. Then I stood looking into the mirror, which was next to the television, and I combed through my hair wincing every time I came to a tangle.

“You’re going to go bald if you leave your hair natural,” Tamika said.

“No. You’re going to go bald with that weave,” I replied. She never turned her face in my direction because she’s caught up with what’s on television. Finally, she answers my question.

“I’m not talking loud but it pissed me off when you see a woman act like this. I was just saying she should just get on her knees, and beg him to forgive her for sleeping with his brother.” She pointed to the television. “Look at him,” her head moving side to side, “with his fine ass. As fine as his ass is, she should beg him.” Her eyes never leaving the picture, she shouts, “Give him a blow job for fuck sake, he’ll forgive you.” 

She turns to me, “Even if he doesn’t forgive her, she still has that fine ass brother of his to work with.” I stopped and looked at the television.

“Look at the hands on that brother. I know he’s packing something serious between those hard thighs.”

“How can you tell?” I asked stopping and looking at the actor, falling into her time suck world of soap operas, and gossip shows.

Tamika’s eyes are glued to the screen. She was into this as if it was her in this movie.

“You can go on and still sleep with his brother, fool. This time, don’t let him find out, bitch,” Tamika shouts at the television as if she’s giving advice to someone that’s standing in front of her. “Go on girl suck his big brown dick. That will calm him down and make him forget that you let his brother fuck you in the ass,” Tamika said yelling and then falling back on the bed exhaling a large breath.

“You can take your shower now,” I say to her. She waves me off because she’s focused on the show and too involved and too invested in what’s she’s watching. 

Then Tamika points and waves her hand at the television, “Like don’t fuck him and give him a piece that’s so good that he’s willing to confess to his brother that he’s in love with you, bitch. You could have been sucking both those fine dicks, you stupid bitch. Oh, if I had one of those men, I would know what to do. Look at him. Isn’t he the kind you want to rub your lips on his face?”

I’m still raking my comb through my hair trying to get it ready. “He’s not my type. Get ready,” I moan because I want to get this over with so I can come back and get in the bed and get some rest. Tamika doesn’t look up she’s is still talking to the television, and I’m putting on my makeup. 

I turn to Tamika and I say to her, “Why do you watch those Spanish soap operas? You can’t speak Spanish and you can’t understand it. It would be different if it had subtitles.”

“Have you ever watched these things? You don’t need to speak Spanish. It has more drama and incest than Game of Thrones. And for your information, I’m learning Spanish,” she said dismissively while never looking in my direction. Her eyes are fixated on the picture. “I’m practicing my Spanish just in case I run into one of those hot Latin lovers.”

“There are plenty in New York. You should have run into one by now.” I didn’t think it was the time to remind her of her Hispanic boyfriend who had a wife and two children. She didn’t find out about them until it was too late. Too late meaning, he had fucked her everywhere and then some, and she had fallen in love with him.

“Yeah, but I don’t meet the ones that have money, and if you can’t spend it what is it worth?” Tamika says. She probably talks to my mother too much because she’s sounding just like her and I can’t tell the difference between them anymore. She’s starting to look like my mother, too. Tamika wears blond weaves in her hair. Maybe that’s because she hangs with my mother more than she hangs out with me.

I looked at her, I’m almost dressed for the conference, and she hasn’t taken her shower yet. I shouldn’t have asked her, but I did because I’m curious. “Why do you go places with my mother? I call you to go to dinner or the movies with me, and you tell me that you’re going out with my mother.”

“Because she’s more fun than you are, we can discuss the Spanish soap operas, and she gives me advice about men,” she says to me taking her clothes out of the drawers in the hotel room. Another thing about her that gets on my nerve. She makes herself at home no matter where she is. I hang my clothes in the closet, but my bras and panties are in a bag in my luggage. Tamika puts hers in a drawer in the hotel room.

“You’re taking my mother’s advice?” I question. “She’s not in your age group. Times have changed. Her advice is not relevant. She hasn’t had a man in years.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about your mother. She’s dating this guy that’s more than ten years younger than her,” she says with a smirk.

“My mother is fifty. Even forty is too young.”

“Well, she told me not to tell you, but I think he’s more in the range of thirty something. I saw him and he’s good looking and he’s built. Looking at his hands and feet he’s packing something serious and it’s not a gun. A woman could get hurt. But I say hurt me, please.” Tamika always says that. My mouth opens and I shut my eyes in disgust.

“What the hell?” I shouted.

“That’s what I said. He must be laying some serious pipe in her.”

“Why did you have to tell me that? Now I have to visualize my mother with some pervert.”

“That’s not my definition of a pervert. Just because he finds your mother hot and ready is no reason to label a man as a pervert.”

“Ok. Stop right there. No one wants to know that their mother is having sex and with a man that’s close to their age.”

“Well men do that all the time. That’s why I’m friends with your mother because she’s progressive and she doesn’t let a little thing like age difference bother her. After all, age is just a number.”

“Now you’re beginning to sound like her. This is too sick.” When I look at the clock it’s five pm. “If you don’t take your shower and get dressed, we won’t make the lecture.” I’m praying we don’t. But then it’s too late to go to the museum, and I have nothing to do but sit in this room and watch Spanish soap operas, and discuss my mother’s sexual habits with a woman who thinks my mother is the next coming.