Trap House

Copyright 2011 G Street Chronicles

Published by:

G Street Chronicles

P.O. Box 490082

College Park, GA 30349

www.gstreetchronicles.com

[email protected]

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above. No part of this book may be
reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without prior written consent from both the author, and
publisher G Street Chronicles, except brief quotes used in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. It is not meant to depict, portray or represent any particular real person. All the characters,
incidents, and dialogues are the products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any
references or similarities to actual events, entities, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to
give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, entities, places, and incidents is entirely
coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other
people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each
recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please
return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author/
publisher.

Cover Design

Hot Book Covers

www.hotbookcovers.com

Ebook formation

G&S Typesetting & Ebook Conversions

[email protected]

Like us on Facebook

G Street Chronicles Fan Page

Follow us on Twitter

@gstrtchroni

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, All Praise is for Allah! The most gracious, who taught the Qur’an, created
man and taught him eloquent speech.

Next, to the woman who gave me life and class…my mother, Diedra, and then the woman who
did the same for her…Grandma Rainey.

To my Ummah worldwide, may the peace, blessing and mercy of Allah be upon us all.

To Amira, Zakiyyah, Halima, Abdul-Haseeb, Khalif, Khalil and Iyana…we will always be
family.

My children Erv-G, Derrick and whats her face.

To those of my family who supported me, I can not thank you enough. I have a lot of words in
me, but none adequately express what you mean to me.

To all my dudes trapped in the belly…keep ya heads up. Specifically: Stack (Cascade) Slim,
Zaki, Zaid, Kabir, All the Abdullah’s, Sayyid (Sav) Omari, Makeen, Ali Rock, Boon, Signature
(Bx), Knowledge, Subur, KG (Albany), Abdur-rasheed (Columbus), Paul (Snoop) Mobley, John
Sabir, Hamza (Sweet!), Skeem Aleem, Ketchup, Ali (Brick City), Talib, Sideeq, As-sideeq, Basir,
Isa, both Qawi’s, Amir(Young Money) Rafi, Donald, Sharif, 1440, Hakim, Yi, Andrew Mayes,
K.O. (Bx) Buckhead, Milk, B-bop, Dex, Bilal and anyone I forgot.

Also Tariq Khan (Quran and Sunnah), Imam Shamsid-Deen, Bunny, Kimani Chris Barnes (Bx),
Lisa Jones (Bx). My ATL people, Terry B-large, Fernando, Dwayne, Tack, Ant, Derrick (Rap
City) Tucker, Dondi Gant, Omen (Bx), O-P, King Stan, and the whole city of Atlanta, my second
home!

My dude Sherm…good looking out, putting me on the team. Let’s take it to the next level!

And finally, all of my brand new fans. Thank you. I appreciate the support. God willing…this
is just the beginning.

Holla Back

[email protected]

Dedicated to:

Zakiyyah Nix-Salaam

Laylah (ride or die)

Trap House n.) A place in which drugs are bought, sold and or consumed.

Crack (krak) n.) (slang) A highly potent and purified form of cocaine for smoking.

Junkie (Jun’ ke) n.) 1. A narcotics addict 2. One who is addicted to a specified activitiy.

CHAPTER 1

P
.I.G. owned and operated traphouses of every level all over the city. Some catered to
professionals who liked to smoke their crack in comfort, while others were absolute dumps
in the heart of the ghetto.

His headquarters consisted of a modest one-story brick house on Moreland Avenue. It had
once contained three bedrooms, two baths, and a kitchen unit, but P.I.G. remodeled it. He closed
off the kitchen, incorporating it with the master bedroom. It was where P.I.G. cooked and cut and
processed the dope, and he also used it as his living space.

The rest of the rooms were gutted out into one large area adjoined to the living room. This room
was for the smokers. The walls were lined with sofas and large pillows for customers to lounge on.
In the middle of the room was a large open area dubbed “the stage.”

Although his other houses did the majority of his business, P.I.G. preferred to be there where the
action was. These were the customers who spent thousands and the ones most likely to entertain.
They were the freaks who would do anything if enough crack was involved.

After petty arguments among the junkies turned violent a few times, P.I.G. started Friday night
fights. The affair was complete with weigh-ins and all the pre-fight hype of authentic matchups.

Most of the time there were sex acts of varying vulgarity going on around the room. P.I.G. kept
a state-of-the-art digital camcorder hooked to a large plasma screen mounted on the wall. This way,
he could watch all the perversions and save them for posterity.

* * *

P.I.G. glanced around at the occupants of the room with disdain. Everyone was feverishly pulling
on their straight-shooters, oblivious to his need to be entertained. His curiosity was suddenly piqued
by an escalating exchange of words between two junkies.

“Bitch! Didn’t I tell yo’ funky ass not to push my stem,” yelled Mojo, one of the regulars. He
was upset that Kim, another fixture, and pushed his pipe in his absence.

Crack pipes, known as “shooters” or “stems,” will accumulate a great deal of residue that can be
pushed to either end and smoked again. Most junkies use this once their supply runs out, but when
Mojo made a beer run, Kim cleaned out his stem.

“Shit, nigga! You took too long,” Kim shot back.

“Bitch, it don’ matter how long I took. That’s my shit!” Mojo replied, now standing over her.

Kim knew the next words out of her mouth meant the difference between getting the shit slapped
out of her and possibly getting some more to smoke, so she chose her words carefully. “Aww, chill
out, baby,” she purred, rubbing her palm against his crotch. “I’ll make it up to you.”

P.I.G. saw a freak show on the horizon and decided to help it along. “Go on and give him some
of that dome. I’ll set something out once y’all done.”

“Man, that don’t do shit for them grams she pushed out ma shit,” Mojo complained meekly as
he undressed. He was a hardcore junkie and couldn’t care less about a blow job—or anything else,
for that matter. He’d long smoked away his job, his wife, his kids, and his home. He preferred to
smoke, but he knew a good performance to entertain P.I.G.’s whims would garner more than the
reside Kim stole from him. Mojo dropped his pants, allowing his twelve-inch penis to swing free
between his thighs like a clock pendulum, the claim to fame that allowed him entry to P.I.G.’s inner
sanctum.

People who knew of P.I.G.’s licentious fetishes would bring freaks from far and wide. P.I.G.
was known to pay a finder’s fee for extraordinary sexual deviants.

Kim, likewise, was kept around for her ability to swallow objects like twelve-inch penises. If
not for crack, she could have had a career as a sword swallower or a circus freak. She was said to
give the best head in the world. Given the fact that she could not only get a crackhead up but off,
the rumor was probably true.

P.I.G. trained his camera on the couple, filling the fifty-five-inch screen with the action. To
everyone’s relief, Mojo got an erection; given the amount of cocaine he’d consumed, that was no
small feat. He was “ooh”-ing and “ahh”-ing for P.I.G.’s benefit as he long-stroked Kim’s face. She
maintained eye contact with P.I.G., gagging loudly every time Mojo pushed past her larynx.

P.I.G. began rocking back and forth as if he was the one deep down in Kim’s throat. He had a
raging hard-on, but masturbating was out of the question. It was not that he was above it, but he
was simply too fat to get a good grip on himself.

The couple knew that P.I.G. could get excited enough to ejaculate from visual stimulation
alone, and they could tell by the looks of him that he was close. Experience also taught them that
prolonging the experience was to their benefit.