Trap House (22 page)

“Oooh wee! Time to brush yo’ teeth,” Wanda said in jest as she looked around the spare room.

The room was empty except for a queen-sized mattress on the floor and a camcorder on a tripod
facing the bed. Marcus obviously fancied himself a mini P.I.G.

“Whatcha tryina cop?” Marcus asked, flopping back on the mattress to go back to sleep.

“Nigga, you been sniffing my ass for a year, and now that I hand-delivered the coochie, you
treat me like a customer,” Wanda said, peeling off her clothes.

Marcus was now fully awake and grinning from ear to ear. “That’s what’s up!” he exclaimed,
reaching to pull her onto the mattress.

“You gotta go slay that dragon first,” Wanda teased.

Marcus was up in a flash to go brush his teeth.

While he was gone, Wanda picked up the shooter next to the bed and loaded it with a large
chunk of crack from the plate on the table.

From the bathroom, even over the sound of running water, Marcus could hear the familiar and
tempting sizzle of the drug being smoked. He didn’t know what he wanted to hit first, the pipe or
Wanda. He was rock hard thinking of both. Marcus stripped in record time and lunged on the bed.
He tried to get in between her legs, but they snapped closed.

“You gotta kiss her and get her ready,” Wanda purred.

Marcus snatched his grill out and dove between her thighs.

Wanda pulled her legs up from the back of her knees, putting herself in the buck. “Mmm…eat
that pussy,” Wanda said, preparing to fake an orgasm. To her surprise, Marcus licked and sucked
her so well she came for real. “Come on and get you some of this wet-wet,” she purred, pulling
him up.

As soon as Marcus got inside her, he began humping wildly. “You like dis dick?” he demanded
to know. “Tell me you like this dick!”

“Ooh, Daddy! You beating this pussy up,” Wanda replied, trying her best not to laugh. At the
rate he was going, he was going to blow his load before she got him to commit to her plans. When
his breath grew ragged and his eyes began to roll into the back of his head, Wanda pushed him out
of her. “Hold up. Lemme ride that big ol’ dick,” she said, causing him to grin at the compliment.
When she slid down onto him, she began to whisper in his ear, “You gonna help me get some get-
back?”

“Yeah! At who?” he asked, flailing his head from side to side as she rode him. At that moment,
Marcus would have agreed to kill the Pope, the president, and whoever else she told him to.

“Mike. I want you to kill Mike,” Wanda purred as she contracted her vaginal muscles.

It was too much for Marcus, and he let loose inside of her. “Don’t worry. Ima kill dat fuck nigga
first chance I get!” Marcus swore once he caught his breath.

“Well, Ima give you the chance and the keys to his condo,” Wanda said, squeezing his rapidly
deflating dick.

The couple then commenced to smoke the rest of the day away. Marcus actually turned his
phone off, as he didn’t plan on making any more sales that day.

It wouldn’t be the first package he’d fucked up. Pony was giving him plenty of rope to hang
himself, and Marcus was quickly tightening the noose.

CHAPTER 20

F
ueled by Mike’s promises of being together and living together, Tiffany was tricking like
there was no tomorrow. She was servicing four to five men a day. Mike often told her he
loved her and then sent her off to sell herself.

Her steadily increasing consumption of cocaine had her senses numb. In her drug-induced
stupor, she pretended she was an actress. Each customer met a different persona, depending on
their desires. There was the sweet, demure Tiffy, who was shy and innocent, almost virginal. Then
there was Sasha, the stone-cold freak. Tiffany could read a man in seconds and would simply zone
out and turn her body over to one of her alter-egos.

She was in such high demand that Mike split her earnings 50/50 and then raised her fee. With
the money she earned, Tiffany was able to live the lifestyle she once only dreamed of. Tiffany now
shopped at Lenox Mall and ate at the best restaurants.

In return, Tiffany never balked at anything Mike asked her to do. But then that day came.

“Oh, hell naw!” Tiffany yelled upon arrival at her “date’s” house. She whipped out her cell and
called Mike, tapping her foot furiously as the phone rang. “I ain’t about to do no porno!” she yelled
into the phone as soon as Mike answered.

“This is the last one, baby! This is it!” Mike said gleefully. “We did it!”

“Did what?” Tiffany asked, getting caught up in his enthusiasm.

“The money they gonna pay us puts us where we need to be. It’s over. Just me and you!” he
said.

“So I ain’t gotta dance or date no more?” Tiffany asked dubiously.

“No, no nothing. Just you and me, baby,” Mike said soothingly, then threw in an “I love you”
for good measure.

“So if I do this, I can move in now?” Tiffany asked wistfully.

“Baby, you can move in tomorrow!” Mike shot back. He was glad to be on the phone so Tiffany
couldn’t see the
“Yeah, right”
expression on his face.

“Look, do whatever them folks want you to do, then bring ya clothes over tomorrow,” Mike
said convincingly.

“You for real?” Tiffany asked, bouncing like a small child.

“Yeah, baby. Sure,” he replied before saying his goodbyes.

“A’ight. Let’s do this!” Tiffany yelled to the confused crew.

The director sprang into action and put her through every sexual scenario known. At his direction,
Tiffany engaged in a lesbian scene with a white girl, and to her surprise, she actually enjoyed it.
Then she was pummeled simultaneously by two black men.

Even when one of them eased into her rectum, she was busy mentally redecorating Mike’s
condo. She was so caught up in her own mind that she didn’t even hear the director call, “Cut!”
It seemed like only a few minutes, but in actuality, they compiled hours of material – footage that
would eventually be published in movies, magazines, and on the Internet.

After showering the sweat and semen from her body, Tiffany went home to pack. She had
turned her last trick, and tomorrow she would be moving in with her boo. For the night, all she
planned to do was smoke.

* * *

The next afternoon, Tiffany was humming a happy tune as she stuffed her belongings into her
bags. She was pleasantly surprised when she ran out of room in her luggage only halfway through
her closet. She had replaced everything Wanda had stolen or destroyed and then some.

At the same time Tiffany was naively stuffing her clothes in her bags, Mike was across town
stuffing himself inside of Peaches.

Peaches was a fine young thing Mike had bagged in the ‘hood when he stopped for gas.
Although he generally avoided the ‘hood and hoodrats, Peaches was something to see—truly a
sight to behold. Standing right at six feet tall, she caught his attention, but her round ass held it.
Mike expected her to sweat him and/or his Porsche truck, but Peaches didn’t give either a second
glance. He started to push once the tank was full, but he couldn’t. The girl was a knockout! Drop-
dead gorgeous, she looked like a taller version of Ashanti, but her eyes were a pale shade of blue.
Her breasts and ass were giving the fabric of her clothing all it could handle. To top it off, she was
young—real young.

It took some of Mike’s best game to get the girl in the car. She told him she was eighteen, but
her conversation told him sixteen, tops. He couldn’t care less though. The younger, the better.

Mike wasted no time once he got her to the condo. There was no small talk, no blunts, and
nothing to eat or drink. He rushed her into the bedroom and ran up in her. He was almost a foot
deep inside of Peaches when his cell phone began to vibrate on the nightstand. “Shit!” he cursed,
seeing Tiffany’s name on the display.

“What’s wrong?” Peaches inquired about the outburst.

“Nothing, shawty. Turn over!” Mike replied. He had been meaning to call Tiffany all day to
“postpone” her move-in date.
Does dat bitch really expect to move in? To be my girl? After all the
tricks and making a damn porno?
He almost laughed out loud at how gullible the girl was.

When Peaches obeyed his command to turn over and stuck her perfect ass high in the air,
thoughts of Tiffany and her problem vanished. He contemplated what to do with Peaches as he
slammed in and out of her. Mike was far from a tender dick, but damn!
If you a pimp, then pimp,
nigga
, he scolded himself. He decided to keep her for a minute and then put her to work.
P.I.M.P.

* * *

Marcus rechecked the pistol as he pressed his ear to Mike’s front door. He couldn’t hear anything
through the heavy oak, so he pressed on cautiously. He’d seen Mike rush the young girl inside a
few minutes earlier, and judging by the look in his eye, he assumed he was up in her by now. He
slid the key into the lock, then waited another minute to turn it. It took another full minute before
he went past the point of no return and turned the doorknob.

Marcus rushed in with his gun eye high, ready to murder something. The front room was empty,
but the sound of vigorous sex could be heard coming from the back. He stealthily followed the
noise until he was standing in the open doorway of Mike’s bedroom.

Mike was hitting her so well that Marcus almost hated to interrupt. He had Peaches flat on
her stomach, pounder her from behind. Marcus could hear her coochie splashing from across the
room.

The initial plan was to pistol-whip Mike and talk some shit like they do in the movies or one of
those corny “black author” books. Instead, he raised the large gun and shot Mike in the back, just
like a coward would do.

Mike went limp instantly as the heavy forty-five-caliber slug tore through his spine.

Peaches hesitated in confusion, then screamed in horror when she realized what was
happening.

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Marcus pleaded desperately, as if her screams would alert the
neighbors more than the sound of gunfire.

When Peaches next opened her mouth to scream again, a bullet sped into it and out the back of
her young head. Mike was still squirming, so Marcus put a bullet in the back of his head as well.

Marcus, being a petty thief at heart, stole a roll of cash and some jewelry that was lying around.
“You mind if I get this?” Marcus asked sarcastically, picking up a bottle of Cognac. “’Preciate it.”
He chuckled when Mike didn’t answer. He stuffed his pockets with loot and made his escape.