The Kat Trap

5

Gotta nigga on lock with this pussy heat...gotta sick head game that'll make the cock spit. Rockin' ya sheets...Got ya nigga clockin' me...tryna make a bitch nut lickin' the clit. Got ya nigga suckin' my tit...cum, nigga, cum...roll ya eyes up in ya head while I lap ya balls and wet ya dick...cum, nigga, cum...

Ten a.m. the followin' mornin', I was at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, pickin' up my rental, then headin' toward the Buckhead section of Atlanta. I hated Atlanta. It was hot, muggy, and had more fuckin' traffic than a bitch could stand. I wanted to get to my hotel room, take another shower, and chill.

Two hours later, I was showered, changed, and struttin' through Lenox Square Mall loaded down with some bangin' shit outta Hermès, St. John Boutique, and Louis Vuitton. A few niggas tried to holla at a bitch, but I kept it movin'. I ain't gonna front, they were fine as hell, but they had the game fucked up if they thought I wasn't up on Hotlanta being the capital for dick-lovin', fudge-packin' niggas. Fuck what ya heard. I like my niggas strictly 'bout lickin' the clit and smashin' the pussy. I ain't got no time tryna play the guessin' game of who's on the creep suckin' dick and takin' it in the ass, that shit's for the birds. And I ain't the one! So, nigga, is you crazy?! Hell no, you can't get my muthafuckin' number. Ugh!

I glanced at my timepiece. It was almost two-thirty. I still had a few hours to kill before I made it do what it do. I hated when time dragged. I was so ready to get this shit over with. I began to tingle and get moist between my legs tingled, thinkin' 'bout that big-lipped nigga suckin' on my titties, and lappin' and slappin' my clit with his tongue. I couldn't wait to serve him a dish of this pussy.

When I finally finished shoppin', then gettin' over to UPS to have my shit shipped to Jersey, it was already five-thirty in the evening. A bitch was beat, and needed to take another long, hot shower, then catch a quick nap. I liked bein' well-rested and alert when doin' a job. As far as I was concerned, to be aware was to be alive. Bein' a tired bitch opened the door for mistakes, and a half-assed job. A sloppy bitch was a liability.

No sooner had I gotten out of my clothes and was makin' my way to the bathroom, when my private cell phone rang. I pulled it outta my red Hèrmes bag, then peeped the caller ID. It was Chanel.

"Hey tramp. What's good?" I asked, starin' at myself from the side in the hangin' wall mirror. Fuck a J-Lo, Beyoncé, or any of them wannabe-fab, stankin' video hoes shakin' and poppin' their asses. I knew I had a bangin'-ass body. If I were a clit and pussy licker, I'd bury my face all up in this fat ass. I ain't no nigga but I ain't gonna front, if I had a dick, I'd fuck myself silly.

"You trick. Where you at?"

"I'm outta town, why?"

She sucked her teeth. "Ho, you stay goin' somewhere."

"Don't hate, bitch. Instead of lyin' on ya back fuckin' them broke-ass niggas, step ya game up." Chanel and I were probably the tightest outta our crew. We lived and grew up in the same building across the hall from each other, and were both the only children of single moms who were Spanish, though her mother was full Puerto Rican. And they had both gotten knocked by a stiff black dick, so we shared a special connection and understanding of each other. It didn't hurt that she was also a fly chick with curly brown ringlets that bounced off her shoulders when she walked. And her body was almost as tight as mine. With her beautiful caramel-coated complexion, big brown doe-like eyes, and a beauty mole bitches dream of having over the right corner of her full lips, she looked fresh off the cover of a damn magazine. Chick was definitely a dime; but not quite as hot as me. I ain't hatin'. I'm just sayin'. That's my girl, fuck what ya heard. I'm keepin' shit real. Still at the end of the day, if I wasn't mad cool with her ass, or if I was one of them weak bitches worried 'bout the next bitch, chick could and would be a serious problem.

"I hate ya stank ass," she said, laughin'. "Ain't nobody fuckin' no broke niggas."

"Oh, I forgot. They ain't broke. Them niggas cheap as hell!"

"Least I'm fuckin'. Shit. You still ridin' them fingas."

"Yep, I sure am," I snapped, laughin'. "And them fingas know how to push the button and keep my pussy wet; and I ain't got to worry 'bout some nigga short-changin' me, either. Now, what's your excuse, ho? And what you want, anyway?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah...whatever! Anyway, I was callin' ya ass to see if you wanna meet up for drinks tonight, but since you all ghost on a bitch, scratch it. Hit me up when you touch Jersey."

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"So, what's good with that nigga pushin' the Bentley? He get at you yet, or what?"

"Nah," I lied. Yeah, she my girl and all, but her pussy gets wet like mines. And chick likes to fuck like the next bitch. I had already peeped how she was tryna clock him in the club and out in the parkin' lot, so I already know what time it is. Until a nigga's ya man, it's open season. And a bitch in heat is always lookin' for prey. She don't care who else got their eye on it, get caught sleepin' and she's gonna swoop down on the dick and take ya spot. A hood bitch is always schemin'. It is what it is. "If he calls, he calls. If not, it's whatever," I said, sittin' at the foot of the king-sized bed. I leaned back on my forearm, then spread open my legs to let the cool air in the room hit my pussy. My nipples got hard as ice.

"I heard that. But the nigga was fine. And you can't tell me you ain't wonderin' how the dick's hangin'."

"Actually, I'm not," I said, lyin' outta my ass, 'cause on some real shit, I already knew I was gonna fuck him the first chance I got. But since e'erything ain't for e'erybody, there was no need for her to know that. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back tryna imagine him between my legs long strokin' this tight pussy. I ran my hand over my slit, then teased my clit with my two fingas.