Candy Licker (14 page)

I thought about it for a minute and then I agreed. Later, when I looked back at how it all went down, I would say that was the only piece of bad advice that Dominica had ever given me.

C
aramel was off the chain. The day after I talked to Dom and Vonnie about her I broke down and let her come with me out to the House. I should have known she was scheming from minute one, because as soon as we walked through the doors she took off on me talking about she needed to “investigate” the layout so she could know her way around.

“Can't you wait?” I said. “We just walked in the door two seconds
ago. Ain't nothing up in here for you anyway, but gimme a few minutes and I'll show you where the bathroom is and take you down the street to meet Shyreeka. She'll hook you up with some ribs for lunch.”

She kept right on moving, heading down the walkway that led to the pit. “You ain't my mother, Candy. And I don't need no tour guide. I can find my way around.”

I wasn't feeling her snooping everywhere. The House of Homicide was supposed to be for an over-21 crowd, and there were some places in this joint where her little ass didn't need to be. Like that mini dope distribution center Tonk had going upstairs. Or the triple-X video room downstairs where Hurricane filmed them poor young girls doing the nastiest shit you could think of with some of the most high-rolling rap artists on BET and MTV. But Caramel was right. I wasn't Mama. Hell, I was only nineteen and Caramel was already seventeen. Mama had trained me to take care of her since I was little, though, and since she was the only family I had it was hard for me to stop thinking she was a little girl and treating her that way.

“Well come right back then,” I hollered after her. “Meet me downstairs in Studio B.”

I didn't see that girl no more for the next two hours, and when she did show up she knew the House of Homicide like the back of her hand.

“Long Jon's security office is hooked the hell up. Cameras and equipment out the ass. But why they got all them bars all over the windows? And why are all the exits locked and chained up?”

“Damn,” I said. She was telling me some things I didn't even know. “You been looking that deep?”

“Hell yeah,” she said all happy. “This place is it for me, Candy. I got a feeling I'ma be spending a whole lot of time around here.”

I didn't even like how that shit sounded coming out her mouth. The House of Homicide was home to some hard, thugged-out criminals and playas, and Caramel was so new she had just come out the house. I watched the way she looked around, running her hands all over shit, grinding her hips, then bending the mic down to her lips and acting like she was singing. Mama had once said that even a blind rat could find himself a hole, and something told me that my little sister had just found hers.

M
ake no mistake about it. I was grateful to be where I was and doing what I was doing. I was on the verge of a hot singing career and just about to bust out and show the world what kind of talent I had and what I was made of, but I was also starting to have some for-real for-real doubts about my new life and my new man. Hurricane had about ten different personalities, and there was some new niggah living up in his head every other night.

I'd come up on the streets with Mama, so I knew all about the cold-blooded, nasty hustlers who were walking around looking for victims. But Hurricane was past nasty. He was nasty, cold-blooded, ruthless, and cruel at the same time. No bullshit, he was sick in the head. He had two faces: One he showed to get who or what he wanted, and the other one he showed once he had people where he wanted them. He was so heartless and vicious he gave a fuck who he hurt if it made him feel good.

And lately a whole lotta things about him were working me.

First of all, Hurricane liked to play around with animals.

That nut had birds, fish, and turtles, and even a little rat-looking hamster that he let out the cage and allowed to run around our room while we was sleep. I was too scared to even get up in the middle of the night and go to the bathroom. Some mornings I woke up having to pee so bad my stomach was cramped.

But that wasn't the worst part. Hurricane was into snakes and dogs too, two animals that flat-out terrified me. The snake's name was Savage and he kept her in a cage in one of the guest rooms. She was a baby ball python and only about five feet long, which Hurricane said was small but looked pretty damn big to me.

“This my real bitch. Ain't she fine?” he would say, holding her all up in my face as I tried not to freak out. Miss Savage scared the shit out of me, and Hurricane knew it and he liked it. “She bites,” he told me one day, which just scared me even more. “But she ain't got no poison, so she won't kill you.” He made me go in there with him whenever he had to clean her cage, and he even made me thaw out the frozen mice he kept in a little freezer for her to eat.

If the damn snake wasn't bad enough, the dog was even worse. Hurricane had a big, nasty-ass Doberman named Predator that he took with him almost everywhere he went. Hurricane had him trained to obey his every command, but I'd seen him play around and sic that beast on plenty of flunkies out at the House.

I didn't do animals in the first place, but I could have sworn that dog wanted to fuck me. He would run up to me and try to
stick his whole head between my legs, then snap his jaws and act all crazy when I wouldn't let him get a little sniff.

Predator had claimed his territory in the backseat of Hurricane's Yukon XL Denali with the size 24 shoes. Wherever we went he was right there riding between us with his scratchy paws up on the middle console and his big wet mouth drooling stank spit.

“Damn, Cane,” I'd said one morning on the way to the studio when I got fed up with all that damn panting in my ear and slobber being slung on my shoulder. “Why can't we leave his nasty ass home sometimes?”

That crazy dog slapped his paws on my arm and started growling and snapping. I was scared to turn and look dead at him, but I could sure see all them long, pointy-ass teeth out the corner of my eye. “Get your dog, Hurricane,” I said, pressing myself against the window. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

He wouldn't even call the dog off. He just circled his ride around and headed in the opposite direction saying, “Nah, what the fuck is wrong with you?” The next thing I knew we were back at the house and my ass was being kicked out the whip. I had no choice but to take my tail back in the house with the rats and the snakes and chill until he felt like coming back for me.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

Hurricane had some strange shit about him in bed. When I tell you he was dickless, I'm not playing. Brother was short. He needed a dick weave. Some Krazy Glue and a couple of dick tracks. I didn't understand how the rest of his body could be so banging and he be so jacked below the belt, but he was. The
bad thing about it was when he got hard his shit was nice and pretty for the whole two inches there was of it. Then it just fell off to nothing. It had a man-sized thickness and a baby-sized length, and the sight of it kinda freaked me out.

One time I got careless enough to make him think I was laughing at it. He punched me in the back of the head so hard I saw bright flashes for two days. I was laying on the throw pillows thinking about the last time I'd had my pussy eaten real good. It had been a long time, back when I was still in foster care. I'd just gotten a job working in an upscale restaurant as a coat-check girl. People would pass me their expensive furs and leathers to hang up and keep safe until they had finished their meal. The door to the coatroom had a top half and a bottom half. The top half swung wide open, of course, but the bottom half usually stayed closed. I kept a big tip jar halfway filled with coins and dollar bills up front on the ledge of the bottom half, you know, to encourage the customers to pay me for my service.

Well this fine Puerto Rican kid named Javier, who bussed tables, had his eye on me and wouldn't let up. He had dark skin and a long ponytail that was real black and curly. His dimples were devastating, and his lips were so pretty I could have sucked them all night. Javier went out of his way to walk past me several times a night, and when he did he made sure I saw the fat bulge in his pants. He said it was just for me and that I could have it anytime I wanted it. Well I wanted that shit. It looked so huge and stuck out from his body like a little flagpole and he had to carry his plastic dish bucket in front of him to hide it.

It was a Wednesday night, and little did I know it but in
three days I would run into someone from my past and leave that job for good. The restaurant was pretty empty. I'd been working for two hours, and I'd only hung up about twelve coats. Javier walked past me a few times, and each time he'd grab his big dick and shake it at me. I rolled my eyes at him and all, but my pussy was wet on the real tip, and I wouldn't have minded checking him out and seeing what he was all about.

About an hour before closing he came up to me bringing a line.

“Why don't you let me get in there with you,” he said.

I gave him a look like
Be for real.
“Why don't you go back out there and do your damn job?” I said with a whole lot of attitude for somebody whose nipples were almost poking him in the face.

He just smiled, running his pretty pink tongue over his lips. “For real,” he said, turning the doorknob and damn near knocking over my tip jar. “I'm only gonna stay for a minute.”

I didn't know what the hell he thought he was gonna do to me in that coatroom, because waiters and waitresses and an occasional customer were still walking past every now and then, but I wasn't about to let it happen.

He came in quickly and closed the bottom half of the door. Then to my surprise he got down on his knees and touched my hip. “Turn around,” he urged.

I stared down at him. “For what?”

“Shhh …” He pushed on my hip and grabbed the hem of my black skirt. “Face front before somebody asks you who's in here!”

I turned around and tried to look normal. He tapped my
foot, urging my legs wider. He yanked the back of my skirt up, rolling it past my hips, and my whole ass was exposed. I couldn't believe it when I felt him on me back there. He tried pulling my thong all the way to one side, and when that didn't work for him he ripped it, letting the center string hang free. He kissed my ass murmuring softly, his soft lips smacking every inch of my cheeks. Then he spread me open wider, forcing me to lean my elbows on the counter and bend my knees. That boy stuck his whole face up in me. His hot tongue licked my slit as he pressed my swollen clit between his lips.

All I could do was moan deep in my throat as I spread my legs wider and leaned on that little ledge trying my best to keep a straight face. Javier was eating the hell out of my squirting pussy. Lapping up my juices before they could fall from me. His tongue was like a little snake. Darting between my lips, flicking my clit, probing my asshole.

I came about four times before I couldn't take it anymore. I was sagging at the knees, and sweat was running from my hair and down my back.

“Stop,” I panted, slapping behind me at his face. “Stop!” I tried to bump him off with my ass, but he held on tight, keeping up the rhythm with his tongue and making me come again. I was biting my lip and working my hips. I fucked backward, humping his face and rubbing my own nipples. Javier's tongue was doing some shit to me that had to be illegal. He lifted and massaged my ass cheeks with both hands, tooting it up so he had a clear path to the na-na.

I almost freaked when I realized two customers were coming my way. I'd taken their coats earlier and they'd left a nice tip. I
was standing too wide-legged, and at the sight of them I tried to straighten up real quick as another orgasm ripped through my pussy and wobbled my knees.

“People coming!” I hissed, and slapped at his head again. That motherfucker had become one with me. My pussy was now a permanent part of his tongue.

And now the white couple was standing in front of me and I didn't know what the fuck to do.

“Hi,” the wife said brightly. “We had the brown trench coat and the black wrap.”