Candy Licker (16 page)

Now I done told y'all about his animals, but the second problem I had living with Hurricane, which was really the biggest problem of all, was my steaming-hot pussy and his little-ass dick. C'mon, like I told you, anytime I was outside of the recording room I was bored. Get real. My hair wasn't red for no reason. I was a hot-ass sistah with a bouncin’ booty and a tight waist. I had between-the-legs needs that I couldn't keep handling on my own. But Hurricane didn't fuck. His dick wasn't really long enough to call it that since he couldn't achieve any kind of decent penetration. He liked to use his fingers on me, but hell, I had ten of those myself. When he really needed to get off he would climb on top of me and smash my pussy hairs up until he came, but to tell the truth, he liked sticking other things up in me and pretending they were his dick.

Flashlights, hairbrushes, anything. Hurricane was cruel and sadistic, and when he got to feeling like less than a man below the belt or just felt like hurting me sexually, he didn't hesitate to go into insertion mode. All the Big Berthas of Rikers Island put together didn't have shit on Hurricane, because he got down with a mop handle. He actually shot his thang off by hearing my screams.

“Hold that pussy open, Candy. That's right. Let Papa know he doin it right. Scream when you getting yours. I wanna see that pussy get nice and wet. I mean straight dripping nookie juice, and, bitch—you
better come.”

Believe it or not, oral sex with him was even worse. He never wanted me to do it to him, and I wasn't sure I could put his little pee-pee in my mouth without laughing anyway. It would have felt like I was sucking on a pacifier. A binky A nee-nee.

But the first time Hurricane went down on me it was like nothing I had ever known. He got real drunk and then called himself holding me down and eating some pussy. I hollered and screamed and scratched his neck up so bad he let me the hell go. That freak was down there biting and chewing and gnawing on my clit like it was a piece of teriyaki beef jerky. I wasn't bleeding when he finished, but I was so raw I kept checking to see if I was. Two days later it was still burning like a mug when I peed, and if I hadn't been so embarrassed I would have gone to the doctor to get myself some kind of treatment.

Regardless to that fool's sexual issues, I needed a few healthy orgasms to help me chill out. I was masturbating and fantasizing a whole lot, but none of that self-stimulation really satisfied me. Sissy and Teema were all the time bragging about how
much good meat they were getting and how sore their pussies were all the time. I wanted to get my nookie sore too, and not from some crazy niggahs teeth or a bunch of unnecessary pelvis banging or frantic friction with no penetration. Hurricane kept plenty of porno flicks around, but watching other people get down didn't do nothing for me. It just encouraged more masturbation, and I was already doing enough of that.

I thought about ordering myself a strap-on dick from the Internet, but then who was I gonna strap that shit on to? Hurricane's manhood would be threatened by anything that resembled a normal-sized dick, so I knew that was out. I considered ordering an extra-large dildo and fucking my own brains out, but then where would I hide it when I was done? Hell, where could I even have one delivered to? Hurricane checked the mail at the mansion, and Jadeah got the mail at the House. That wasn't gonna work either. I felt trapped and frustrated in a situation that gave me little room to move and almost no options.

My frustration burned me inside because while Hurricane was large in the industry and on the street scene, deep inside he was one of those small, insecure niggahs who needed to keep a hottie like me smashed tight in his fist. There was no way he'd leave me enough breathing room to sneak in some real dick on the side. He wanted me to stay stuck up in his bedroom when we was at the mansion. If we was at the House, then I had to stick close to his side or park my ass in his private booth until he gave me permission to move. He didn't even allow me to hang out with Dominica or Vonzelle unless we were rehearsing or laying tracks. To keep me even deeper in check he stuck me in the front office to sit up under Jadeah on a lot of days, and
gave me permission to work on some of the House's broken electronic equipment on the side.

Jadeah was cute and had an uptown ass, but when she took off them shades she had a lazy eye that looked down at the floor. As much cash as her baby brother rolled with I didn't see why she didn't just go get her eyestring fixed and be done with it, but since Hurricane had told her to watch me in between studio sessions and keep my ass in check, she put that one good eye to work.

Jadeah was responsible for the front office and for appearances around the House in general. That meant she had the miserable job of grooming Homicide Hitz artists so they looked good on television, spoke right in interviews, and didn't pull out their dicks and piss down the side of the stage during concerts. It was all about presentation. Jadeah mighta had a loose eyeball, but she knew how things was supposed to look. She understood that beef, controversy, and shit-talking between artists equaled to-the-ceiling sales, so she made sure Hurricane's artists kept enough drama and hoodlum rivalry going with competing artists that their names were constantly on somebody's lips and their cuts were constantly on somebody's radio.

Unlike her brother, Jadeah was laid-back and had an easy personality. Crackheads and dope fiends would come to the door selling hot shit they had stolen from major stores in the city, and Jadeah would always buy a little something of what they were offering and give them a few dollars more than they asked for. She was good at handling the artists too, and even good at running Hurricane's office, but she wasn't up on computers like I was, and I used that shit to my advantage. She had
asked me to set up a database file in Excel so we could track studio hours for the label, and every other day I would sneak and disable something minor on her system, then claim I had to go in the smaller office and use the spare computer up in there.

Most of the time I did it just to get out of the same room with her, but sometimes I did it 'cause my body was on fire and I needed something to play with. I put a protected password on the second computer and signed up for a free Internet account, then started an online blog called
LickMyFlicker.blogspot.com
that spelled out all the freaky things I fantasized about doing with a brother who was interested in licking my candy all night long.

I got all kinds of responses too, from HotSauce out of Texas, who said he wanted to slide a jalapeño up my coochie then use his tongue to put out the flames, to Lickerish from Richmond, who said he'd never met a pussy he didn't want to lick and offered to fly me out to Virginia and pay me cash money to grind on his face all night long.

One of the hottest posts I got was from a guy who called himself TongueTwister. Every response he sent was steaming. I'd sit back in the chair with my hand in my panties as he described all the delicious ways he could lick my flicker. His game was so good I could actually feel his tongue parting my pussy lips and sliding up inside of me. The more I read, the wetter I got, and by the end of his message my fingers would be soaked with juice as I bounced my ass around on that chair until I came so hard I needed a nap.

It got to the point where I was so horny that I set up a webcam and had “web” sex with a total stranger. His dick was long and black, but it had a crook in it near the head. He held it up
to his camera and stroked it, and I nearly fainted as that shit grew bigger, and bigger, and bigger. It was like somebody had one of them bicycle pumps hooked up to his nuts. That dick was blowing up like a tube balloon.

I was careful not to let my face get near the camera, but I did press my titties up there. I would have loved to have felt that gigantic dick sliding between my breasts, tickling my nipples and slapping against my face. I figured out how he got that crook in his dick, though. Boy was working that thang. He was a professional stroker. His right arm was probably twice as big as his left one. I damn near licked my computer screen when he came, shooting quarts of cum all over his camera lens and rubbing it over his entire dick.

The sight of all that brought me to a quick climax, but then I had to face the biggest part of my problem. What next? What kind of chick slept in a bed with a man every night but depended on fantasies and the Internet to get her sex thang off?

Nah, I needed a real man. I wanted a kiss to go along with a real fuck. I wanted to feel a man doing me and digging me at the same time. I needed somebody to put his back in it and fill me up with more than the two blunt inches Mr. Jackson had to his name. Bottom line, I needed a man who could satisfy me without causing me pain. Mentally, physically, and emotionally, and just because Hurricane Jackson couldn't handle his business like a real man should didn't mean there wasn't a bigger and better playa out there who wouldn't.

W
henever I got a few minutes alone in the front office I dipped in every file or folder I could find. In the three months
I'd been working for Jadeah I had already learned a lot about Hurricane and how things went down at the House of Homicide by snooping through all the computer files, but there was still a whole lot of stuff that wasn't on the computer system that interested me too. I didn't know exactly what I was searching for, but if I ever ran across something hot I'd surely figure out what to do with it.

I found out that Hurricane had all kinds of dirty cops on his payroll. He'd paid to have a fake liquor license issued for the House, and he even had a local councilman or two in his pocket. Their old asses swung by the House of Homicide every so often to splash in some young, hopeful pussy. These so-called ethical, respectable, married men waded all in that pool of eager hoes Hurricane kept dangling from a long string. Just being seen with Hurricane or at the House of Homicide was enough for some of these young girls. For others, he yeasted their heads up promising them all kinds of flash and fame just as long as they did what he wanted.

My eyes and fingers was all up in Jadeahs desk. I knew her inventory better than she did. One day I slipped though, and she almost busted me.

She was searching through her bottom file cabinet so hard she had to take off her glasses. “I think I'm gonna need you to copy some more permission forms, Candy.”

“You got a whole stack of them,” I answered without thinking. “Midway toward the back of the drawer behind that yellow tab.”

I knew I'd messed up even before she gave me that so-you-been-in-my-shit look.

“How you know?”

“Because,” I said, still crunching on the pretzels I was eating, “Hurricane asked me to get him one the other day when you wasn't here.”

She didn't press it, but my nosey butt would have to be more careful in the future.

The next time I was in the office all by myself the printer was acting up. Instead of calling the repairman Jadeah had asked me to take a look at it while she went downstairs to talk to Hurricane in Studio C, where he did most of his writing. The printer was one of those laser joints. The kind that prints real fast and the pages slide out one right on top of the other. I had just unplugged it and removed the toner cartridge when the phone rang. Jadeah was still downstairs so I snatched it up.

“Homicide Hitz, how can I help you?”

“Hey, this is Knowledge. Is Jadeah there?”

Knowledge. That quiet niggah. The one with the nice eyes and fine smile.

“No,” I said. “Jadeahs out of the office right now, but this is Candy. Can I help you with something?”

He paused for just a second. “Actually, I was calling for you.”

“For what?”

“Well, I heard you're good with computers and I think mine might have crashed. I wanted to know if you could fix it for me.”

“Umm,” I said slowly. “I'm kinda working on something right now, but I can come up and take a look at it later on when I'm done.”

“That'll work. I'll be here all day. Thanks.”

I clicked off the phone and just stood there for a minute. That Knowledge was something real. Fine motherfucker. He had some kinda shit about him that made him stand apart from every other brother in Hurricane's circle. He was a baller, no doubt. But he didn't dress like a regular playa, he didn't talk like one, he damn sure didn't look like one. And if he had turned down Vonnie's rotten poon-poon that meant he didn't fiend like a regular playa neither.

Suddenly my ass was on fire and I didn't even try to fix that damn printer. Hell, Hurricane was paid. Let Jadeah call the repairman or tell her brother to buy her another one. I skipped to the bathroom real quick and checked myself out in the mirror. My nipples was so hard they could have cut holes in my shirt. I washed my hands and dabbed two drops of body oil on my wrists and jetted my horny ass upstairs, ready to fix whatever Knowledge had that was broken.