One Taste (9 page)

Onika smiled down at her accomplishment. “Tough love! That’s all my boo needs,” Onika bragged. She scowled at Puddin. “Damn, girl. Hurry up and get outta those jeans. You gotta squat over Mr. Wheeler and keep him occupied while I make my run.”

“I’m moving as fast as I can. But I’m a big girl—it takes me a minute to struggle out of my clothes.”

Finally stripped naked, Puddin maneuvered over and straddled
Matt’s face and pressed her pussy against his unwilling mouth while she munched happily on her swiftly dwindling sandwich.

Allowing himself to be debased by Onika and her fat friend was disgusting and arousing at the same time, and he felt his penis stiffen. It was hard enough to slip inside Onika. He was sure of it. But Onika, dressing quickly, had other plans.

“Suck her pussy real good, boo,” Onika said with affection as she strolled out of the bedroom.

With Onika’s blessings, Puddin enthusiastically rotated her pussy against Matt’s unwilling lips. Mayonnaise dripped from her sandwich, dotting Matt’s forehead as well as the air mattress he lay upon.

W
aiting around for Mr. Wheeler to show up had Cochise fuming mad. He had no way of contacting his boss. Cochise was furious with himself also. The boss’s business card with his cell phone number printed at the bottom was tucked inside a drawer in his room at the Recovery House. Shit! He’d never thought to carry the card to work with him. Why would he, when there had never been any reason to contact Mr. Wheeler? The boss was always Johnny-on-the-spot when it came to picking up the crew.

Cochise stared upward as if the answer to his dilemma was emblazoned on the ceiling. Suddenly, his mind’s eye recalled opening a box that contained a dozen bottles of cleaning solution. His wandering mind also recalled seeing a label of sort on the side of the box. Cochise hurried over to the reception desk where he’d stacked the supplies and equipment. He quickly located the box and sure enough, a printed label with Mr. Wheeler’s home address was glued to the side of the box.

Digging in his pockets for bus fare, Cochise exited the office building. He looked back at the unlocked door and shrugged. He didn’t have any keys to lock the door, so fuck it. Mr. Wheeler deserved to get his equipment jacked.

Cochise got off the bus on Greene Street and walked the few blocks to his boss’s house. Tulpehocken Street was peaceful, tree-lined with well-maintained homes. Instead of ringing the doorbell, Cochise walked to the end of the block and rounded the corner that led to the back of Mr. Wheeler’s home. There was a shiny Buick LaCrosse in the driveway, which Cochise figured belonged to the boss’s wife. But Mr. Wheeler’s van was nowhere to be found. The slimy bastard was still in Chester, still getting it on with Onika. Well, Cochise didn’t have all night to lurk in the shadows like a crackhead waiting for his dealer. Taking long, purposeful strides, he walked back around the block and stepped up to his boss’s front door.

Though Cochise didn’t have a plan, he boldly rang the doorbell.

He heard movement and knew the boss’s wife was looking at him through the peephole. “Who is it?” she asked. Her tone sounded more curious than annoyed.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but, uh, I work for your husband. There was a problem at the job. I don’t have the number to your husband’s cell and I was wondering if you’d call him—”

The door opened. A pretty, honey-complexioned woman stood in the doorway.

Most women would be afraid to welcome a six-foot-six stranger into their home, so Cochise relaxed his facial muscles, intending to look as harmless and non-threatening as possible. “My name’s Langston Belgrave, everybody calls me Cochise,” he said, smiling. His smile, he hoped, conveyed that he came in peace.

Mrs. Wheeler gave a quick smile as she stepped aside. “Come in, Cochise. Matt has mentioned your name. Did something happen to him?” Her voice trembled with worry.

“No, ma’am, nothing happened to Mr. Wheeler. I’m sure he’s all right. He said he had some business to take care of…”

“I’m Regina Wheeler, Matt’s wife,” the attractive woman said, anxiously raking her hand through curls held together by a hair clip. “What kind of business did Matt have to take care of this time of night?” Regina queried politely.

“I don’t know what your husband had to do. He doesn’t tell the workers, uh, his personal business.” Mr. Wheeler’s wife seemed upset and Cochise didn’t see any reason to tell her that he strongly suspected that her husband was out knocking boots with a much younger chick. “One of the men got sick on the job and like I said, I don’t have your husband’s cell phone number on me. Would you mind giving him a call?” Cochise wasn’t trying to get Mr. Wheeler busted or anything, but it was critical that he and the men get paid.

“Sure,” Regina said, picking up the phone. She pushed a number and then frowned. “It’s ringing,” she said, “but he’s not picking up.” She disconnected the call and then pushed ten digits instead of using speed dial. Confused, she shook her head. “Now I’m getting his voicemail.”

Cochise shrugged uncomfortably.

“Matt, call home as soon as you get this message,” Regina spoke into the phone. Looking concerned, she turned her attention back to Cochise. “That’s odd. Matt never turns his phone off when he’s away from home. Do you think I should call the police?” Her face was etched with worry.

Cochise knew Mr. Wheeler was just fine and he had a pretty good idea why the scumbag had turned his cell off, but blowing the whistle on his boss’s indiscretions wasn’t the reason for the visit.

“Mrs. Wheeler,” Cochise said softly, “I’m sure your husband’s okay. He told us the meeting might take a long time. He told us
to just chill at the building we were cleaning until he got back,” Cochise lied, trying to set Mrs. Wheeler’s mind at ease. “Mr. Faison got sick and I thought it was best for Theo to take him back to Chester.” Cochise was relieved that that part of the story was true. He hated lying to the lady. “The problem is we haven’t been paid and, um…” Damn, he hadn’t planned on having to tell his troubles to the boss’s wife. It was embarrassing. He felt like kicking Mr. Wheeler’s ass for getting him into this predicament. Here he was, fumbling with his words, looking like a nut in front of the man’s pretty wife.

And speaking of pretty, how the hell did corny-ass Mr. Wheeler luck up on such a good-looking wife? The man had to be crazy to cheat on her for that smut Onika.

Mrs. Wheeler was wearing an ankle-length robe of a soft fabric. Absently, she tightened the sash, pulling the soft fabric snugly around her body, revealing a slim waistline and nicely rounded hips. Sexually starved, Cochise felt a sudden rush of heat that settled in his groin. He hadn’t checked out a woman in a sexual way since he’d broken up with Shawna and he hadn’t meant to look at the boss’s wife in that way. But his dick, with a mind of its own, woke up and started stirring to life.

Pulling his eyes from the danger zone of her hips, he directed his attention to the floor, but the visual below was equally risky. A silver toe ring glimmered from one of Mrs. Wheeler’s pretty, slender feet. Damn, he was really hard up, getting turned on by a toe ring and a pair of feet!

Cochise could have used a hat or something to place in front of his crotch. His dick was acting up something terrible, jerking and twitching without even a semblance of self control. If he didn’t do something about his problem, a wet spot would soon appear on the front of his pants. With his jawn swelling up and threat
ening to burst through the heavy-duty fabric of his work pants, Cochise felt uncomfortable and uneasy. If this lady caught a glimpse of his big dick trying to poke a hole through his pants, she was liable to think he was plotting on rape. Who could blame her if she panicked and called the cops?

“Do you mind if I sit down?” Cochise asked humbly.

“No, I don’t mind. Excuse my manners, please have a seat.” She waved her hand in the direction of a tan leather sofa.

Cochise sat down on the sofa, hoping that a seated position would take some of the pressure off his manhood. “So, um, like I was saying…Mr. Wheeler told us he left our pay vouchers home. If my man wasn’t all sick and everything, I wouldn’t be here acting all pressed,” Cochise explained awkwardly.

“I hear what you’re saying, but I honestly don’t know where Matt keeps the pay vouchers. I can look in his office, but I doubt—”

Frustrated, Cochise interrupted. “I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look.”

Regina nodded. A few minutes later, she glided back into the living room, waving three slips of paper. “They were on top of his desk, right in plain sight,” she said with a smile. She was even prettier when she smiled, Cochise noted.
I gotta stop this. My ass is buggin’; this shit ain’t cool at all.

When his dick finally calmed down, Cochise stood up. Keeping his eyes focused anywhere but on Mrs. Wheeler, Cochise waited for her to give him the vouchers.

“This is odd,” Regina said as she scanned each voucher. “Doesn’t Matt employ three men and a young lady from the womens’ Recovery House?”

Cochise nodded. “Yeah, Onika. I don’t know. Maybe he keeps her voucher separate.” Cochise sighed. “I don’t know what’s up with her; she didn’t come to work today.”

Regina scowled slightly. “I hope the young lady didn’t relapse.”

She probably is,
he wanted to say. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and averting his gaze.

When Regina handed Cochise the vouchers, their hands touched briefly. The moment their flesh touched, Cochise felt something similar to an electrical jolt. Their eyes met and locked. Though Regina kept her cool, Cochise was certain she’d felt the strong connection, too.

Something important had just gone down, but what could he do about it? Scoop her up in his arms, ask her to leave her husband and her lovely home and run away with him to…where? His cramped, sparsely furnished room?
Yeah, right. Keep dreamin’.
Cochise laughed to himself as he pocketed the pay vouchers.

“Thanks again,” he told Regina Wheeler. “When you hear from your husband, let him know that he needs to lock up the spot where we were working.”

“I’ll be sure I tell him,” Regina said. The spark he’d seen in her eyes earlier was gone. She looked distracted as she walked Cochise to the door.

“Good night. Uh, don’t worry, I’m sure Mr. Wheeler is all right.”

Regina nodded. “I hope so. Good night, Cochise.”

O
nika parked Matt’s van outside the house on Third Street and rounded the corner to Ward Street. Just in case Mr. Wheeler had found a way to follow her, she looked over her shoulder as she hurried down the street. She stopped in front of a house with a board covering one of the windows. There wasn’t a doorbell or a knocker on the old, splintered, wooden front door. “Yo, it’s Onika,” she yelled as she kicked the door.

After a minute or so, Onika was admitted inside the squalid crackhouse. “’What’s good, Onika,” greeted a grinning eighteen-year-old hustler named Nazier who worked around the clock but turned most of his earnings over to the dealer who fronted him product. Nazier was dressed in black sweat pants and a matching hoodie. He wore black to camouflage the dirt that accumulated on his clothes after sitting inside the filthy home for two or three days at a time while he collected money from the addicts who streamed through twenty-four hours a day.

“Ain’t shit, young buck,” Onika replied as she slid Nazier forty dollars to join the drug party.

“I ain’t sharing shit,” she informed the group of dull-eyed addicts whose faces had lit up with expectancy when she arrived
on the set. Onika examined the product. “This shit better be good,” she told Nazier gruffly.

And it was. She greedily sucked in fumes and quickly depleted her funds.

“Lemme hold something. I’ll get back with you tomorrow, aiight?” Onika asked Nazier. Her tone was now soft and flirty.

“I ain’t frontin’ you nuffin tonight,” Nazier told her. “I’m dealing with cash money only, baby.”

“Stop playin’, Naz. Lemme hold something,” she insisted, her voice rising.

“Whassup, money?” yelled an impatient male customer, holding up an empty pipe.

“I gotchu, my man,” Nazier replied and then turned his attention back to Onika. “Aiight, go upstairs. I’ll be up after I take care of my man over here.” Nazier bent at the waist, unzipped a hidden pocket at the bottom of his sweats, and retrieved two small plastic bags.

“Hurry up,” Onika snapped with renewed sass. With her eyes fastened hungrily on the product Nazier held in the palm of his hand, Onika moved slowly up the stairs.

“Go ’head, man,” Nazier told Onika. “Give me a minute. I said I’ma get witchu!”

Reluctantly, Onika climbed the stairs. There were three bedrooms, two were locked. Besides the open door to the bathroom, which was without running water, the only other open door led to a room with tattered bath towels nailed to the windows.

Inside the bedroom, Onika was hit with a nauseating stench. A skinny, malnourished cat lounged on rags in a corner and a plastic container that was filled with more feces than kitty litter sat nearby. Clothing-filled trash bags were strewn about and large boxes that served as dresser drawers were piled up all over
the room. A box spring and soiled bare mattress were the only furnishings inside the squalid bedroom. Onika turned up her nose and disgustedly left the room. At that moment, Nazier bounded the stairs.

“Whaddup?”

“We gotta make this quick. Two bags for some head,” she said, standing in the hallway.

“Man, I don’t need no blowjob,” Nazier informed her, frowning. “I just got my dick wet before you came through.” Nazier grabbed Onika’s hand and crudely pressed it against his length. “My shit is hard as granite. I’m ready to bust inside some pussy.”

“Aiight, but make it quick,” Onika said and quickly pulled off her jeans. Not wanting her clothing to make contact with the grimy wooden floor, she threw her jeans over her shoulder and then braced herself against a wall.

Nazier gawked at Onika. “You kidding? You want me to knock it out while I’m standing up?”

“Yeah, why not?” Onika caressed her mons, trying to entice him.

A wry smile touched his lips. “Man, fuck you. I ain’t wit dat dumb shit.” Nazier turned toward the stairs.

“Okay. Damn! You get on my nerves, Naz.” Onika straightened her shoulders as she forced herself to enter the foul-smelling bedroom.

She positioned her jeans and stretchy top on the stained mattress, using them as a barrier between her naked buttocks and the soiled mattress.

Holding Onika’s thighs wide apart, Nazier entered her. His dick strokes were gentle at first, but his pace soon quickened to a pounding tempo. He hammered her semi-moist pussy without the least bit of concern for the discomfort he was causing.

The malnourished cat wandered over and climbed on the mat
tress. Onika, uncomfortable and angry, swung a tightly balled fist at the cat, sending it skidding across the room. She glared at the cat and then turned a hard look at Nazier. “Damn, Naz. Whatchu waiting for? Hurry up and bust. You said we was gon’ take care of some business.”

“Whatchu think I’m doing,” he snarled, pumping dick without mercy.

“I’m talking about the rocks you promised to give me,” she said between painful gasps.

“Yeah, I’m talking about rocks, too.” He gave a malicious chuckle. “I probably could get my rocks off if you would shut the fuck up.” Nazier embedded his dick and then yanked it out, viciously. “I like to take my time when I’m fucking,” he explained as he repeated the process.

“That shit hurts. You acting like you gon’ keep this up for hours. Hmph! You crazy if you think I’m gon’ just lay here and let you bang out my pussy.” Onika lifted herself up and rested on her elbows. “If you’re having trouble getting off, you need to pull your dick out and let me suck on it.”

Nazier slowed down and then came to a stop. Looking down at Onika, he said, “Aiight, I’m gon’ let you get on it for a minute, to cool it off. It feels like your dry-ass pussy is burnin’ the skin off my jawn.”

“Fuck you, Naz.” She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered. “But when I’m ready to bust, though, you gotta lay your ass back down and spread your legs.” He tightened his grip on his steely manhood, aiming it at Onika, threateningly. “Big boy,” he said, referring to his penis, “don’t like to waste no seed. He wanna be deep up in that pussy hole when he’s ready to bust.”

Onika nodded. She got on her knees, prepared to guzzle
Nazier’s dick with enthusiasm and passion, giving him no choice but to quickly ejaculate. Her plan was delayed by her ringing cell phone. “Hold up,” she told Nazier, pulling the phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. She frowned at the screen, put it on vibrate, and tossed it on the mattress next to her clothes.
Mr. Wheeler had better leave me the fuck alone while I’m handling my business.

A few moments later, Nazier groaned and yanked his dick out of Onika’s mouth. He pushed her onto her back and roughly drove his saliva-slick dick into her aching vagina, quickly filling it with semen.

Nazier got up and adjusted his clothes and then turned his back to Onika. He unzipped yet another secret pocket in his baggy sweatpants, then turned and faced Onika. “I ain’t giving out no more freebies tonight,” Nazier warned. Onika sucked her teeth, snatched up the plastic bags, dressed hurriedly and then rushed downstairs to rejoin the party.

Running out of supply, Nazier left the crackhouse for about a half hour. When he returned Onika could see the bulging pockets that were filled with miniature plastic bags containing the object of her desire. Sexily, Onika sidled up to Nazier again.

Nazier looked at her with contempt. “Man, you got to come at me with a better offer. I ain’t feeling you like that right now.”

She presented her new cell phone.

“Fuck outta here. I got about twenty phones,” Nazier barked. “You gon’ have to step up your game.”

“Oh, my game is tight,” Onika bragged. “I got my whip parked around the corner on Third Street. But you gon’ have to come out of pocket if you want to rent my ride.”

“You pushin’ something fly?”

“Nah, just something to get around in.” She described Matt’s
van. Nazier didn’t look impressed. “Well, fuck it. It’s more than you got. You ain’t pushin’ shit,” she reminded him. “Look, my van is sturdy and I just filled the tank. That’s a helluva deal.”

Nazier nodded in agreement. “I can dig it. So, how long you gon’ let me hold it for?”

“Couple hours,” Onika offered.

Nazier tossed her four bags and Onika tossed him the keys to Matt’s van.

When her drugs ran out, Onika auctioned off her cell phone to the highest bidder. Someone waved a ten-dollar-bill, and Onika quickly snatched it.

Finally tapped out and possessing nothing else to sell, Onika felt angry at the world. Exhausted and hungry, she was ready to leave the drug den, but Nazier hadn’t returned with the van.

Tired of waiting, she left the house, walked a half block, and flagged down a cab.