Street Divas (27 page)

T
he small spikes on my chain collar dig into my skin and intensifies the pleasure coursing throughout my body while Python focuses on tearing up my G-spot from the back. It's been a hot minute since his ass has handled this pussy the way I like it, but he's on his muthafuckin' job now.

“Your ass is always talking shit,” Python growls, and reaches around to tug and twist one of the heavy nipple clamps locked onto my titties. “Now look at you. You're loving this dick, ain't you?”

“Awwww, shit,” I moan. I can't do much either, since my hands are handcuffed behind my back.

Python switches it up and jerks the chain on my collar. My neck is pulled back while those spikes dig in deeper. “Uh-huh. Your ass needs to be trained again. Lately you've been rolling around this muthafucka thinking your ass got the bigger dick.”

I try to answer, but I feel a powerful nut rising all the way up from my big toe. “Aw, shit,” I repeat, ready to pass out from both the pleasure and the pain.

“Ain't that right, baby? You think your ass has a dick bigger than mine?”

Fuck, yeah.

Python pulls the chain harder. No doubt my ass has blood oozing beneath my collar. Still, I don't want to answer his question. I want to hold out for as long as I can because I'm addicted to pain. I don't know how it happened or when it happened, but it did. I'm no longer that little girl who used to cry herself to sleep at night with her panties full of blood. Where I once was weak, I now am strong.

Two more hard strokes and I'm screaming up toward the ceiling while honey gushes down my legs and around his cock.

“Did I tell your ass to come?” Python asks, sliding out of my wet trenches and slapping the back of my ass with it. “Hmm? You think you can do whatever the fuck you want to do, huh?”

I turn my head and grin devilishly at him.

He shakes his head. “Yeah. You need to be trained again. There's only room for one muthafucka to be sagging up in this bed.” He dips his thick finger into my asshole and twirls that bitch all around. Before I know it, he shoves in another and then another. More honey flows down my leg in anticipation of him cramming in his monster cock and splitting my shit wide open, but Python wants to play some more.

“C'mon. Get your ass up.” He stands up from the bed and then drags me by my chain over to the metal hook we got hanging from the ceiling. Next, he hooks my collar onto it and then walks over to the corner of the room and pulls the hook up like a pulley until I'm standing on my tiptoes.

A new level of pain shoots throughout my body, and my clit thumps in double time. “Ahhhhh.”

“Yeah. Yeah. This is much better,” he says, locking the chain in place and then stroking his dick as he approaches me again. “Now this is how I should keep your ass, strung up all day every day.”

I choke and gag while he picks up a leather riding crop. My heart races while I struggle to stay on my tiptoes.

“Get ready, baby. Because I'm about to light that ass up,” he promises. “I want to hear your ass tell me who the fuck wears the pants in this muthafucka.” Without even waiting for my ass to respond, he sends that crop flying across my ass.

Smack!

I jump at the burning sting and then lose my balance. My collar digs so deep into my neck that I almost black out.

Python laughs while I scramble to get back on my toes. However, my relief lasts less than a second before the next series of blows takes my breath away.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

My entire ass and thighs feel like they're on fire.

And still I'm coming like a muthafucka. To change it up, Python strolls around in front of me and starts hitting me across the nipples, which are already straining from the weight of the nipple clamps.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“Sheeiiiit,” I yell.

Smack!

“Who's the fuckin' man, Shelle?”

Smack!

“Sheeiiitt.” I turn and try to get away from the blows, but it doesn't help. Python is happy to chase me in a complete circle.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“I'm waiting.” He laughs.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

I can't take the shit no more. “You are!”

“Who?” Python presses. “I didn't hear you.”

Smack!

“YOU, BABY! You're the man!”

“Damn muthafuckin' straight.” He gives me one last, hard smack that literally makes stars dance in front of my eyes.

Still this nigga ain't through. He moves up behind me.

“Spread your legs,” he says, using the riding crop to slap in between my thighs until I obey. “Yeah. There you go.” He rubs his cock between my legs until it's coated with my pussy's thick honey.

It gets harder by the second to remain on my toes, and every time I slip a little bit, I'm gagging and choking like a bitch seconds from meeting her maker. I can't say that I completely trust this muthafucka not to murk my ass up here, but it's that not knowing that adds to the danger and gets me off.

Python's thick finger pries open my ass cheeks, and then with one thrust, my ass is on fire again.

“Sssssss. Oh.” He locks his hands on my hips while I dangle like a slab of beef.

More stars start dancing behind my eyes. My entire body is radiating with pain. “Awwwwww. Awwwww.”I'matmylimit . I can't take any more, but I no longer have the ability to beg for mercy. Hell. I barely have the ability to get air into my lungs. Python isn't in any hurry to reach his nut, so the pain just intensifies to a whole new level.

“Ssssss. I fuckin' love your ass, girl,” Python hisses, catching my attention. “I don't know why the hell you still fuck with me, but I'm glad you do.”

I blink.
What the hell did he say?

In the next second, he whips his cock out and blasts all over my ass and then smears his warm nut into the skin of my burning ass.

“Ssssssss.”

Ten minutes later, I'm unhooked and a funky mess lying across our bed.

“You're a real fuckin' soldier,” Python says, leaning over to kiss my shoulder. “You really have proved yourself over and over again.”

“Glad you recognize.”

“I've recognized it for a long time, but . . . bullshit clouded my judgment.”

Bullshit named Melanie Johnson.
I roll my eyes.

“Anyway, I made a promise to your ass, and I'm a man of my word.” He reaches for the chain attached to the collar around my neck and removes something from the end. “This is for you. You earned it, baby.”

Stunned, I stare at a beautiful diamond ring.

A smile hitches the side of his face. “Let's do this shit.”

“Fuck, yeah.” I jut out my left hand so that he can slide this fat rock onto it. While I'm doing this, my heart is racing like a muthafucka.

“You happy now?”

Fuck, yeah.
But I tell him, “Not until I get yo ass in front of a minister and say ‘I do.' ”

“Just like a woman—never satisfied.”

“What the fuck ever,” I sass back, and then lean in to suck on his bottom lip to get round two started. “Chronic” starts bumping from his cell phone. I groan because this shit keeps happening. “Let it go to voice mail,” I tell him.

“Sorry, Ma. Business before pleasure.” He rolls to the other side of the bed and picks up his cell.

“Talk to me.”

I sit up and hold my hand out to admire my ring again.
This shit is finally going to happen.

“WHAT?”

I jump at Python's roar and then start scrambling out of bed in case it's time for me to grab my gat and haul ass.

“I'm on my fuckin' way,” he says, and springs up out of the bed, too. When he hangs up, he announces, “Something's gone down at Momma Peaches's. Stay here.”

“No. I'll come with you.”

“Nah. I need you to stay with Lil Man. I'll be back once I know something.” He snatches up his clothes.

“But—”

“STAY HERE!”

Before I can say shit else, his ass blazes out of here like there's a fire lit under it. Once I hear the front door slam, I roll my eyes and shake my head. Then my attention is drawn back to the ring on my finger. I know just the person I want to see this muthafucka.

M
y babies Malcolm, Amin, and Vivian act like they don't remember me. That shit has thrown me for a loop as I watch them run around the park. They each treat me like I'm a stranger trying to offer them bad candy or some shit.

“Don't worry,” Ms. Terry says. “Give them more time.”

I cut my gaze back at her as she sits next to me on the park bench. “Don't play me. Y'all got to be turning them against me. Malcolm and Amin are six and seven. Why wouldn't they remember me?”

“They remember. They were five and six when the state took them. They're not going to make it easy for you.” Ms. Terry sighs. “Vivian is another story. She's probably following her brothers' lead on this.”

I shake my head and cross my arms. “This is some bullshit.”

Ms. Terry draws in a deep breath. “Look, Ms. Turner. I know this is hard on you, but you got to know that it's even harder on them. So far your children have been bounced around from one foster home to another. Your boys are showing signs of ADHD in school and lean toward violence when they don't get their way in certain situations.”

“Yeah, yeah. I'm a bad mother. I got it.” I roll my eyes up to the sky, but it's not enough to stop the tears from streaking down my face. I'm a complete fuckup, with my kids, with Python, and even with taking out LeShelle's evil ass.
Shit. I can't do nothing right. Let everybody else tell it.

“Ms. Turner, are you all right?”

“Yeah.” I backhand the tears off my face and return my attention to my children. Despite ignoring me, they look like they're having a great time running around chasing each other. Little Vivian is holding her own. Now more than ever, I'm happy that I named her after Baby Thug. Even though there's no blood relation, it's still a little reminder that Baby was once here.

Vivian's big brown eyes settle on me before she races across the grass to come and talk with me.

“Careful,” I say. “You don't want to fall down.”

“Malcolm says that we're going home with you,” Vivian says, sounding way more grown than her three and half years.

“Well . . . not yet,” I tell her. “I'm working on it.”

“If you're our momma, why can't we go home with you?”

I glance over at Ms. Terry, looking for some help, but she just quietly folds her arms and lets me handle the question.

“It's a long story,” I tell Vivian.

My little girl blinks up at me like she has nothing but time to wait for my answer. “Well, Momma just had a little problem being able to . . . afford taking care of y'all right now.”

“I got some money in my piggy bank,” she says. “I can give you some.”

“That's sweet of you, honey. But you go ahead and keep your money. Okay?”

Vivian twists up her face. “What? You don't want us, then?”

“Of course I do. I didn't say that.”

“Uh-huh.”

More tears spring to my eyes while shame spreads throughout my body. My ass has been out in these streets, worried about the wrong things—locking down soldiers and trying to become the head Queen G.

“Malcolm says that you're about to have another baby,” Vivian continues, interrogating me and staring at my belly.

“Yeah. I am. In the next few weeks.”

“Is it going to be a boy or a girl?”

“The doctors say it's going to be another boy.”

Vivian pokes out her bottom lip. “I hate boys. Can you send it back and get a girl? I want a sister.”

Ms. Terry and I laugh. “Sorry. That's not how it works.”

“Is he going to come live with us at foster care, too?”

Stunned, I suck in a breath. “I . . . uh . . .” Now how do I tell her no when I just told her that I couldn't afford children?

“Vivian, why don't you go back and play with your brothers some more?”

“Okay.” She shrugs and then takes off back toward the jungle gym.

“Sorry about that,” Ms. Terry says, reaching over and touching my hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I'm fine.”

“You have to know that you're going to be getting a lot of questions like this from them in the future.”

I nod, even though Vivian's question cracked open my chest and yanked out my heart.

“Ms. Turner?”

“Yeah.” I sniff. “I'm fine. It's okay.”

“Look. You're doing the right things now. You're going to classes, putting in face time with the children. Everything is going to be fine. You'll see.”

“Thanks. But . . . I don't need for you to blow smoke up my ass. The chances that a judge will give me my kids back are damn near zero. Muthafuckas don't believe in giving people like me second chances. And look at them.” I gesture toward the kids playing. “They look a lot happier now than they ever did with me. They're eating; they have on decent clothes—”

“C'mon. Don't put yourself down,” she urges, scooting closer to me and wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “I ain't going to lie and say that this is going to be a walk in the park for you, but it can be done. And damn near zero ain't zero. You can do this. I've seen others do it. Keep doing your best. The rest will take care of itself.”

I can't believe it, but I actually take comfort in her words. For a few brief seconds, I actually believe that I can pull this shit off.

Before I know it, my two hours are up and Ms. Terry calls the kids to her minivan.

“All right, now. I'm still going to see you in my office on Monday, right?”

“Right.” I swipe my eyes dry and then turn my attention to my children. “Now, y'all give your momma a hug.” I stretch out my arms, and Vivian is the first to try to stretch her arms around my big belly. They don't even get halfway around, but I do manage to lean over and press a kiss against her chubby cheeks. I have to step to Amin and brush a kiss against his forehead while he looks everywhere but at my face. Malcolm stands back with his arms folded and his eyes daring me to step to him.

“What? You're not going to say good-bye to me?”

“Bye,” Malcolm says with a big attitude.

“C'mon. Give me a hug and a kiss like your brother and sister.”

“No. I don't want to.”

I lower my arms while my eyes burn again. “All right. If you don't want to, then . . . I guess I understand.”

Without sparing me another look, he marches right past me and climbs into the minivan.

Ms. Terry closes the door and tosses me another sad look. “It'll get better. Give him some more time.”

“Sure.” I stand there while she walks around to the driver's side and then climbs in behind the wheel. When she pulls away from the curb, I'm still standing there, waving. Amin and Vivian wave back while Malcolm ignores me.

Once the van is out of view, I lower my hand and place it against my belly. “Please, please, say that you'll never hate me.” I draw a deep breath and then turn toward my silver Terrain. Opening the car door, I plop into the driver's seat, and my heart stops at reading the Post-it note on the steering wheel.

Ticktock.