Vengeance (8 page)

“Or maybe not.” She paused. “You take care.”

“You as well.”

Bianca walked off, trailing Nikki.

“This is going to be like shooting fish in a barrel,” I whispered to myself. “Look at you,” I said to Bianca’s back, “with your fake hair, your fake nails, your fake smile, your fake eyes, and your fake attitude. Biotch!”

I plopped back down in the chair and drank some wine, trying to calm myself down. Daddy may have been across the globe in Australia on business, but he was far from stupid. Someone had clearly made sure he had seen the reports on CNN or had read the online articles about how Wicket, real name Ladonna Sterling, had decided to relocate to Georgia after giving a spectacular performance at Philips Arena in front of a sold-out crowd of fans. How she had instantly become enamored with Atlanta and had dropped $19 million on a crib. How she was planning to spend the majority of time between tours there, working on her next album.

At three o’clock on the dot, I would have to look happy as a pig in shit on Skype and try to convince him that I understood and totally embraced what I was doing, that I had gotten over the past, and that I was legitimately interested in residing in the same city where I had actually grown up as Caprice Tatum, daughter of a drug-induced, schizophrenic maniac of a mother who had cut the left side of my face with a paring knife when I was seven because she couldn’t stand to look at her own image.

Daddy would legitimately be worried about my welfare, and I could not fault him for that. He had done so much for me; he had paid to fix a broken doll and had rebirthed her as one of the greatest entertainers the world had ever known . . . ever would know. It was hard, but I wouldn’t let him down.

Who was I fooling? I wanted to fuck them all up for what they had done to me. For the pain, for robbing me of any chance of a normal, healthy, loving relationship with a man, and for merely being pure evil.

“Calm down, Caprice,” I tried to convince myself. “You can pull this off. Daddy can’t make you leave. You’re damn near forty years old. Just tell him that much.”

I finished off my glass of wine and went into my office to launch Skype.

The forty-minute conversation with Daddy did not go off well. He went on and on about how I needed therapy and should leave right away, even if I joined him overseas. He was concerned that I might have some kind of mental break if I ran across any of the people from my past, even though they would never recognize me. I started to say that one had just finished doing a walk-through of my new house to do a mock-up design proposal and that I had played it off without a hitch. But being braggadocious would have only backfired, with Daddy personally flying his private jet to Atlanta by the break of the next dawn.

Nikki had gone out to run errands. She was
loving
Atlanta. I needed some kind of release, so I called Kagiso into my bedroom for a little afternoon playtime. I was not lying when I said that I had never fucked any of my bodyguards. But the reason that I knew they all needed lap bands on their dicks is because I had definitely seen them.

I was standing by a picture window, gazing out onto the courtyard out back, butt naked sans a pair of black Louboutins, when Kagiso knocked lightly on my door.

“Enter,” I directed as I turned around.

Kagiso stood there for a few seconds, admiring my sepia skin, flawless after years of treating it both internally and externally with Vitamin E, my shoulder-length onyx-black hair, and eyes the color of a papaya. The papaya eyes were Daddy’s idea. They made me distinctive and hid any resemblance to the eyes of Caprice Tatum, whose eyes were naturally a darker brown. Bianca had chosen to wear fake lenses to make herself feel special; my lenses were to mask my past.

“Are you going to stand there in the doorway and stare at me, or are you going to come in?” I asked Kagiso.

He came in the room and shut the door behind him. Then he started in on me with his alluring, seductive accent. “You plan to tease me again? Dangling a carrot in front of my face that I can never have?”

I walked over to the bed, climbed on, propped my back up on some pillows, and spread my legs so he could get a perfect view of my hairless pussy. It was already wet, but I planned to get it much wetter.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

I rolled my eyes and then faked a smile. I needed him to cooperate, and you get more with sugar than you do with shit.

“I want to play Jack and Jill.”

“And I want to play digging your back out with my dick.”

Same story, different day.

“That’s not happening.” I bit my bottom lip and stared down at his crotch. “Take off your clothes so I can see that elephantine dick of yours.”

“And if I refuse?”

I smirked. “Then I’ll call Diederik in here so he can show me his. You and I both know that he’ll be down with it.”

“Why not call Diederik in here in the first place, then?” Kagiso asked sarcastically.

“Easy answer.” I started tapping my clit with the manicured index finger of my right hand. “I love the way you jack off. It’s . . . fascinating.”

I could tell that he was getting excited. Kagiso loved to be complimented and flattered, especially when it had anything to do with his dick. He was vain and entitled to it. The motherfucker was spectacularly fine.

He started removing his shirt and walking closer to the bed.
That’s it. Come here, little doggie.

“What’s so fascinating about the way I beat my meat?”

“Beating meat is such a vile term for it. I prefer jacking off or . . . pleasuring oneself.”

“I wanna fuck you, Wicket. These little
excursions
with you are driving me insane. No man can continue to do this without wanting more.”

“So leave and send Diederik in on your way out. Tell him to bring a jar of honey. I like the way the honey looks on his pale dick when he uses it to spurt his jism halfway across the room.”

I was being cold but not nearly as bad as I was with Glaze and Piece of Shit. My two pets relieved and released an anger in me that could never truly be explained. I equated my sexuality with disdain when I was in their presence and humiliating them was all that mattered. It was my way of making someone else feel how I felt on October 25, 1987, a date forever embedded in my mind. In many ways, it was the date of my death and my rebirth as someone who simply didn’t give a fuck about most people in the world. Somehow that made it easier for me to take chances that led to an extreme amount of success in life. Strange shit but the harsh truth.

Kagiso still stood there, pondering over whether he should continue to try to press me for some pussy or cave like always and expose his dick.

“I don’t have all damn day, Kagiso,” I said. “It only takes five seconds for you to drop your drawers. Let me see Striker.” I eyed Kagiso seductively as I went ahead and inserted my index finger into my pussy. “I’ve missed my baby so much.”

Kagiso couldn’t hold back any longer, unzipped his pants, kicked off his shoes, and was butt naked within thirty seconds flat. “Ain’t nothing babyish about my dick.”

I licked my lips. “Damn sure isn’t.”

Kagiso climbed on the bed and lay down with his head resting on the mattress between my thighs so he could inhale the scent of my pussy. Also, he liked to be close so he could hear the sounds of me playing in it.

His dick, lovingly known to me as Striker, was on full alert and it looked divine. There were times such as these when I yearned desperately to impale myself on his dick, but it was useless. Allowing a man to touch me was out of the question. There was too much pain and agony involved.

“Stroke him gently at first,” I instructed in a whisper. “I want to see you pamper him like he deserves to be treated.”

Kagiso looked upward at me and our eyes met as he started moving his hand up and down his shaft slowly.

I moaned and slipped two more fingers into my pussy and started moving them in and out to the same rhythm.

“You like this dick?” he asked.

“Um, yeah, I love your dick.” I stared at his hand as he started moving slightly faster. I did the same. “I love the blackness of it, the length, the girth; every motherfucking thing about it.”

“Sit on it,” Kagiso urged, damn near in a begging way.

“You have other women for that. Imagine that I’m sitting on it. Move like I’m sitting on it and I’m going to move like you’re inside me.”

What ensued was amazing. Kagiso and I both were thrashing around on the bed, him jerking off and moving his hips up and down like I was on top of him, and me gyrating my hips as I bombarded my pussy with my fingers. When Kagiso came, his sperm shot straight up to the ceiling like a geyser and I squirted far enough that some of my juices landed on his cleft chin and in his mouth.

We both moaned and gasped as our bodies convulsed and our breathing patterns returned to normal. Kagiso turned over and licked some of my pussy juice off the sheets and tried to move his tongue up onto my left thigh, where there was a mound of it, but I quickly pushed him away, lifted my leg over his head, and got off the bed. His lips brushed across my ass cheek and that was as close as he was going to get to skin-on-skin action.

I went into the bathroom to wash up with a warm towel, then returned to the bedroom with one for him: our routine. As he stood up and wiped himself off, he glared at me like I had molested him or something.

“What?” I asked. “Didn’t you like it?”

“I’m simply trying to figure you out.”

“In what regard?” Of course, I knew what he meant, but I wanted to hear it.

“Why you constantly have me doing this and giving me nothing in return. What’s up with that?”

“Listen, Kagiso, you and I both know that all of you can get pussy at the drop of a hat. You can smell mine, you can hear mine, and you can even grab a little taste if one comes your way, but I am not giving it up to you or anyone else.”

“That’s my point. Why is that?” He started getting dressed and then paused, staring into my eyes. “It’s certainly not for religious reasons. You’re too damn freaky to be shy. Fuck it! Truth be told, you’re the best sex partner that I’ve ever had and I’ve never even fucked you. So what is it?”

“It’s none of your damn business.”

I walked back into the bathroom and shut the door. A moment later, I heard Kagiso approaching it. “Wicket, I can only assume that something happened to you. Something that has turned you off like a faucet. For some reason, you don’t want to be touched and that’s a damn shame.”

“Go away!” I yelled through the door.

“If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you. You’re too beautiful, intelligent, and talented to live your life this way. If I’m not the man for you, that’s cool. We started out like this, but you deserve someone to love you.”

“I said, go the fuck away!” I yelled louder.

I could hear Kagiso backing away from the door and then leave the room. As he was shutting the bedroom door behind him, I emerged from the bathroom and collapsed on my bed in tears.

“Damn you and your master’s in early childhood education,” I whispered. Kagiso had read me like an open book and I was not happy about that. Not happy about that at all.

T
he Gracious Swan Spa was a magnificent place. Whoever designed it was on top of their game. It reminded me of a day spa in Milan, Italy. I didn’t go to spas everywhere that I visited, even though they were so relaxing. Being Wicket meant paparazzi no matter where I went. In order to go to a spa, it had to be exclusive, so it meant renting the entire space out—not an issue—and having security surrounding the entire building. That meant that KAD had to find at least five to six other big-ass men to back them up. All of that for a facial, pedicure, and steam bath was excessive.

Of course, I had all of that at my home in Atlanta, but I had rented out Gracious Swan for another purpose. It was the only place that made sense for the meeting that I was about to have. Everyone else was across town at the Jeju Spa, which specialized in Korean hip baths, their variation of a sitz bath, that helped to detox the pussy and tighten it up. It was a loud place and they even allowed kids in that joint. A lot of people went to the twenty-four-hour place to sleep in the T-shirt and shorts provided. It was all good. I was not knocking it, but I preferred a more traditional, quieter spa. Besides, if I ever showed up there, I would have been bombarded with people to the point that I wouldn’t have enjoyed it for five seconds.

I was sitting on a lounge chair in the aromatherapy room when she entered, wearing a plush, white robe matching the one that I had on, and a pair of snug slippers. She was a stunning woman who looked exactly like her photo on her website. She had her hair wrapped up in a towel, like me, but I remembered that her hair was shoulder-length and dark brown to match her eyes. She appeared younger than she probably was, but black actually doesn’t crack until well into one’s eighties.

I stood to shake her hand as she approached me. There was not a single other person in sight, including the employees. I had paid eighteen grand to rent the place for three hours.

“Dr. Spencer, nice to meet you.”

She shook my hand and stared at me for a moment. Then she smiled and I felt more at ease.

“Please, call me Marcella.” We both took seats on two lounge chairs, facing each other. “And what would you prefer for me to call you? Wicket or Ladonna?”

I hesitated, only because I was trying to figure out if I should cut the bullshit and tell her to call me Caprice. After all, the entire purpose of this was for me to “come clean.”

Instead of answering her question, I said, “I’m sorry for the inconvenience of meeting me here. If I had come to your office for an appointment, reporters would have hounded you forever and scared off your other clientele. If I had requested that you come to the house, damn near the same effect. Here at the spa, it makes it appear like we’re merely two people enjoying the same place at the same time.”

Marcella looked around. “I understand, but if they’re extremely clever, they’ll realize that no one else is here.”