“You comin’?” T.T. asked.
“Yeah,” G.G. answered softly.
T.T. was excited to finally have her best friend come to work with her. She knew if G.G. got into dancing with her in the business, then they would kill it together. G.G. and T.T. started to get dressed at the same time, and then headed down to the club known for naked and willing women from all boroughs of the city, who were ready to expose their goodies from head to toe, and please their clientele at any lengths if the price was right.
Chapter 7
J. Rock’s Charger sat parked under the thick, shaded tree on the darkened Queens Street with little traffic passing. It was almost midnight. J. Rock leaned back in his seat in a relaxed pose and enjoyed the blissful moment with Baby’s sweet lips wrapped around his thick erection. His business in Queens Bridge went smoothly. In the trunk of his car was a small duffle bag filled with guns that he was ready to sell in the Carolinas—Charlotte and Greenville. Now, J. Rock wanted to unwind for a moment, and hinted that Baby should give him a blow job. She obliged. Baby wanted to please her man to the fullest. So she leaned forward into his lap as he undid his jeans and pulled out his growing erection. Baby didn’t hesitate to wrap her lips around his dick and suck him off with pleasure.
Baby gently stroked J. Rock’s cock, rendering his yearning lust in her grip, with his hard dick feeling like a steel pipe in the soft, warm palm of her hand. J. Rock moaned when Baby’s lips touched the mushroom tip of his penis and her tongue coiled around it like a snake wrapping around prey. She then devoured him slowly, savoring every sugary taste of him. J. Rock was now thrusting into her mouth, his hand tangled in her hair.
“Ooooh, shit, baby ... Ooooh that shit feels good. Ummm, do that shit,” he cooed.
Baby’s head bobbed up and down in his lap, deep throating him to perfection. J. Rock’s grunts and moans were enough to let her know that he had no complaints about how she sucked his dick. Super Head had nothing on Baby. She massaged his balls and stroked his dick while sucking it simultaneously.
“Aaaahhh, shit,” grunted J. Rock, as he looked down at the mass of black hair that was planted in his lap.
His eyes were opened a little bit, but they had a glassy look to them, as if he were possibly high on some really good shit. His body went rigid for just a moment while Baby moaned around his dick in her mouth. The sweet moaning vibrated J. Rock’s dick inside Baby’s mouth and he shoved her head hard against his dick repeatedly, as he felt the head of his dick sink past her tongue and into her throat. Baby didn’t try to fight or pull away from J. Rock’s rough actions, she continued to suck and swallow—the motions in her throat were coaxing the orgasm out of J. Rocks balls. Baby was a freak. She wanted J. Rock to release himself down her throat, so she could taste his warm fluids in her mouth.
“Oh, shit ... I’m gonna come,” he exclaimed. “Damn, baby ... just like that, don’t stop ... damn, don’t fuckin’ stop!”
It was so good for J. Rock that a single tear ran down from the side of his eye. He quickly wiped away the tear and grabbed the back of Baby’s head and pushed her throat farther down his dick. Baby gagged momentarily, but she was a professional, and kept her lips wrapped around his dick. She moaned again, as J. Rock released himself deep into her esophagus, and tasting the white, thin liquid that trickled around in her mouth. J. Rock threw his head back and closed his eyes from the unbelievable orgasm.
Baby lifted her face from his lap, sat back in her seat and wiped her mouth of any evidence of her freaky actions. She smiled and asked, “You good, baby? You enjoyed yourself.”
J. Rocks’ actions were evident. “Damn, you did me good, Baby,” he replied, buttoning up his jeans and collecting himself in the driver’s seat.
“See, I take care of my boo,” she said.
J. Rock started the ignition and drove off, leaving Baby’s pussy still tingling. She wanted to fuck, but J. Rock just wanted some head. Baby’s disappointment about not getting any dick was manifested on her face, but she kept her composure and didn’t want to blow up about not getting any dick.
J. Rock cruised through Queens listening to Drake and Lil Wayne. He ignored Baby’s upset and nodded to his favorite track, leaned back in his seat—gangsta lean—and clutching the steering wheel with his right hand.
Soon, he was pulling up to Baby’s building in Baisley Park housing. He put the car in park, and looked over at Baby. She had been quiet for the duration of the ride home. Her mind was on so many things. She wanted to fuck just to relieve herself of some of the frustration she was feeling, but J. Rock clearly made it known that business came first, even when she treated him as a priority, and sucked his dick like a porn star—like she usually did.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“Yo, I need you to do me a favor,” he mentioned.
Baby slowly twisted her direction at him with a look that said, “He has some fuckin’ nerve.” She didn’t curse him out, though. She found herself asking, “What?”
“Yo, I need to stash that duffle bag at your crib for a minute ... a’ight?”
“Why?”
“’Cause I want you to ... Damn, don’t make this fuckin’ difficult, Baby. Just do it, for me, a’ight?”
Baby let out an exasperated sigh. “A’ight.”
“I’ll be back around to get that shit next week.”
“Why, where you goin?”
“I got some business in B-more,” J. Rock stated.
“So I ain’t gonna see you ’til next week, then?” Baby said, which meant she was going to be sexually frustrated for a fucking week. It was a nightmare.
“Yo, I’ll be back ... Why you fuckin’ actin’ like a bitch for? Don’t I fuckin’ take care of you?”
“Not tonight,” she spat.
“What ... ’cause you ain’t get no dick? Bitch, please . . . You lucky I don’t wild out on ya ass after what you and your cousin did to Erica,” he argued.
Baby hated when he defended that bitch. She wanted nothing more than to wipe Erica clean from J. Rock’s life and his mind, so she could be the only one concrete in his world.
“Whatever,” she hissed, storming out of the car.
J. Rock popped open the truck so Baby could remove the duffle bag. Baby walked around to the back of the car, lifted open the trunk, and pulled out the small black duffle bag with the illegal handguns concealed inside. She slung it over her shoulder and strutted toward the lobby entrance without even turning to look back at J. Rock. She was upset. J. Rock smirked and pulled off, giving no thought about Baby’s feelings.
Baby entered her apartment and called out for her grandmother. “Grandma, I’m home.”
She knew her grandmother wouldn’t answer. It was just something Baby liked to do. It made her think of the old days when her grandmother was normal and taking care of her with home-cooked meals and stories of her parents. The dementia came gradually—the deterioration of her brain cells was a painstaking process for both of them. Her grandmother’s mental functioning was disappearing, such as concentration, memory, and the judgment that affected a person’s ability to perform normal and daily activities.
Baby dropped the bag on the couch and walked down the corridor and stepped inside her grandmother’s room. The door was ajar. The home attendant was sitting at the side of her grandmother’s bed, trying to feed her grandmother peas and rice. Baby peered in the room. It was a sad sight. Her grandmother’s frail body just lay there, looking like a skeleton with skin. Her graying hair was thin, and the wrinkles were plenty. The home attendant turned to look at Baby standing in the doorway.
“How she’s doin’ today?” Baby asked.
“She’s the same.”
Baby gazed at her sickly grandmother. She had nothing else to say. The lady in her late thirties had things under control in the apartment. Her name was Cindy Mathews. She was a Caribbean woman from St. Thomas. She was there night and day, taking care of her
grandmother. She was good at her job and very well trusted.
“She’s need her rest and medication. But she’s fine, chil’,” Cindy stated.
Baby wanted to yell out, “She’s not fuckin’ fine! She’s fuckin’ dying.” But she held her tongue.
Baby turned and walked away, entering the living room. She picked up J. Rock’s duffle bag of handguns and went into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. She dropped his bag on the floor near the bed and walked over to her dresser mirror. She slowly began undressing herself, peeling her skintight jeans off, and removing her T-shirt. She then unhooked her bra and removed her panties and gazed at her curvy, luscious, and petite image in the mirror. Her reflection was a beautiful sight. Her ample breasts and womanly curves were hypnotizing to any man—but not hypnotizing enough to the man she desired. Baby let out a heavy sigh. She then locked on her own eyes in the mirror and solemnly asked, “What is wrong wit’ me?” She had J. Rock on her mind when she asked the question.
Chapter 8
G.G. strutted behind T.T. into the dimly lit and bawdy underground Brooklyn club. Inside, the girls were met with the thunderous sounds of Lil Wayne and Drake’s “She Will” blaring throughout the spot. The place was teeming with half-naked and some fully naked women wandering about in their stylish stilettos, and lustful, drinking men eager to play with some of the promiscuous women they came in contact with. The club was midsized; the stage and bar were makeshift. The dancers didn’t need any resumes or an interview for the job. If you were a young girl looking to make some money, the only thing you needed was nerve, tip in or tip out money, and a willingness to tolerate being groped and lusted after by so many men—young and old.
G.G. looked around as she followed T.T. in the club. She was cool. The scene didn’t bother her. She already knew what to expect. She already caught attention inside the place. She immediately turned some heads. She was new and beautiful. The small scar was a plus for some of the fellows to see. They admired the way her hips curved perfectly in the skintight jeans she wore, and how her ass was like a bouncing bubble. She wore heels and her long, exquisite dreads flowed freely and framed her face and head perfectly. She was the only lady in the club with dreads.
T.T. was a regular, and some of the men were excited that she arrived. She greeted a few people, and then introduced her friend G.G. to them. The men stared at G.G. with such a strong hunger that it was obvious in their eyes what they wanted from her. She was like an Amazon to them in her six-inch heels and long legs hidden away in tight jeans.
G.G. and T.T. walked toward the back of the club and headed down a narrow corridor that led to VIP rooms for sex, and the changing room for the ladies. As G.G. strutted down the hallway, she could hear the moans and sexual sounds coming from behind a few doors—indicating some people were happy and having a good time. T.T. carried a small bag around her shoulder. G.G. carried nothing. She was still debating if she should go through with this.
The girls walked into the small room made for changing. It was a windowless room, reeking of past girls before them, and was the size of a small ghetto bedroom. The eggshell walls were covered in graffiti and dirt, and the concrete floors were cold and scattered with a few garments from changing strippers. The girls were alone. The other girls were already on the floor bending over, dancing buck naked on stage, giving out lap dances, and showing their sweet goodies any which way and how for a few dollars.
T.T. dropped her bag and looked at G.G.
“You gonna do this? I mean, it’s money out there, G.G.,” said T.T. “Yo, you saw how them niggas was lookin’ at you; they were already thirsty and shit.”
G.G. still looked reluctant. She was reluctant only because of her reputation. She was from the block, hustled crack, and knew too many people, especially niggas. She didn’t have any moral issue, and wasn’t nervous about being buck naked in front of strangers. She just didn’t want to be looked down on by niggas as a dumb, dancing slut, who was desperate for cash— which was the majority of the girls’ reputations in the place. But her options were few—very few. And in reality, G.G. was desperate to make some extra cash and dancing was the only option she saw.
“How much do you usually make here?” G.G. asked.
“Shit, depends ... A bitch could make an easy three to five hundred a night if she’s doin’ her fuckin’ thang ... But if you lookin’ to make some more, you take that trick to one of the backrooms and fuck or suck that nigga off easily ... have him break you wit’ an easy hundred or more,” T.T. proclaimed.
“You be doin’ that shit, T.T.?”
“Bitch, it pays my fuckin’ bills,” she replied dryly. “Just try it, G.G. It’s cool ... Fuck you lookin’ like it’s beneath you?”
“’Cause it is,” G.G. returned.
“Whatever, bitch! I’m tryin’ to help you out wit’ a job, and you burning bridges,” snapped T.T. “All I know, I’m about to get dressed and go out there to make some money. Ya either wit’ it, or you can leave, G.G. It ain’t gonna hurt me none.”
T.T. sat in the chair and began getting undressed. G.G. stood off in the corner contemplating. The door to the room swung open and two scantily clad young girls walked in. Both were clutching a fistful of money: singles and a few fives. One glanced at G.G. with a deadpan look, and the other greeted T.T., saying, “Hey, Spice.” It was T.T.’s stage name.
G.G. wanted to snap and shout, “What the fuck you lookin’ at?” But G.G. stood off to the side and watched everything. The girls came into the room to change into different outfits. They both were thick, hood-rat bitches in their early twenties. They began boasting about getting money, and turning tricks in the VIP rooms. T.T. removed her outfit from her bag and laid it across the back of the chair.
“She ya girl, Spice?” one of the dancers asked.
“Yeah.”
The two strippers then proceeded to change into different outfits for the night. T.T. looked up at her friend with a questionable stare. G.G. looked back and asked, “What I’ma get dressed in?”
“That’s what’s up,” T.T. replied.
T.T. started to remove a few outfits from her bag and said to G.G., “We about the same size, even though you got a little more ass than me.”
Forty minutes later, both girls stepped out from the dressing room looking more like grown women in their raunchy attire and makeup than two eighteen-year-old teens. G.G. strutted behind T.T. toward the club floor, scantily clad in an elastic black halter baby-doll which was a Lycra net with elastic straps and wearing a matching thong underneath. The stilettos she wore made her shapely legs look stretched to the ceiling. T.T. wore a multi-colored striped fishnet long-sleeved dress. She had nothing on underneath, exposing her dark nipples and shaved pussy. She sported bright red stilettos. They walked into the lively club and numerous eyes were fixed on them.
T.T. and G.G. looked like divas, with their smooth skin glistening under their attire and their bodies releasing an intense sex appeal for the men to pick up. G.G. wasn’t nervous. She went straight to the bar and ordered a drink to down quickly—a shot of vodka. Five minutes on the floor and G.G. already had men approaching her from every direction.
“Damn, beautiful ... I like that; let me lick the crack of your ass,” said one dude.
“What’s your name, ma?”
“Can I get a dance wit’ you?”
“Yo, shorty wit’ the dreads, c’mere,” said another.
“You lookin’ good in that outfit.”
G.G. was getting hit with questions and compliments left and right. She was bad and new. She lingered by the bar for a moment, talking to potential tippers and eager men who craved her attention. Drake and Jay-Z’s “Light It Up” was blaring throughout the club. G.G. nodded to the track and looked around her newfound milieu. It screamed lust and sex from wall to wall. The young boys and thugs in the place were the most aggressive and loud ones, while the old heads were more laidback and chill—being gentler with the ladies.
G.G.
strutted around the club, getting used to it. She gave out lap dances, and grinded on the fellows, feeling their hard-ons through their jeans poking against her. She drank and started making her ends.
T.T. got on the stage when the DJ started to play “Moment 4 Life” with Nikki Minaj and Drake. She strutted around the elevated platform with confidence. Her legs gleamed like the sun in the afternoon, and her swelled breasts jiggled like dangling fruit from a tree. She caught immediate attention from the fellows as she moved to the beat, and slowly raised her multi-colored, transparent fishnet dress up to her hips, exposing her shaved goodies clearly to the bright-eyed men in the crowd—their minds and attention becoming trapped in lust. T.T.’s pleasing hips swayed and gyrated on the stage like she was twirling with an invisible Hula-Hoop. She firmly gripped the pole centered on the stage and twirled around it like a young schoolgirl on the playground. Her legs were in the air like a joyful ride, exposing her pussy to lively onlookers. She then dropped into a rapid split across the floor, like a cheerleader, and bounced her ass across the stage, leaning forward, showing the crowd her flexibility.
“Damn,” a man shouted.
“Yo, do that shit, ma ... That’s what the fuck I’m talking about,” another man shouted.
Money was tossed at her from everywhere; some of it came floating down on T.T. like it came from the heavens. She then rolled over on her back, thrust and parted her legs up in the air like a wide V and had her pussy in full view on the stage. More money was thrown at her. T.T. continued to move widely and seductively on the stage, the transparent dress came off and was tossed to the side, and she was buck naked in some stilettos, giving the men a phenomenal show. She made her ass bounce like a dribbling ball, and worked the pole like a gymnast—showing off her upper body strength.
G.G. was stunned at T.T.’s skills. She showed confidence. She watched her friend work magic for the crowd around the stage and saw the money she was making. There had to be a hundred dollars in singles and fives plastered across the stage. She wasn’t scared to flirt and get extremely close with the men; they were able to touch wherever they pleased. Their hands groped her breasts and fondled between her legs. G.G. saw that men had their hands everywhere across T.T.’s skin.
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