His rhythm inside of her was driving upward as his dick head pierced her warm, tightening flesh. Baby clamped her legs around him and had Samson drowning in her scented, slick juices.
“Ooooh, you feel so fuckin’ good. Ooooh, you feel so good ... Ugggh ... Uggh!” His feral grunts echoed inside of the truck.
They fucked hard. Baby wanted to relish the moment. It was what she expected. Samson had a lot of built-up frustration inside of him, and decided to release and express himself inside of Baby’s tight pussy. Samson’s hips thrust upward, as he impaled her with his dick.
“Aaah ... Aaah, oh shit, oh my God ...” she moaned, with her ass cheeks being spread apart by his strong grip, as her body arched upward, and opening her mouth in a moan of pleasure.
“Damn, your shit is tight, oh shit ... so good ... oh shit!” he growled as he stayed deep inside of her.
Baby’s hands tensed into fists as her whole body went stiff as a board beneath Samson. Then she went limp like a wet noodle as he moved his dick in and out of her. Her nails dragged against his skin, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. The heated flesh from his lap caused Baby to vibrate against him. Samson’s body shook with a solid orgasm that raced through his whole body. His nut was heavy inside of her. He was lost in a rapturous haze of lust. Their bodies dripped with satisfaction.
The heated moment was quick and intense.
They both were breathless, but fulfilled. The rain continued to come down like a shower on the truck. Samson’s truck reeked of sex and flesh. Baby climbed off his lap and collapsed in the passenger seat. Her naked flesh was sweaty and her breathing still remained shallow. Samson exhaled. He then slowly pulled up his jeans to his hips, but left them unfastened for a moment, and rested his head against the headrest. He had a sudden look of regret. What the fuck did I just do? he asked himself. She was only eighteen. But, he wondered, who took advantage of who?
“That was nice,” Baby said, as she dressed herself.
Samson remained silent.
Baby was completely dressed and said, “You can take me home now.”
Her smile aimed at him was conniving. Samson sat there, still lost in his thoughts, or regrets. He blew air out of his mouth and turned to face Baby. The pussy had him stagnant for a moment. Baby knew she had him caught up. It was what she was good at.
Samson knew it was time to take her home. He started the truck and drove off. They drove silently to Baisley Park Housing. When he reached his destination, Baby leaned over to give him a kiss, but Samson resisted. He pulled back from her and said, “You should go.”
“Cool. See you tomorrow in school,” Baby said coolly.
She jumped out of his truck and strutted toward her building. She felt she got what she needed. She didn’t stress his sudden rejection.
Samson delayed driving off for a minute. His eyes followed Baby walking into her building. Once she was inside, Samson sighed. He thought about what he had done, and said to himself, “Never again.”
Chapter 11
G.G. excitedly strutted toward the video shoot clad in a sexy, dirty-cop costume, which included a hat, badge, and the front button dress with handcuff garters, gloves, belt, tie, and a walkie-talkie. She sported clear stilettos, with her long dreads falling freely around her shoulders. Her body curved perfectly in the attire from head to toe. Her skin glistened with sex appeal. Her walk toward the video set attracted attention. She immediately turned heads left and right—men and women.
G.G. was excited to know that Chubbs was for real about his offer to be in Johnny South Side’s video. She called him the next day, and the two spoke for an hour. Chubbs arranged everything for G.G., and she was being paid $2,500 for a day’s shooting. It was the most legit money she ever made in her life.
So many things were on her mind. She was a little nervous, having butterflies swimming around in her stomach. She wanted to be on point. Her scene was simple. She had a few close-ups with Johnny South Side in the video, with one scene of her straddling the rapper on the hood of a police car. It was a sexy and raunchy video. The director wanted to push sex to the limit. G.G. wanted to be the sexiest bitch in the rap video. She was the youngest video girl on the set, and ready to express her sexuality in front of the camera by any means necessary.
G.G. hated that she came alone, though. She wanted T.T. to come and support her. But T.T. declined the invitation. Her excuse was lame, and G.G. knew it. G.G. suspected that T.T. became jealous of her unexpected opportunity because it wasn’t her. The signs of jealousy were there. T.T. brought G.G. down to the club, and her first night dancing, she links up with Chubbs, a well-known player in the streets and in the music industry. What were the odds of that? The other dancers strived for the chance to get put on and be in a rapper’s video or get with a baller. It gave them a reason to hate G.G. They all felt she stole something that belonged to one of them.
G.G. didn’t give a fuck what T.T. or anyone felt about her. She wasn’t going to take her chance for granted. She was a hood bitch with a chance, and she was ready to milk it ’til it was dry. It was only hate.
It was evening. The sun was slowly fading behind the horizon. There was a chill in the air. The video shoot was set to take place on a closed-off street and back alley in Brooklyn. It was a grimy location and perfect for what the director had in mind for his video. G.G. was the last girl to step on to the video set. There were numerous girls standing around, all of them wearing raunchy cop attire, but G.G.’s was a little raunchier. She showed more skin and cleavage, and her dark ebony skin shined as if recently oiled, or sweating after a long and hard workout.
She was ready to perform.
G.G. spotted Chubbs standing in the distance talking to the director. He looked handsome in a white V-neck T-shirt underneath a brown blazer, wearing a pair of Levi’s jeans and fresh white Nikes. Chubbs looked over at G.G. and smiled. She smiled back. He finished talking to the director and walked over to G.G. He could tell that she was nervous. She stood alone, playing with her nails.
“How you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m okay.”
“Nervous?” he asked her.
“A little,” she admitted.
“You’ll be okay, just be yourself out there ... Let the camera do all the work, let them capture who G.G. is. Even though it’s a small part, sometimes that three or five minutes on camera can change your life,” he proclaimed.
G.G. nodded.
It was a different world for her, and G.G. seemed to be a completely different person for the moment. The confidence and hard persona she carried on the streets had dissipated while on the set. She was starting to look like a nervous young girl. She looked around her environment and took everything in—the 100,000-watt lights that were strategically placed on the street to brighten up the area of shooting, with stands and cords wrapped around the set, and multiple cameras situated near the tricked-out Impala cop car with the tinted windows and hydraulics underneath. Staff and crew people were bustling about, some jobs more important than others. Johnny South Side’s entourage and goons stood in the background in their sagging designer jeans, and heavy jewelry, eyeing the luscious young video vixens who were ready to dance and perform their duties.
Johnny South Side stepped onto the set like an A-list movie star. His long diamond chain was swinging from around his neck with a diamond-encrusted pit bull pendent. His jeans sagged like his goons, exposing his boxers. He wore a wife beater over his slim physique. His Timberlands were fresh and a Yankees fitted was tilted to the left over his long cornrows. He was the epitome of a gangster rapper from Jamaica Queens. He’d been shot, locked up, and had an extensive criminal record. He was animated. He had a bottle of E&J in one grip and a cigarette in the other.
The first scene required all the scantily clad ladies to surround the cop car with Johnny standing atop the car being shirtless and rhyming with the bottle in his hand. Everyone took their position on set. G.G. stood at the hood of the car. She took a deep b
reath and waited.
“And ... action!” the director shouted.
A heavy bass beat blared all of a sudden. It had a downbeat tempo with a piano melody. It was catchy. The girls started to move seductively to the beat—winding their hips, some groping their tits as Johnny started to rhyme. He was already hyped. He danced on the roof of the car and rhymed, “This is how we do, my niggas represent, South Road, Guy Brewer, we all over, so we gotta let these bitches know ... we don’t hug ’em or love ’em, just fuck ’em and chuck ’em, I love fuckin’ wit’ that round bubble, put my dick in her butt, now she can’t strut. I luv to rub against them, no luv against ’em, dip down low, her backside crying, ’cause my dick is far from lying, she takes shots like she on the range, her mouth open wide for it like she ain’t playin, like a doorway, my whole team comin’ in, her pussy so good gotta put a grade-A seal on it ...”
It was a derogatory rhyme. Johnny South Side let it flow without any shame. Everyone nodded to it. He jumped from the car and pulled one of the girls into his arms and fondled her big butt as he focused into the camera. She then bent over in front of him, pushing her ass back against his crotch and wiggled and jiggled her goodies for Johnny to enjoy. A second girl flanked Johnny, dropping down low to bounce her ass for the camera to pick up on. Johnny out of the blue doused two of the scantily clad girls with the liquor he had in his hand and they took his disrespectful action in stride.
G.G. looked on. She was shocked at what she saw. It was unbelievable. She remained focused and continued dancing against the Impala. She wanted the spotlight, too. Her nervousness disappeared the minute the director shouted, “Action!” Her neat, long dreads stood out. She noticed Johnny looking her way a few times as he poured liquor over the girls. She matched his passionate gaze upon her, and smiled.
A few girls started exposing themselves for the camera, flashing tits and nipples, thin G-strings and more skin. G.G. decided to be that bitch, and ripped open her shirt, having the buttons fly loose, exposing all her goodies. Her nipples were thick and dark like Hershey Kisses. She had some of the juiciest tits on the set. With her long dreads, and succulent figure, she definitely stood out. The scene went on for two minutes and the director shouted, “Cut!”
Everything stopped. The two girls Johnny doused with E&J were all smiles and playful. They stayed glued to Johnny like his hip, and it was obvious that they wanted more from him than a part in his rap video. The groupies were everywhere.
“That was nice, Johnny ... really nice,” the director complimented him.
“Yo, next scene, I wanna get really fuckin’ raw wit’ it, ya feel me, Mike? Make it fuckin’ X-rated and shit. The girls are nice, though, fo’ real,” said Johnny in his long, rough drawl.
“I’ll see what I can do, Johnny,” replied Mike, the director.
Johnny walked back to his trailer with two groupies under his arms. It was evident what was going to take place. They had a fifteen-minute window before the next scene. Johnny’s goons were ready to play too. When the scene was done, they approached the girls with only one thing on their minds, and it was transparent on their hungry faces. Two immediately went for G.G., but Chubbs intervened.
“I need to holla at her for a minute,” said Chubbs, throwing his arm around G.G. and cock-blocking.
“Damn, Chubbs, why you gotta do it like that?” said one goon. “I know you saw a nigga tryin’ to step to her.”
“Step off, nigga, fo’ real,” barked Chubbs with authority in his tone.
The goon could only glare at them. He knew Chubbs’s position, and dared not overstep his boundaries. He stepped away, and approached another young groupie. Chubbs led G.G. away from the set to talk privately.
“You did good for your first scene,” he said.
“You think?”
“Yeah, you are a natural at this.”
G.G. smiled. “I didn’t overdo it, right?”
“Nah, this is a raunchy late-night video; you know this shit ain’t gonna get any play on BET or MTV ... it’s something for the underground. The song is hot, and Johnny insisted that we do a video to it.”
“I’m just happy to be down.”
Chubbs smiled. He liked G.G.’s swag and appeal. Something about her had drawn him to her. She was young, but she was a sharp and rough girl. Chubbs liked everything about her. He was thirty-nine years old—twice her age.
“So, what’s your plans for later on?” he asked.
“I don’t know ... I’ll be back on the block wit’ my crew,” answered G.G.
Chubbs laughed. “Ya crew, huh ... Yeah, I’ve heard about your crew.”
“And what you heard?”
“Y’all don’t play. Y’all rough ... What y’all call yourselves? The Pussy packin’ ... what, or something ...”
“The Pussy Packin’ Pound ... Triple P girls, fo’ real ... ride or die bitches,” exclaimed G.G.
“That’s what up, shorty. You fo’ real wit’ yours, I like that.”
“That’s the only way to be on these streets.”
“Who you telling,” said Chubbs. “But tonight, let’s hang out, and do something. You down?”
“Hells yeah ... I’m down.”
“A’ight. I got spot where I wanna take you.”
G.G. smiled.
The short break was soon over, and it was back to shooting the second scene for the video. Everyone was situated on the set, and G.G. had her one-on-one scene with Johnny. Johnny South Side lay across the hood of the Impala and G.G. straddled him with her hands pressed against his chest. It was an intimate scene. Johnny gripped G.G.’s booty and peered up at the camera that was hovering above him for the aerial shot. A fog machine started to dispense smoke, giving the scene a mysterious haze. The other girls were situated around; some looked at G.G. with that green-eyed envy.
Johnny loved it. G.G. was soft in all places, and sat comfortably on top of him. He caught a slight erection as her hips grinded into his lap. He threw his hands up, and continued his rhyming.
“Yeah, you know I’m a freaky nigga, and gonna keep fuckin’ a bitch in every freak kinda way. ’Cause when that pussy comes out, dat’s when my freak comes out. Shit, I’ll even fuck a bitch in the butt, if she don’t front, make her huff and puff and then blow my nut out.”
The girls moved to the song. G.G. continued her gyration motion against Johnny, swaying to the catchy beat. His lyrics were vulgar and it made some of the female crew uncomfortable, but they had a job to do. The scene went on for six minutes, and then the director shouted, “Cut!”
Johnny nodded. He looked up at G.G. still atop him and said, “I’m lovin’ ya style, ma ... fo’ real. What’s ya name?”
“G.G.,” she said.
“That’s what’s up ... You Chubbs’ people, right?”
“Yup.”
“A’ight ... he cool peoples, that’s my dude. He definitely got good taste,” said Johnny.
“I know.”
Chubbs walked over and interrupted their brief conversation. G.G. climbed off his lap and stood tall in her stilettos. Johnny looked at him and smiled. “We did good, right?”
“You did ya thang, Johnny,” Chubbs said.
Johnny rose up from off the hood and gave Chubbs dap. The two had a mutual respect for each other. Chubbs looked at G.G. and said, “You can get dressed; we’re done for the day.”
G.G. nodded. She strutted toward the changing room behind a few other ladies and was happy that she was $2,500 richer. It was easy money for something she would have done for free. G.G. wished that Baby could have come out, too. She knew they would have loved her also. The cousins had that swag that made niggas thirsty for their attention—and people always confused them for sisters, rather than cousins. But Baby was too caught up with running behind J. Rock that she didn’t know a good thing coming. G.G. hated to see her favorite cousin chase behind a nigga who wasn’t trying to chase back.
It took G.G. twenty minutes to change. It had been a good day. She couldn’t wai
t to go out with Chubbs that night. She knew he liked her; it was in his eyes. She liked him too. He had that strong, street swag and respect that she loved in a man. Chubbs was a go-getter, a dreamer, but had some serious thug in him. He had a checkered past, too. She knew he was nobody to play with when he checked Johnny’s young goon earlier.
G.G. walked out of the dressing room and stood in awe by what she saw. She was frozen for a moment. Her sneakers felt rooted to the street like concrete. She wondered how he knew she was there. Her face went flush. Her day had suddenly turned upside down. Echo turned to face her, and the scowl across his face was evidence that he was done asking about his money.
Echo approached G.G. harshly. Her heart began skipping beats. She knew he had the gun tucked in his waistband. It seemed like he was about to reach for it and blast her. She had nowhere to run. He was blocking her exit.
“Bitch, you tryin’ run from me? Huh?” Echo shouted.
“I got your money, Echo,” she returned. “I just got paid today.”
But Echo was done reasoning with her. He never reasoned with anyone. It was always hurt or shoot first, and the person instantly got the message clearly—and if they survived, then they knew better not to fuck with him again. G.G. had pushed his last nerves. She was making him out to be a fool. Reputation was what Echo ran on. G.G. was about to become his next victim.
G.G. was ready to fight him if necessary. He was scary, but she refused to go out like a bitch. She regretted being weaponless. Her razor and .25 were left at home. She had rushed out of the apartment to meet with Chubbs. Echo towered over G.G. and was about to grab for her throat and start twisting and choking. He didn’t care who saw the crime. He just wanted his money or her life.
G.G. poised herself for the attack. She locked eyes with the brutal savage and clenched her fist.
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