With This Ring

by Allison Hobbs

  Scanning the four-page document, she came upon a court date. She had to appear in court two weeks from today, and a judge would decide whether to throw the matter out of court or change the order from temporary to permanent. Losing Yuri permanently was unthinkable. She’d never be able to survive the loss.

  It was as if a dark cloud was hovering over her. She’d lost her child, had to make three separate court appearances, and there was a possibility that she might have to do some hard time. Vangie had to get right with God. She needed His strength and mercy. She hadn’t been to church in over a year, but she’d be sitting in the front pew this coming Sunday. Singing, clapping, shouting, and praying. Whatever it took to get back in God’s good graces.

  Holding the assortment of bills, junk mail, and the envelope that swelled from the bulky restraining order, she entered her apartment. It should have felt good to get home and finally take a shower, but the apartment was quiet as a tomb and she felt so lonely being separated from Yuri.

  She took small, hesitant steps toward her son’s bedroom. The door was open and though she dreaded seeing his empty bed, she clicked on the light and allowed her eyes to wander around the room. His silent Xbox seemed to mock her. So many times she’d yelled at Yuri to turn down the volume. She’d give anything to hear those computerized sound effects and voices. She’d give anything to have her child back home tonight, asleep in his own bed.

  She missed Yuri so much, every part of her body ached—her face, her arms, her legs, her back. She felt like she was covered with whip lashes and open wounds as she gazed around her son’s silent bedroom.

  What she needed to rectify this travesty of justice was money. And lots of it. And the only people she knew who had an excess of cash were Harlow and Alphonso. Harlow wasn’t speaking to her, and so it looked like Alphonso was her man.

  She’d do whatever he wanted. She was willing to fulfill whatever depraved and despicable sex act his perverted heart desired, as long as he paid the price.

  She turned off the light in Yuri’s bedroom. As if preserving the room until his return, she closed the door.

  In the living room, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to keep from crying. A sudden sharp pain in her stomach bent her over, and she sank heavily into a puffy armchair. With her face buried in her hands, tears dampening her fingers and her hands, Vangie cried heart-wrenching, guttural sobs. She cried so loud and hard, her throat felt raw and burned. She cried and cried until she couldn’t shed any more tears.

  VANGIE

  Basic chicks like Jojina made Vangie’s blood boil. Vangie had to work to pay her bills while women like Jojina expected the government to hand them everything on a silver platter.

  Less than an hour’s worth of online research revealed that Jojina’s lovely home in the upscale neighborhood of Thornbury, Pennsylvania was provided by Section Eight. And Shawn’s name wasn’t on the lease. There had to be some kind of law that prohibited the kind of scam that Jojina was running. Section Eight housing was for women and their children—not for an able-bodied man who would have been able to get credit and buy a decent home if he wasn’t trying to beat the system by working under the table.

  Shawn and Jojina were two of a kind—both were scam artists and they deserved each other. But in the meantime, Vangie had to get her son out of their clutches. Paying attorneys could put her into a lot of debt—force her into bankruptcy and worse. She imagined being kicked out of her apartment and having to live with her mother and Mr. Harold. The thought of moving in with Barbara Boyd and being bossed around like a little kid, motivated her to place the call she’d been dreading.

  “Hey, Alphonso.”

  “What’s up, Vangie?”

  “Well, I was wondering when I’m gonna see you again,” she said in her best version of a sultry voice, though she wasn’t feeling sexy at all.

  There was a short contemplative pause. “I could probably make the trip tomorrow night if you make it worth my while.”

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” she replied in the breathy voice of a phone-sex operator.

  “Nah, I don’t think you want to see me.”

  You’re right; I don’t. “Why would you say that?” Anxiety over money caused her voice to climb an octave.

  “I can tell by the way you’re talking to me—all nice and soft. You know how I like it.”

  “Get your ass to Philly tomorrow night, you piece of shit!” she growled.

  “All right, ma. That’s what I’m talking about?”

  “Don’t call me, ma!” she said sharply.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, chuckling. “What’s that name you go by?”

  “Venus.”

  “Right, Venus. I hope you don’t try to charge me an arm and a leg this time.”

  “You can afford it, you cheap fuck. You better bring me my damn money.”

  “Five stacks?”

  “Exactly.”

  “For that kind of money, I expect you to go hard. Put in some work and handle some equipment.”

  “What kind of equipment?”

  “I got that covered. What size are you—a twelve, right?”

  “Right and don’t forget it,” she barked, assuming the severe personality of her alter ego, Venus. For all her feigned outward bravado, she was nervous on the inside, wondering what Alphonso expected of her. She could deal with getting into character and wearing a leather dominatrix dress, if that’s what he had in mind. She could also handle cursing him out and calling him degrading names. But that’s where she drew the line. Vangie doubted if she was capable of causing him physical harm. Sure, she’d beat the crap out of Jojina, but fighting someone in self-defense was one thing, while cruelly whipping someone’s ass with a flogging device was an entirely different matter. She wasn’t a sadist and hoped Alphonso didn’t show up toting an assortment of whips and chains and other instruments of torture.

  “Put your hands up!”

  Wearing a three-piece suit and burnished gold tie, the suspect gave the cop a disdainful look and kept moving.

  “Show me your hands, asshole!” The cop grabbed the suspect. “Up against the wall and spread ’em.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” the suspect said, looking over his shoulder as the cop patted him down. The cop yanked the suspect’s wallet out of his back pocket and rifled through it. Finding nothing of importance, the cop’s hand roved up higher and retrieved a thick envelope from inside the suspect’s jacket.

  The cop gave a grunt of satisfaction.

  “Hey, you can’t take my shit; this is harassment!”

  The cop tore open the envelope and broke into a broad grin. “Your shit is mine, now. Get on the ground! Face down. Now!” With a knee planted in the suspect’s back, the cop cuffed him. “Alphonso Givens, you’re under arrest!”

  “For what?” Alphonso asked, scowling and cursing under his breath.

  “For being a pussy!” Vangie grabbed Alphonso by the back of the collar and jerked him to his feet and shoved him into a chair. Dressed in a police uniform, replete with a shiny badge, she paced in front of him. “Start talking or you’re going to spend the night in lockup.”

  Alphonso was playing his part as a criminal suspect, and at his request, she was assuming the role of a police officer and wearing the uniform that he provided. She didn’t require a script to know her dialogue; her recent run-in with the law had prepared her for the part.

  She whistled at the thick stack of hundred-dollar bills inside the envelope. “Where’d you get all this money…dealing drugs?”

  Alphonso smirked. “Do I look like a drug dealer?” he asked snidely.

  Unable to resist the urge of doing him bodily harm, Vangie smacked Alphonso with the wad of bills. “Watch your mouth and wipe that disrespectful look off your face.” She narrowed her eyes at Alphonso as she stuffed the money—her payment for participating in Alphonso’s fantasy—inside her pocket.

  “I’ll hold on to this cash—you know—for evidence.” Sneering, she
patted the bulge in her pocket.

  He wanted corporal punishment and she hadn’t believed herself capable, but thinking about the brutal way he used to fuck her, using his dick like a hammer and treating her pussy like it was something offensive that required punishment, infuriated her. The way she’d tiptoed around the subject of marriage, hoping her patience would endear her to him had been a waste of time. He didn’t think she was worthy of marriage. She was nothing more than his personal cum hole and he kept her pacified with shoes and handbags.

  Vangie glowered at Alphonso.

  “Can’t you let me off with just a warning, officer,” he said with his head lowered in contrition. He was behaving as if he were really inside a police precinct instead of his posh hotel suite. Alphonso was beyond kinky; he was one sick puppy, she realized. The twisted bastard wanted her to get rough with him while he was restrained. Smiling cruelly, she wrapped a hand around the handle of the riding crop he had provided and began to flog her prisoner.

  Alphonso cowered and flinched with each blow from the cane. All the while the fingers of his cuffed hands worked frantically, rubbing and squeezing his growing erection.

  Vangie thrashed his hands with the riding crop. “Did I say you could touch yourself, slime ball?” Tormenting Alphonso wasn’t as difficult as she’d imagined. Thinking of the way he’d used her pussy as if she was nothing more than a blow-up doll, caused her to see red and made it easy to dispense punishment. Her combined anger toward both Alphonso and Shawn was strong enough for her to flog Alphonso with wild abandon.

  Astonishingly, the harder she hit him, the more he seemed to enjoy it.

  “Please, Venus. Take the cuffs off. Let me jerk my dick for a few minutes,” he begged wearing a pitiful expression and speaking in a whiny voice she’d never heard him use before.

  “Fuck you!” Vangie bellowed. “I’ll let you touch your disgusting dick when I feel like it, you premature-ejaculating, no-fucking bitch.”

  She expected Alphonso to flinch in shame, but instead, his breathing quickened and he groaned as he began grinding and humping while handcuffed and sitting in a chair. For a moment, Vangie was stunned by the sight of Alphonso humping the air like a dog in heat. Then she became incensed. “Ugh! Look at you, you nasty dog. You’re so disgusting and fake. You drive around in expensive cars and wear designer suits and try to act like you’re the man. But you ain’t shit! You hide behind all those luxuries, and when they’re stripped away, any fool can see that you’re nothing but filth. And I despise you,” she exploded, flogging him until he toppled to the floor.

  A red streak appeared on the shoulder of his white shirt and Vangie paused before thrashing him again. Through narrowed eyes, she examined the red streak and realized it was blood. Appalled, she gasped and covered her mouth and took a step backward. She hadn’t intended on drawing blood. She’d gone too far. It was time to end this game.

  She retrieved the key to the handcuffs and bent over Alphonso as she hurriedly stuck the key into the lock.

  “What are you doing?” Alphonso asked.

  “You’re bleeding; I’m taking the cuffs off so you can take care of that wound.”

  “No. Don’t take ’em off.”

  “What?”

  “Whip me again.”

  “You’re bleeding, dammit; I can’t hit you anymore.”

  “Then kick me. Kick me and call me names. You know I get off on that freaky shit.”

  Alphonso was crazier than she’d imagined, and Vangie wanted desperately for their freak session to be over. But she needed him to be satisfied. She couldn’t afford to give him any of his money back. “Look, I’m gonna take the cuffs off so you can…” Realizing that she was speaking in a soft, caring tone, her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat.

  “I’m running this show, vermin,” she hissed. “You don’t tell me what to do.” She yanked his bound hands upward and unlocked the cuffs. “Take out that short little dick of yours, so I can have a good laugh.” What she actually wanted was for him to start masturbating. Once he shot a load, this pathetic session would be over and she could take her ass home, five thousand dollars richer.

  Alphonso sat up and fumbled with his fly.

  “Hurry up, piece of shit,” Vangie barked and smacked the side of his head. He released his dick and commenced to jerking the squat, hardened flesh. “Yeah, jerk yourself off, bitch-ass. I hope you stored away in your memory bank all the times I let you run up in me, doggy-style, because you’ll never get inside this pussy again…unless you’re fucking me in your dreams, muthafucka!”

  All of a sudden, Alphonso’s dick went soft. As if the idea of fucking Vangie was a turnoff. Insulted, she felt like whipping his ass again, but controlled the urge.

  “I’m thirsty, officer.”

  Are we back to this shit again? The cuffs were off, and Vangie had thought they were through pretending that she was a cop and that Alphonso was being detained in jail. She was weary of his cop fantasy, but she felt obligated to hold up her end of the bargain.

  “You can die of thirst for all I care,” she said and spat at him.

  He moaned in sexual ecstasy and uttered, “Do it again.”

  Disgusted, she spat at him again and this time he opened his mouth while simultaneously fondling his hardening dick. Spitting in his face over and over was a disgusting way to try and get him off. Desperate to get out of the Ritz-Carlton and go home, Vangie kept spitting and Alphonso kept opening his mouth, attempting to quench his thirst.

  When he finally exploded into his hands, Vangie gave a sigh of relief and muttered, “At last!”

  NIVEA

  Malcolm received his tandem skydiving instructor’s license and invited Nivea to celebrate with him at Bleu Martini, a trendy bar/restaurant in the heart of Old City’s bustling nightlife strip that was known for its incredible martinis. It had been quite a while since Nivea had partaken in the club scene and she was slightly off-kilter. Seeming to sense her discomfort, Malcolm requested seats in the VIP lounge, where they could see and enjoy the party atmosphere without actually participating.

  “This is so good,” she said with a little moan, referring to the scrumptious appetizers—a combo of American, Asian, and French cuisine. “Try this,” Malcolm said, holding a piece of dim sum with a pair of chopsticks, and bringing the bite-size Cantonese dumpling close to Nivea’s lips.

  Overcome by a bout of sudden embarrassment, she hesitated before opening her mouth. Being hand-fed by a man was not something she was accustomed to. During her engagement with Eric, she’d been the dominant partner and was so very much in charge of things, Eric never perceived her as the kind of delicate damsel who needed to be cared for. Looking back on all her previous relationships, she’d always been too busy trying to get the guy to the altar, she’d forgotten how to simply have fun.

  Realizing she had finally begun to enjoy life, she opened her mouth and allowed Malcolm to feed her. Discarding the chopsticks, he picked up something from the tray of French cuisine that was so beautiful, it looked like food art. Motioning for her to open her mouth, he fed her the next tasty morsel. She moaned from the scrumptious flavors that seemed to dance on her tongue, and a quick shiver rushed through her when he used a finger to brush a crumb from her top lip. That sudden skin-to-skin contact had taken her off-guard, and had the impact of a French kiss.

  She wanted to fling off her clothes and straddle Malcolm right there at their table.

  Forcing her mind off sex, she asked, “How many classes were required to become a skydiving instructor?”

  He thought about it, drew a breath and then gazed at her, prepared to respond. But his damned eyes were so beautiful and sexy, she couldn’t look at them for long without yearning to devour him, and so she focused on his hands.

  “Years ago, I took an Accelerated Free Fall course that consisted of seven jumps while being hooked up with an instructor. After completing seven jumps, you get to jump by yourself. And believe me, nothing compares to that firs
t solo jump,” Malcolm said with a wistful expression.

  “Wow,” she exclaimed. Though her mind was far from jumping out of planes, she was imagining jumping his bones.

  “I got my Class-A license after that. I was required to do twenty-five jumps to be eligible for that. Then there was Class B, C, and then D. You only need a Class C license to become an instructor, and that involves two hundred jumps among other requirements. To become a tandem instructor, which I am now…” In a self-congratulatory manner, he thumped his chest. “You’re required to have a USPA D license. Getting that involves passing a written exam, completing five hundred jumps, night jump training—solo and group jumps—a lot of stuff,” he said with a boyish grin.

  “Sounds intense and expensive.”

  “It can be a costly habit. Especially when you own your own equipment, as I do.”

  “You own a plane?”

  He laughed. “Everything except a plane, but that’s on my bucket list along with getting a pilot’s license, market my own signature health drink, and turning the fitness center into a national franchise.”

  Being a co-owner of a successful fitness center at twenty-eight years old was nothing to sneeze about, but Malcolm was such a goal-oriented and success-driven alpha male, he wouldn’t be satisfied unless he’d ticked everything off his bucket list before he turned thirty.

  “Well, let’s toast to the man of the hour,” Nivea said, holding up her martini glass. They clinked glasses and beamed at each other.

  “If you really want to make me happy, you’ll…” He trailed off and gave her a bashful smile.

  Anything! You sexy daredevil. You juicy slab of delicious man-meat! In her mind, she was already coming out of her clothes, ready to accommodate any freakish craving that popped in his mind. Nivea had never been sexually inhibited, and with Malcolm, she was willing to explore anything and everything. There were no boundaries at all.

  “What do you want?”

  “Well, now that I’m a licensed instructor, I’d love it if you’d do a tandem jump with me.”