G-Spot 2 Lust: The 5th Deadly Sin (G-Spot 2: The Seven Deadly Sins)

by Noire

  G-Spot 2: The Seven Deadly Sins

  An Urban Erotic Serial Tale Told in 7 Parts

  LUST: The 5TH DEADLY SIN

  “Little Black Books”

  by Noire

  Urban Erotic Noire Publications

  P.O. Box 3443

  New York, New York 10185

  G-Spot 2: The Seven Deadly Sins, LUST: The 5TH Deadly Sin is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Noire

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excluding brief quotes used in reviews. The Noire logo and its likeness are trademarks of Urban Erotic Noire Publications.

  PART FIVE

  OF NOIRE’S BLOCKBUSTER

  URBAN EROTIC SERIAL TALE!

  Juicy-Mo’s on fire and she’s feeling herself!

  It’s been a hard-knock life for Juicy-Mo Stanfield, and drama seems to find her no matter where she tries to hide. Even though she’s been sprung from jail the G-Spot Crew is still on her trail, Flex has turned into a murderous psycho, and Juicy is hurt and all alone on the treacherous streets of New York City.

  Is Harlem's #1 Stunna down for the count? Now that she's weak and vulnerable, will her enemies finally catch up with her and go for their revenge? Is the magic of love and happiness a thing of the past for Juicy? Or does life hold one more trump card for the beautiful hood chick from 136th Street?

  Find Out More In

  G-SPOT 2: THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS

  LUST: THE 5th DEADLY SIN

  ALSO BY NOIRE

  URBAN EROTIC TALES

  G-Spot

  Candy Licker

  Thug-A-Licious

  Thong on Fire

  Hood

  Hittin’ the Bricks

  Unzipped

  URBAN EROTIC QUICKIES

  From the Streets to the Sheets

  URBAN EROTIC APPETIZERS

  Baby Brother (with 50 Cent)

  Maneater: Sugar-Honey-Ice-Tee

  (with Mary B. Morrison)

  Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless:

  Puttin’ Shame in the Game

  (with Kiki Swinson)

  COMING SOON

  Natural Born Liar:

  The Misadventures of Mink LaRue

  Dear Readers!

  Part 5 of the very first urban erotic serial novel is finally here! Thank you for your patience while waiting for G-Spot 2, LUST: The 5th Deadly Sin to be released. It’s a blessing for me to be able to bring you several hot titles at once, and I hope you enjoyed reading Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless by me and the awesome Kiki Swinson. My story is called, “Puttin’ Shame in the Game” and I’m happy that so many of you read it while waiting for Lust, and that you absolutely loved that man named Noble Browne!

  When I first thought about becoming The Serial Novel Queen, I had no clue how well G-Spot 2: The Seven Deadly Sins would be received in this format. All I knew was that I wanted to do something very different than what was being done, and that my originality and creativity demanded that I step out boldly on the strength of my own instincts.

  In the first four parts of G-Spot 2: The Seven Deadly Sins, I’ve taken you down some pretty terrifying and sexy roads with Juicy and the rest of the G-Spot crew. You’ve run across some old friends and enemies, and you’ve been introduced to some new ones too, and through it all you’ve been shocked, enticed, seduced, and entertained with a hard-hitting and sexy urban erotic tale whose unique plot and cast of characters are unlike anything else that is on the shelves today.

  In LUST: The 5th Deadly Sin, this segment of the tale will allow you to experience exactly what can happen when an entire cast of characters is consumed by carnal, emotional, and material desires. Hang out with Juicy and the rest of the posse as they battle their hunger for sex, money, greed, and power. Enjoy this ride on the urban erotic serial train, and as usual, leave me a review when you’re done.

  Noire,

  Your Serial Novel Queen

  www.facebook.com/NoireBlack

  www.twitter.com/AskNoire

  NOIRE

  G-Spot 2:

  The Seven Deadly Sins

  An Urban Erotic Serial Tale Told in 7 Parts

  LUST: The 5TH DEADLY SIN

  Little Black Books by Noire

  www.GSpot2.com

  www.AskNoire.com

  WARNING!

  This here ain’t no romance

  It’s an urban erotic tale

  A scorching hot attraction

  Makes you shudder and exhale!

  When the wood gets good, in your ’hood

  It’s hard to let it go

  Feenin’ for some action?

  Better keep it on the low!

  Hookin’ up and slapping skins

  Is looking like a must

  Juicy’s thong is poppin’

  In this Deadly Sin called LUST!

  Praise for

  G-Spot: An Urban Erotic Tale

  #1 Essence Magazine Bestseller

  “The Coldest Winter Ever meets ADDICTED!”

  – Jamise L. Dames, Bestselling author of Momma’s Baby, Daddy’s Maybe

  “Freedom comes with a price in Noire’s sexy, gritty urban melodrama. Noire’s heady brew of lethal realism and unbridled sexuality should spell ‘hot and bothered’ for erotic fiction fans.” – Publishers Weekly

  In the beginning…

  Have you ever rolled over in the middle of the night and been so damn thankful you just broke down and cried? Did you praise God for delivering you from a grimy Dungeon and blessing you with a tiny taste of heaven? Did you wake up every morning chillin’ in the arms of the one you loved? Snuggled deep in the sheets like nothing could ever hurt you? That shit felt perfect, didn’t it? So perfect, that you let your guard down and stopped looking over your shoulder, right? But then…did you get caught slippin? Did you start waking up in the darkness gripped by fear? Your body trembling in terror? Did you lay there paralyzed, with prophecy lurking over your head and holding you prisoner? Did you feel doomed to a punishment that you knew you didn’t deserve? Did you search desperately for a way out, but no matter how far you ran, you just couldn’t outrun your fate? Come hang out with me for a minute, y’all. Sit down and get comfortable as I tell you what happened when I hauled ass outta Harlem and ran smack into my destiny. My name is Juicy Monique Stanfield. I escaped from the G-Spot, and this is the rest of my story…

  CHAPTER 1

  I went flying off that train platform like somebody’s broken-wing bird. But I damn sure didn’t hit those tracks by myself! I grabbed hold of Flex’s shirt with both of my hands and his skinny, buck-toothed ass flew down there right along with me.

  We landed feet first on the sooty train tracks and the moment I touched down, my ankle turned over and my knees straight-up buckled.

  A bolt of white-hot pain spiked up through my right foot. I toppled over and banged my hip, and me and Flex both collapsed down there in all that grime.

  Up on the platform the crowd of people went bonkers and started screaming like hell.

  “Get the fuck up!” they shrieked and hollered. “The train is coming! Get the fuck up, y’all! The train is coming!”

  Flex was right beside me on his knees, but when all those people started screaming he leaped up on that platform so fast it looked like his ass had ran up s
ome invisible stairs.

  I was down there all by myself now, and people were still screaming for me to get up, but I just couldn’t move. I was stuck. I felt like I had floated up outta myself and I was watching some other chick crouched down on her hands and knees in that black, gritty subway dugout.

  But when the crazy rumble of the train sent a hard vibration through me and I felt the damn pillars shake, everything got real as hell.

  I pushed off with my hands and tried to get up on my feet, but my right leg folded under me and I toppled over again. My instincts made me twist away from the electrified third rail as mad shouts rang out and the people who were watching me from the platform screamed out in panic and fear.

  “Help her!” some chick shouted. “C’mon, y’all! Somebody fuckin’ help her!”

  I tried to stand up and balance my weight on my left foot, but fear and panic had me wobbling. I was just about to tip over again when suddenly the tall dread who had been passing out all the party flyers was right down there on the tracks with me.

  Dude reached out and snatched me.

  He grabbed me by the back of my t-shirt and damn near yanked that shit right over my head as he took two giant leaps and scampered back on up on the platform, dragging me up with him like I was a boneless little rag doll.

  Dread was flat on his back and I was laying halfway on top of him with my whole shirt hiked up around my neck and my back and bra exposed. The roar of the approaching train had gotten even louder. Dread was all the way up on the platform, but my face was just above his knees and the bottom part of my body was still hanging halfway off the ledge.

  “Help,” I panted as I grabbed at his belt and tried to crawl up his body with my good leg. Dread grabbed my upper arms, then he squeezed me between his thighs and brought his knees up with me sandwiched tightly between them.

  My face was now above his stomach. I tasted his shirt in my mouth, but my right foot was still on fire as it dangled like a hook over the platform’s ledge.

  “My foot!” I screamed.

  The Rasta man lifted his head off the ground and then raised his upper body like he was doing a crunch. He shot a desperate glance toward the tunnel and then grabbed me under my arms and yanked at me one good time, and even though I screamed like holy hell, both of my feet were now safely up on the platform.

  My face was directly above his and for a split second all we could do was stare at each other in horrified shock. And then a blast of hot, gritty air washed over us as the train roared into the station, speeding like a silver bullet. I squeezed my eyes closed and ducked my face into Dread’s neck as tiny shards of grit and subway dirt sprayed out in all directions and bit into the skin on my bare back.

  Me and Dread were both in shock. Our black asses had almost died together, and we laid on that platform holding on to each other like we were deeply in love.

  It was straight chaos on the platform as people rushed over to us and the brakes on the train squealed loudly as it came to a stop.

  It sounded like thousands of terrified New Yorkers were standing over my head screaming for somebody to call the cops and the ambulance. I was so shook that all I could do was squeeze my eyes closed and mumble my thanks in Dread’s ear over and over and over again, and the next thing I knew I heard the sound of walkie-talkies and New York’s Finest were on the scene trying to take control.

  The cops urged me and Dread to let go of each other as they tried to roll me off of him and onto the hard concrete.

  “My foot!” I screamed in agony as a fat police officer grabbed at me. He clamped one hand on my arm and the other one on my thigh, and dragged me off of Dread. “Ow! Damn, my foot!”

  “Let her go!” a black female officer barked on him as she crouched down beside me and pulled my shirt back down over my titties. “You’re okay, Miss. An ambulance is coming, and you’re gonna be okay.”

  Me and Dread lay there side-by-side, and I was trembling like crazy as he reached out and grabbed my hand and squeezed it. The train idled at the platform with its doors still open. The stunned crowd stood around staring down at me like they couldn’t believe I had made it off those tracks and was still alive. A couple of young hoodstas whipped out their cell phones and started snapping mad pictures and filming a video so they could post my near-death experience up on YouTube.

  “Can you tell us what happened?” the cops grilled me and Dread, but both of us were too shook to even open our mouths. On the real, New Yorkers didn’t usually tell the cops shit about shit, but a light-skinned girl with big titties and two curly ponytails went right on ahead and put it out there.

  “You wanna know what happened? Some skinny mothafucka pushed her in front of the train, that’s what happened! I mean that psycho-lookin’ niggah just straight up pushed her!”

  As soon as she said that shit I lifted my head up and glanced around with my heart pounding in terror. Even with mad cops strapped up with tools and standing right there beside me, I was still scared Flex’s crazy ass was gonna rush up out of the crowd and get at me.

  Shit, mami with the big titties had called it real correct, though. Fletcher Boykin was a psycho niggah all right. That fool had tried to kill me! An evil picture of his twisted-up buck-toothed grill flashed in my mind real quick, and after thanking God again that I was still alive, all I could do was put my head back down on that dirty-ass platform and cry.

  CHAPTER 2

  Flex exited the train station on 9th Street and walked down to Ninth Street against the flow of traffic. Fury bubbled all up in his throat as he thought about that bitch Juicy and how she had tried to play him low in front of his manz.

  Reliving the embarrassment in his mind, he stormed down the middle of the block swinging his arms wide and praying one of these Brooklyn fools would fuck around and bump him. He would twist a niggah’s noggin back and stretch him out without spittin’ a single word, that’s how hot his rage was.

  He had blacked the fuck out so fast he didn’t even remember chucking Juicy down on those damn train tracks. And her trifling ass had made him fall down there with her in all that soot and trash. He shoulda pulled out his tool and shot her ass on the spot for that one!

  He had scampered up on that platform and left her grimy ass right down there where she belonged. That’s what the bitch got. Fuck around lay around. Flex wasn’t the one, and if Juicy had gotten smashed up when that train pulled in then she had brought it on herself. Wildin’ on him like he was some kinda sherm niggah in the street. For all he knew, her dumb ass was prolly a big ball of road kill under the wheels of the F train by now.

  After walking several blocks, Flex turned the corner and jogged down the steps and descended into the belly of the subway station at the next stop.

  Pimp strolling and chillin’ like wasn’t shit up in his world, he took his time and sauntered down the crowded platform to the spot where the first train car would stop. It was almost deserted way down at this end, and Flex dug his hands in his pockets and scowled as he leaned against a pillar with his eyes focused on the blackness in the tunnel.

  A range of emotions flowed through his eighteen-year-old mind, and most of them were heavy as hell. Especially all his fucked-up feelings over Juicy. She had him flipping between rage and lust so fast his young heart couldn’t take it.

  Flex was still fuming when the train finally came and he got on. He sat down in a two-seater next to the conductor’s cab and closed his eyes and let his black thoughts roll.

  All his life people had been tryna short him outta what shoulda been his. Tryna elevate over him like he was less than the next niggah or something. Even his boy Jimmy was guilty of that shit. As tight as they had been, Jimmy was one of them light-skinned pretty niggahs who got over in life just because of the way he looked.

  And that’s what was going on right now with Juicy. Flex knew it took bank to get a chick who looked like her to fall for a niggah who looked like him. So what was it? As fat as his pocket-knots was, did that bitch still think he wa
s ugly or something?

  He slid his lips over his buckteeth and grimaced with rage. No matter how much he loved Juicy the girl was just a regular trick. Even after G had dragged her ass through the gutter she still didn’t appreciate it when a real niggah tried to elevate her status and keep her on shine.

  Yeah, she had run him some ol’ bullshit about her fuckin’ pussy being dead inside, but Flex knew the drill. That chicken couldn’t get her thang wet unless a niggah knocked her on her ass before he fucked her, and as soon as he got him another the chance that’s exactly what he was gonna do.

  He sat there swaying with the train as he pictured the way Juicy had looked when she was washing her sweet pussy in his bathtub. Those fat titties she had on her had looked spectacular, and he remembered how good they had tasted when he was licking and sucking them down on his kitchen floor.

  Flex felt his rage subsiding and his thick dick rising. It had stiffened uncomfortably in his pants and he shifted in his seat as his balls got tight with lust for Juicy. He imagined how good it would feel to slide his meat up in her guts. He knew his package was substantial, so he’d be real gentle when he pushed the head past her tight pussy lips.

  See, Juicy wasn’t no regular gutter jump-off. He prolly shoulda been a little smarter in the way he had approached her. Maybe he had come at her the wrong way. Juicy didn’t give a damn about niggahs who rolled in finery from the top to the bottom. She was used to all that. For a chick like her it wasn’t just about possessions. It was about power. Something she could respect.