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

by Noire

  By now Meesha was begging for it. Sallie was just about to give it to her, but he needed to taste that pussy just one more time. He massaged her clit with his fingers as he stiffened his tongue and probed her juicy insides. She came in his mouth again and flooded his tongue with her thick, hot cream. With one last lick at her asshole, Sallie stood up and rammed his prick inside her pink tunnel. He gripped her hip with one hand and spanked her ass with the other.

  Meesha moaned and urged him on as he fucked and spanked and fucked and spanked. At some point the sound of his slapping hand got faster and harder as he pumped even deeper inside of her.

  Excited beyond belief, Sallie went into a slapping frenzy. Meesha’s moans were now turning into yelps and she began twisting and turning, trying to get away from him. She tried to fall over on her side, but Sallie hooked his left arm around her waist like it was a sling, holding her right where he wanted her as he dicked her all the way down.

  Sallie slapped her ass with all the strength he could muster. Her pussy had dried up, but he didn’t care. He reached way back and swung his hand down sharply, the splintering sound mingling with the girl’s frantic yelps and screams.

  It took him five more thrusts before his balls emptied out, and at the height of his orgasm Sallie pulled out of Meesha’s pussy and snatched off his condom. He screamed like a bitch as he shot his load all over her dark ass, and he watched in satisfaction as his sticky semen slid between her thick cheeks and disappeared down her crack.

  Meesha was really crying now, but Sallie barely heard her. He had come so hard that it took him a few moments to get himself together, and when he looked down at Meesha’s ass he almost laughed out loud. Her left cheek was smooth and caramel brown, but her right cheek was swollen with horrendous welts, and countless red abrasions, some beginning to bleed, marred her beautiful flesh.

  “You crazy mothafucka!” she screamed in pain as he shoved her over and then stepped across her so he could get his drawers. “Untie me!” she demanded. “Are you mental or something? What the fuck is wrong with your stupid white ass?”

  Sallie ignored her and pulled on his clothes. He stuffed his dick back in his pants as the dumb black bitch called him every low-down dirty motherfucker she had in her vast vocabulary.

  But Sallie was done. His tongue was starting to itch and he could feel her rotten juices churning around in his stomach. He reached into his shirt pocket and got two sticks of cinnamon gum and stuck them in his mouth. He was just about dressed when he glanced down at her and stared at the smooth skin of her left flank.

  Taking a deep breath, Sallie pulled his belt out of his pants loops. Meesha screamed as he reached back over his shoulder and let his leather fly. The belt cut into her flesh with a hiss, and instantly a purplish bruise appeared on her skin. Sallie swung again and she screamed, and he swung again and Meesha screamed.

  Sallie didn’t stop swinging until he was sure her left ass-cheek looked almost as good as her right one looked.

  And Meesha didn’t stop screaming for a minute either. At least not until the crazy white boy that she had picked up on a whim had stolen her cell phone and the keys to her truck, and then locked her in the back of the cab with her beautiful ass cheeks bleeding and her wrists still tied to her ankles.

  CHAPTER 12

  The day was way too beautiful to be having a funeral. Especially for a child. While the Harlem sun shone above a perfectly cloudless sky, inside the Church of the Redeemer there were lovely pink and blue flowers on display everywhere.

  There were bunches of them up on the pulpit and at the front of each pew, and a batch in the shape of a cross had been placed over the bottom half of the open casket that held the body of the pregnant young girl whose short life was being celebrated and whose tragic death was being mourned.

  The mood inside the church was sad and grim. The organ player banged soulfully on his keys, and the church was packed with so many grieving mourners that they were spilling out of the door.

  Almost the entire community of Harlem had turned out to show their respect for poor little Princess Howell and her unborn baby. Neighbors and friends had passed around a basket to collect money to purchase her a burial plot, and the small business owners in the community, especially those who were members of the Talented Ten, had dipped into their pockets to buy her a beautiful casket and pay for all of her funeral expenses too.

  Trey Jackson had already announced a community scholarship fund he was establishing and dedicating in Princess’ name, and right now him and the other nine members of the Talented Ten Crew sat in the front row of the church next to the dead thirteen-year-old’s grandfather, Mr. Howell, and her best friend, Taleah.

  Three of Princess’ girlfriends from her poetry troupe called Street Talk N.Y.C had just finished reciting a beautiful poem that talked about the senselessness of her death and their vision of a world without street violence and drugs. Trey had organized the group under the wings of The Crossover Community Center where he’d once mentored Princess, and he was proud of the three young ladies who had spoken so passionately for their dead friend today.

  The funeral director held out his hand toward Trey and Mr. Howell, indicating that it was time for them to stand and approach the coffin for the final viewing of Princess’ body. Trey stood up and lifted the old man to his feet, and then matched his steps as the old man shuffled toward the casket.

  Behind them, the Talented Ten Crew and over fifty youngstas that Trey mentored at the Crossover Community Center stood and followed them up to the front of the church. Each youngster held either a pink or baby blue flower in their hand as a gesture of their grief and love for Princess.

  These throw-aside kids of Harlem had been Princess’ friends and companions during the time she’d spent at the Crossover Community Center, and just like Princess they had been exposed to drugs, gangs, street violence, and dysfunctional families, and every last one of them knew it could have been them laying up in that cold box instead of her.

  As the mourners filed slowly past the casket, everyone in the church seemed to moan and rock together like they were of one body. Their grief swelled up to the rafters and fell like a sad mist over everything it touched. The sight of Princess’ stiff young body in her bright pink dress, with her stomach still swollen and carrying her dead baby inside, crushed the hearts of the entire neighborhood. The horror of the two deaths from an overdose of the drugs that were sold on the streets of their neighborhood sent rage through their collective souls.

  A stylishly dressed older woman began belting out Keep Your Eye on the Sparrow in the most beautiful voice that Trey had ever heard. He returned to his seat and sat tall as Mr. Howell’s thin shoulders heaved with cries and his body trembled in Trey’s arms.

  “My grandbaby was all I had,” the old man moaned in a soft, pitiful voice as he clutched Trey’s shoulder. “These kids is just killing they selves! Princess and that baby was all I had left in this world.”

  As much as it fucked Trey up to see a dead child laid up in her casket with her belly filled with the body of another dead child, he kept his emotions in check and an impenetrable mask of composure on his face. Over the past few years he had been to more funerals than he could count, and not one of the dead had been over the age of twenty-five. Between the outta control gun violence and the unchecked flow of drugs flowing through the streets of Harlem, youngstas like Princess were now an endangered species in their own neighborhoods.

  Trey thought about his manz Mayhem and frowned inside. No matter how hard organizations like The Crossover and the Talented Ten fought for the souls of Harlem’s children, the lure of fast money and pipe dreams never died, and the battle was uphill every single day. But regardless of what they were up against, Trey and his posse had vowed they would never stop fighting.

  The last of the mourners had filed past the casket and returned to their seats, and the funeral director was about to lower the lid on Princess and her unborn baby forever, when the church doors bange
d open and a beautiful but deadly-looking chick walked in.

  A hush fell over the large room as she headed straight down the center aisle, taking long, deliberate steps and draped in expensive gear and ghetto finery. She was tall and gorgeous. She wore a form-hugging silk sweater made of mint-green satin, a pair of silky black jeggings that hugged her stunning curves to a tee, a pair of black, stiletto-heeled leather boots that came all the way up to her knees, and a full set of glittering diamond jewelry.

  Lil Lee’s makeup was perfect and her hair was straight butter as she strode up to Princess’ casket and glared down at the cold, stiff body before her.

  Posing with her hands on her hips, the only female capo in the notorious Divine Nine click gazed around the church real slow to make sure she was commanding her proper respect, and then with a chilling glance at Trey she sniffed real deep and hock-spit loudly, right down in the dead child’s face.

  A deathly hush fell over the church like a smothering wool blanket, and then the air exploded with shouts of anger and clacking gats as people got swole and started brandishing burners like they had been transported to the Wild-Wild-West.

  Lil Lee had been the first to pull her piece and she stood posted up by the open coffin looking deadly as hell as she gripped her tool and waved that shit around in the air.

  But Lil Lee wasn’t the only one carrying heat. The men of the Talented Ten were up on their feet and ready to blast too, and Trey instinctively pushed Taleah down to the floor and urged her to ball up under the pew.

  It only took him a second to see what was up and assess the danger. About a dozen of Lil Lee’s low-level underlings had blended in with the funeral mourners. They’d waited until she made her grand entrance, and then they’d taken her cue and jumped into position. They were all young’uns and they were all armed too, aiming their pistols recklessly around the church at kids, old people, and anybody else who was within bullet-range. Trey’s blood almost boiled when he scanned the crowd and saw that Mayhem’s younger brother Maleek was strapped up and standing amongst the Divine Nine crew.

  “Uh-huh,” the beautiful young drug queen barked as she sneered coldly at Trey and his crew. “We got us one of them Mexican standoffs.” She nodded toward Princess’ body. “And all because this lil dumb-ass fiend fucked around and got my best slanga murked!” She looked around the church. “Somebody out there gave J-Ugly a ride off a rooftop because this lil trick laying here wanted to get high, and I’m telling all y’all mothafuckas right now that somebody is gonna pay.”

  She reached in her back pocket and came out with a fistful of drug vials. Sneering, she flung them down at Princess and they rolled all over the corpse.

  “Get high in hell, bitch!”

  Shooting another glance at Trey, Lil Lee turned around and switched her bomb-booty back down the aisle, parting the crowd with a wide sweep of her gun. Her young’uns pushed out of the aisles and followed behind her like trained puppies, walking backward and keeping their wary eyes on Trey and every other pistol-packing niggah in sight.

  “That’s the guy!” Taleah stood up from her hiding spot and elbowed Trey as the posse of drug slangas moved toward the church’s door. “Trey, that’s him!” she half-whispered. “That’s the guy!”

  “What guy?” he leaned over and asked her as he watched Maleek and the others back outta the door. “What guy, Taleah?”

  “The guy who so—” The teenager bit her tongue as she locked eyes with the fine skinny dude with the cornrows who had conducted the drug transaction with Princess and a chill zipped through her bones.

  She took a quick glance at her best friend laying up dead in her coffin. “Never mind,” Taleah said softly. “I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. Never mind.”

  By the time the church’s door slammed shut there were plenty of gangstas left standing in the house of the Lord who were ready and willing to rush outside and go head up with Lil Lee and her crew. But Trey quickly checked them. He held his hand in the air signaling to let the Divine Nine posse leave in peace. There was a time and a place for everything, and with countless pews filled with scared women and children this wasn’t the time for gunfire and mayhem, and it damn sure wasn’t the place.

  $$$$$

  The church was finally settling back down as the people of Harlem regrouped from the rude disruption and continued to pay their last respects to Princess. The preacher had stood up from his crouched position behind the podium, and the funeral director had emerged from behind Princess’ coffin where he had ducked and hidden when all the guns came out.

  Trey and everybody else had taken their seats again, and the preacher was rushing to wrap up Princess’ eulogy before any more ghetto nonsense could jump off.

  “Yo,” Trey’s man Skeet leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder. He nodded towards the center aisle of the church where once again the crowd of mourners was parting, but this time it was to let four uniformed police officers get through.

  “What the fuck is up with this?” Skeet muttered. “First this child gets disrespected by some come-up crew, and now the blue boyz is rollin’.”

  Trey’s expression never changed as the cops walked through the grieving crowd and came straight up to the front of the church. The preacher looked confused, and he stumbled over the words in his sermon as the officers posted up in the front row directly in front of Trey and old Mr. Howell.

  All four cops were well known in the community, and Trey knew exactly why they were there. He nodded at his boy Skeet, then slid Mr. Howell outta his arms. Skeet threw his arm around the old man as Trey stood up. He towered over the cops as he grilled them with a cold, neutral expression in his eyes.

  “Yo, y’all niggahs straight buggin’, son,” Rain hollered as one of the cops went to grab Trey’s elbow and lead him down the aisle. “We at a funeral, fool!”

  Trey shot the cop a ‘wish-yo-ass-would’ look that was so dark and menacing that the little dude backed off and put his hands back down at his sides.

  Trey strode unhurriedly outta the church with his head held high and his eyes full of love for the people in his hood.

  “What y’all messing with him for?” A wrinkled old man hollered from the back of the room. A loud chorus of voices joined him. “Where the hell was y’all ten minutes ago when a gang of drug dealers was up in here about to shoot us down?” the people shouted. “Huh? Huh? Where was all of this so-called police presence in the community then?” they screamed.

  Trey’s kids from The Crossover were back up on their feet and yelling too. They looked swole and hyped and ready to wild the fuck out this time, but there was a calm authority about Trey as he motioned for them to sit back down and chill. Giving his boys an example of how to handle themselves under this kind of pressure was a big part of teaching them how to survive in this world as young black men, and the self-assuredness of Trey’s mad swagger was all they had to see in order to confirm that he had everything under control.

  Trey took his time leaving the church and the cops trailing behind him had no choice but to stop and wait each time he paused to hug an old lady or dap out some of the older men of Harlem. He lingered in the crowd accepting the love he was being shown from the young and the old alike, and there were tears in the eyes of countless mothers who reached out to hug, kiss, and thank him for saving their children from the same fate that had befallen the young girl they had all gathered to mourn.

  Finally, Trey paused at the door, and looked back at the crowd of people who had turned to watch him go. He could tell they were still mad about the disrespect Princess had suffered, and male and female, young and old, they looked agitated and ready to get something started. Like they were just itchin’ to jump all over the po-po if Trey would just give them the nod.

  His Talented Ten crew had also followed him toward the doors, and the little peashooters the cops were strapped up with were no match for the superior firepower Trey knew his dudes were packing.

  But Trey also knew this day wa
s about honoring Princess and not about reckless rage. He gave the enormous crowd a fearless look that said, “I got this,” and then he stepped calmly outside the church doors and into the bright sunlight.

  “Dig, Trey,” one of the cops who had been his manz back in high school reached for some dap as they walked toward the squad car. “We just out here doing our jobs, ya know?”

  Trey didn’t even look at dude as he folded his long legs and muscular body into the cramped backseat of the car.

  “Then maybe y’all muh’fuckas need to do a better job,” Trey spit coldly before the officer closed the door. “So a niggah like me ain’t gotta keep doing that shit for you.”

  CHAPTER 13

  My roommate’s name was Egypt and she was a real sharp chick from the Brownsville section of Brooklyn. We had finally started giving each other a little convo after almost a week of doing the New York-thang and staying out of each other’s space.

  Egypt had stayed in this shelter quite a few times so she knew the drill and how they liked things done. The staff had put us on the schedule together to clean the kitchen, and now that the dishes were done and we’d wiped all the counters down with bleach and water, we were sitting at the table together tearing up some cheese doodles, onion and garlic Wise, twisted pretzels, and Dipsy Doodles corn chips that we had mixed together in a brown paper bag.

  “I don’t know, Egypt,” I said, running my mouth as I crunched on a pretzel. “I’ve had some fucked up things happen in my life, but I never thought I would end up in a homeless shelter. I don’t even know how I got here.”

  I was glad we had finally stopped igging each other and started talking. Neither one of us could believe that life had stomped us down so far that we’d ended up in our present situations.

  “Well my ass ended up in here because I was stupid as hell,” Egypt told me bluntly, without putting a drop of sugar on it. She was tall and dark-skinned and very, very, pretty. She had a stacked body, beautiful dreadlocks, and a gorgeous white smile, but there was something real sad and haunted about the look in her eyes.