Lickin' License Part 2: More Sex, More Saga

by Intelligent Allah

  “Frisky thing, aren't we?” Heather said.

  Vanessa looked up at Heather's voluptuous body, while inching back.

  Heather pulled at her legs as Vanessa made a feeble effort to kick away while giggling. Heather sat on Vanessa's chest and cupped her head. She pulled it between her legs. “Eat up, Vanessa.”

  The scent of Heather's wet folds made Vanessa more hungry for her passion as she worked her tongue against Heather's cut.

  “Eat me, Vanessa. Yesss.”

  Vanessa clenched one of Heather's pussy lips between her lips, sucking it. She loved the feeling of Heather's hands roaming her hair, pulling her head closer. She heard Heather scream her name, further fueling her to please Heather.

  “Vanessaaa,” Heather yelled as she came. Her grip on Vanessa loosened.

  Vanessa's body jolted from the tickling sensation of Peg stimulating her by working the lubricated vibrator in her ass and pussy. “Noooo. God!” Vanessa's legs began shaking while she balled her fists.

  Peg stood up with a seductive smile on her pale face.

  Tears of ecstasy fell from Vanessa's eyes as Peg turned her sideways to dig the vibrator deeper. Peg began working Vanessa's clit with her other hand. “Ohhh. It feels so gggggoooood,” Vanessa stuttered.

  Heather lay down beside her and wrapped her arms around her, passionately sucking and kissing her neck. She kissed Vanessa, silencing her moans with a twist of their tongues. Then she lowered her head, until her mouth swallowed a large part of Vanessa's small breasts.”

  “Yes.” Vanessa pulled Heather closer, shifting her head to the other nipple. Her body was totally satisfied. Peg continued pleasing her ass and pussy. Before Vanessa knew it, she was clutching Heather's body against hers to brace her quaking frame as it rumbled to a climax. “Yes, yes, ahh.”

  After Vanessa loosened her arms, Heather pulled Peg away and they began engaging in sixty-nine. Vanessa watched Peg's boney body on top of Heather's hourglass figure. Their mismatched size seemed to mean nothing because their moans and quivering bodies proved they were pleasing each other equally. Vanessa knew their skills personally, as she was trying to recuperate from the mind-blowing sexual adventure. But watching made her insides hotter. Vanessa made her way to the bag she had placed on the table. She removed a smoothie and a cucumber from the bag and came back over to Heather and Peg. She slipped the hard, thick vegetable inside of her own soaking pussy. “Ahh.” She twisted it and rubbed her clit with her other hand. Her moans began to match the cries of Heather and Peg in volume. But she didn't beat them to her nut, because they climaxed together.

  Looking up, Peg stepped over to Vanessa.

  Vanessa now opened the smoothie and began pouring it over her breasts and in between her legs. Before she could finish, Peg was sucking her breasts clean and Heather was between her legs. It took less than fifteen minutes to make Vanessa cum. All three women lie on each other, exhausted, entangled like a bag of rubber bands.

  Vanessa looked around her, seeing white skin merged with hers—two sets of pale arms and two sets of pale legs. It dawned on her that her first all-woman threesome was with two white women. Vanessa had never had a problem with white people. She had been raised with them on Park Avenue and had many classmates who were white in every level of her schooling. But the thought of having a threesome with any two women had never crossed her mind. Her mind had only produced images of her and Candy with Rich. But while this was an unanticipated occurrence, Vanessa was pleased with the outcome and looked forward to more in the future.

  “God, it's almost ten,” Peg said.

  “We still have time,” Heather added.

  Vanessa asked, “For what?”

  “We've got a meeting. My group I was telling you about. CSA.”

  Vanessa remembered Peg saying she had founded an animal rights group called College Students for Animals. She said they were newly formed and only consisted of two dozen students that attended Hofstra University with her.

  “There's room for you,” Heather said, standing up.

  “Sure,” Vanessa said. She was more interested in being social than being a part of their CSA group. As far as she was concerned, it was time to start a new life for herself since Candy and Rich were starting life over together.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  RICH

  Hours had passed, but Rich still could not believe that Zora had Candy arrested. He was packing his Louis Vuitton duffel bag in preparation for a trip to New York to stop Vanessa from going through with her plan. Candy had given him the location of the hotel they were staying in when she was rehashing everything that happened between her and Vanessa since the day they parted from him. Rich slipped on his Gucci loafers and matching belt.

  “Rich.” He looked up as King stepped into the room. “This whole cipher with Zora and Candy is crazy.”

  “Yeah, it put a lot of things in perspective.”

  King shook his head. “I just finished checking Zora again.”

  “She gave me a taste of the life I wanted as an average citizen.”

  “What life?”

  “The life where people resolve issues through po-po.”

  King chuckled. “This ain't Lennox Ave. and Zora ain't no ride or die chick.”

  “That's one of the things I liked about her.”

  “She's still downstairs crying, tears distilling everywhere.”

  Rich felt a streak of guilt. Zora had done nothing different than what she was taught to do. Her only crime was falling for a hustler who had retired from the game, but had not fully integrated into the social structure of life outside of the street culture. Rich felt guilty for screaming at her after the police left. He knew she was a fragile woman and his harsh verbal language and confrontational body language would leave psychological scars on her to match the physical wounds Candy inflicted on her.

  “You ready to motivate?” King asked as Rich picked up his duffle bag.

  “Your cell will be ringing as soon as I touch down. Just make sure you take care of Candy if I don't make it back before they give her a bail,” said Rich.

  King had agreed to post Candy's bail and he had already sent his attorney to the police station. He admitted to sharing some responsibility for her incarceration, because he had allowed Zora in his house to see Rich, not knowing Candy was there.

  Rich and King left the room and headed downstairs, where Zora was seated on a loveseat clinging to a box of Kleenex like it would save her life. She looked at Rich and shook her head. “I'm sorry, Rich.”

  As Rich watched her, he saw the innocence he once adored about Vanessa before she flipped. He also saw Candy being hauled off in handcuffs. Rich could not remove the good memories of him and Zora from his mind. He wanted to hug her and accept her apology. Zora was a reminder to Rich that even though he was no longer in the streets, he needed a woman who could relate to the streets from experience. He needed Candy and Vanessa.

  “Please, accept my apology,” Zora said as she stood up.

  Rich paused, then walked out of King’s home.

  King followed him outside. “Damn, you came at her in a cold current for real,” he said.

  Rich just sighed and gave King a pound as he stopped beside his rental. He hugged King. “Stay focused.”

  “Peace.”

  Rich pulled off wondering what awaited him in New York. He had to first convince Vanessa to abort her plan. But that could only be done if she was still in the hotel room she and Candy had rented.

  * * *

  After zipping to the airport, Rich was one of the first people to board his first class flight. He was seated beside a window with an empty seat next to him. Looking out of the window, he watched crowds of people on their way to board. Then he pulled out his BlackBerry and called Vanessa. “Fuck.” He hung up when he got her voice mail.

  Rich leaned back, took a deep breath, then logged onto amazon.com through his BlackBerry. He typed Ghetto Love in the search box and the page for Vanessa's novel popped u
p. There were a few dozen customer reviews, mostly praising the book for its eroticism and realistic characters. The comments touched Rich, because he had given Vanessa insight on the story and she had modeled the main male character after him. The bestselling novel was a testament to the powerful impact Rich once had on Vanessa's life.

  Thinking about Vanessa brought Rich's mind to Domingo. He phoned him, prepared to give Domingo his final warning to end his contact with Vanessa and Candy.

  “Who the fuck is this?” Domingo answered.

  “Slow your roll and turn the volume down.”

  “My pops is in Sing Sing and you ain't my moms. Plus, I stopped taking orders when 1 started paying rent, ya heard?”

  “All that's irrelevant. Just act like you never met Candy or Vanessa.”

  “We got business to handle, and as I just told you, I got rent to pay. Matter of fact, act like you never met me.”

  “What the—” Rich sighed after Domingo hung up on him.

  Rich was an O.G. and Domingo was a youngin'. Respect was due. Rich had earned it on back blocks and projects throughout New York City. Enraged, he wanted to track Domingo down and enforce his will, make him submit and pay homage to a real G. But Rich felt he had transcended the street mentality that mandated such behavior. That was one of the reasons he felt it was his responsibility to pull Candy and Vanessa from that lane where Domingo was driving. Candy and Vanessa were Rich's problems that needed solving.

  “Hey, brah.”

  Rich looked up at the aging black man hovering over him.

  “I'm with you for the duration,” he said, his wrinkled face covered with a smile. His Kangol and Sean John sweat suit reflected the swagger of a man who was clinging to modern youth in an effort to stop the progressive effects of time on his body.

  Rich shook the man's hand. “Rich.”

  “Cedric, but you can call me C,” the old timer responded proudly.

  Pops think he the shit. Rich turned off his phone. He listened as a flight attendant who stood at the front of the plane asked everyone to turn off their electronic devices. She began explaining security procedures and referencing the video that flashed on the screen above her head and on the headrest in front of Rich. After she was done and the plane took off, Rich gazed out of the window. Then he called the flight attendant and had her bring him a bottle of Dasani water.

  “Brother like you look like he would rather be poppin' bottles,” C said.

  “Poppin' bottles?” Rich chuckled. “That sound funny coming out the mouth of a man old enough to be my pops. No disrespect.”

  “You young boys ain't got no monopoly on swag, you dig? Just hope you look this good at sixty-one.”

  Damn. Rich had placed the man in his early-fifties. Rich did hope he looked as good at sixty-one. Just thinking about that showed Rich how far he had come from the street culture. As a teen, Rich had never contemplated making it past age twenty-one. The life expectancy for a young black man coming of age in Harlem was short, and Rich had made it shorter by making the criminal world his world.

  C sized up Rich, looking at the diamond in his ear and at his hand that held a matching bracelet. “I see you ain't got that handcuff on, so that shows you got some sense.”

  “Doing dirt ain't the only way to pay for diamonds.”

  “No, no, no, young blood. I'm talking 'bout that wedding ring. That thing right there locked down way more brothers than them boys with badges.”

  “Sound like you had a bad experience tying the knot.”

  C removed his Kangol, showcasing his balding gray hair. “This ain't just about time and genetics. Stress is real,” he huffed. “I swept honey off her feet, jumped the broom and she cleaned me out for damn near everything.”

  “They made prenups for a reason.”

  “Prenups protect your wallet, not your sanity. Once you say I do, women start to transform. You know what the leading cause of divorce is?”

  Rich shrugged his shoulders.

  “Marriage.”

  Rich laughed.

  “Remember this, if you don't remember nothing I said.”

  “What?”

  “A woman ain't shit whether she riding or walking.”

  “Riding or walking?” Rich squinted his eyes, confused.

  “Whether she got money or she broke, Oprah or that hoodrat in the house party, a woman ain't shit. Riding down Rodeo Drive or walking through the projects in Bankhead. It's some type of genetic disorder that predisposes women to drama. A bullshit gene.”

  “You ever heard the saying, 'You can't bullshit a bullshit artist?’”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, you can't bullshit the person who teaches bullshit to the bullshit artist,” said Rich.

  “Ain't nobody got more game than a woman. They make you think you got control. How that Beyonce song go? Who run the world? Girls.”

  Rich listened to C's philosophy, wondering if there was some truth to it. He knew that women generally had more game than men, contrary to popular belief. But he had always looked at himself as the exception to the rule. Always, until now. C caused Rich to ponder how he had invested his time in Zora based on their mutual agreement to have an open relationship. Yet, she flipped when she saw Candy. Then Rich had allowed Candy to come back into his life he had restarted. Now, she had convinced him to leave that behind and fly to New York to save Vanessa. Rich's life was being dictated by women. They had the control C spoke of.

  “How can I assist you, baby?”

  Rich was pulled from his thoughts by C's words to the woman standing in the aisle.

  It was Katiya. She directed her attention to C. “You can trade seats with me so I can sit next to Rich.” She pointed to her seat a few rows back.

  C looked at Rich. “I didn't know you had company.”

  “Me either.”

  Katiya scanned C's Sean John suit, then removed a $100 bill from her Hermes Birkin bag. “Perhaps you can find your way to a concert from the man who makes your clothes. It's a fair exchange for another first class seat.”

  C snatched the C-note. “You paid for what you had coming to you for free.” He stood up.

  Rich smiled as C left.

  “His ability to be in my presence at thirty-thousand feet in the air is the fault of none other than my pilot's tending to an emergency at this last minute and my inability to fly a G6,” Katiya said as she sat. “What's your excuse for this crowded seven-forty-seven in lieu of a Gulfstream?”

  “Clairvoyance. I had a vision you were going to be the Virgin type today.” Rich grinned.

  “You seem to be enjoying Virgin Airlines, yourself. But good luck finding some saint with her hymen intact.”

  “I like my flights Virgin and my women experienced.”

  Katiya remained silent for a moment. “Women gossip and men do also, but they consider it, what's the phrase?” She paused. “'Putting each other on.’ So I'm assuming King revealed to you the nature of our relations and how I comport myself sexually.”

  “That's a very educated guess.”

  “Let me be clear, Rich.”

  “Transparency does us both a service.”

  “There is very little most men can do for me financially or intellectually. And emotionally, for that matter. Sexually is where I find my only challenge with the opposite sex.”

  “Interesting.” Rich nodded.

  “What does this mean in the context of you and I?”

  “Your love of specificity should make this response interesting.”

  “It was obvious from the pool party that I wanted to fuck you,” Katiya said. “Hence the address I gave you and you never used.”

  “Wasn't sure if I wanted to jump into anything right now. Fucking is not a problem for me. Then I was trying to figure out how you knew my name is Jamel Thomas.”

  “We live in the information age and as a businesswoman due diligence is mandatory. So why not see if you are in a respectable tax bracket and if you’re not an ex-con before I
decide to fuck you?”

  Rich grinned. “Very blunt.”

  “Well, I also have a fixation with oral sex. And right now, I would like nothing more than to suck your dick and for you to eat my pussy.” She looked down at Rich's growing erection. “And I see you feel the same way. My proposition is that we suck each other inside the bathroom and when we land, we can fuck each other properly in the hotel of your choice, my Black Card.”

  King had told Rich that Katiya was a straight talker, and Rich had often brashly controlled women with sexual propositions in such a clam tone. But he had never been spoken to by a woman so directly and explicitly in similar fashion. Katiya's voice had remained steady during their conversation and her dark seductive eyes had never left his pupils. The irony of the predicament was that she had an aristocratic air that demonstrated her condescending nature when speaking to Zora at the pool party and C minutes earlier. Rich wanted to humble Katiya with a stiff dick and skilled tongue. He wanted to break down her confidence, making her doubt her discipline to have casual sex. Katiya saw sex as a challenge. But Rich was the ultimate competitor between the sheets.