by Sa'id Salaam
Yolo was pretty sure he wouldn’t mind if she kept the weed, so she took it. She poured out a little liquor careful not to leave any prints and left him the bottle. Took his car too and drove back to her own. Fire works better than wiping for prints so she stuck a rag in the gas tank and hit it. She waited until it caught on fire before pulling off.
Yolo was still hot and bothered from the touch of a man, so she sped home to get some dick from Killa. Christi was balled up slobbering and snoring on the sofa when she made it home, so she let her be. She took the steps two at a time and rushed into her bedroom.
Up in her room. she peeled off her shorts along with her moist panties with one hand and navigated her phone with the other. Her gallery contained over a thousand pictures of Killa’s dick. He hadn’t sent a single one of them. She had snapped most of them while he slept during the time they had spent together, but there were also a couple that she had snuck in while he was in the shower or changing. She even had a clip of her riding him, while she was raping him. She looped the clip so that it would play over and over while she played in her pussy. It didn’t make it through once before she came. It kept going and so did she. She had lost count of her many orgasms when she finally gave up.
“This is your pussy boo,” she told the picture of Killa she used as her screen saver before giving it a kiss and drifting off in a deep sleep.
Chapter 6
“Hey Mama! How was your date?” Trey asked when his mother returned to their St. Louis apartment. He sounded so sincere that a casual observer would have thought that he really was.
“The usual,” she shrugged hoping that would be the end of it. So much had changed so quickly, it was hard for her to believe that what was going on was actually going on.
“Well, don’t you usually break me off?” he asked in that ‘bitch betta have my money’ tone of voice that pimps used on their whores.
Trey was already probably mentally retarded and the weed, liquor and rap music he consumed all made him worse. The latest rap sensation named ‘Pimp Daddy Pimp’ convinced him that he was a real pimp. Trey was too lazy to go out and find him some whores, so he forced the women around him to turn tricks.
“Son, I…”
“Bitch, my name is Pimpin’ Trey! Call me out my name one mo’ ‘gain and I’ma put my pimpin’ foot up yo’ hoe ass!” He growled like a pimp.
No one wants a foot up the ass, so his mama reached into her bra and broke bread. The hundred bucks indicated that she had rented out her vagina instead of her throat. They had the same results, but different prices.
“Good girl,” Trey said, patting his mother on the head like a puppy who had performed a trick. Well, she had just performed a trick, but she was no puppy. She was his mother and paradise lays at the feet of our mothers. That means he had earned himself the hellfire in the future.
“Now clean that box out and get it ready for your next date,” he said now sounding like a coach. Even gave her a pat on the ass to get her started.
The front door opened and in walked his younger sister, Bria. She loudly popped her gum and wore a truculent look on her face. The weed smokin’, liquor drankin’, pill poppin’ teen didn’t mind fuckin’ for money since she had already been fuckin’ for free. It was the turning the money over part that she wasn’t feeling. The local dope boys paid well to spend sometime in the cute girl’s insides.
“Come on with it,’ Trey warned with violence in his voice. He had taken all he was going to take from the insolent girl. Pimp Daddy Pimp’s latest single ‘Gorilla Pimp’ told how to solve this problem. Bria was about to be in trouble.
“Make me sick!” Bria protested and produced a twenty and a fifty. That was the wrong answer.
“Bone told me he gave a hunned dollar bill. Now come on with it,” Trey warned. Pimped actually.
“So I don’t get shit, huh? Fuck that!” she said crossing her arms to show that she was dead serious.
“Aight now, you fuckin’ with a pimp’s money! Oh and he also told me that you were holdin’ out on that throat! Quit trying a pimp’s nerves and suck some dick! Let a nigga put his money where your mouth is.”
“First of all, you ain’t no pimp. You, Trey Jenkins, a nigga who bullies his own mother and sister. Secondly, if you want Bone’s dick sucked so bad, then you go suck it!”
Trey moved across the room so fast that Bria didn’t get a chance to blink let alone duck. He snatched her by her throat and lifted her up in the air. Her feet kicked wildly, as she pulled at his fingers.
“Un uh! Don’t do her like that!” Mama protested from a safe distance. She wanted to help her daughter, but didn’t want to get choked too.
“Get out a pimp’s bidness!” he shouted back. He let his sister down and snatched his pants open.
Bria gasped for breathe as Trey shoved his flaccid penis in her mouth. The purpose was to humiliate her, but he ended up with an erection. Since he was hard and already in her mouth, he decided to go on and get off.
“Argh, ugh,” Bria gagged as he slammed in and out of her larynx.
She had been saving her mouth in case she ever got a boyfriend, but he’d just ruined it. Unfortunately, he was sick enough to be excited by the incestuous rape.
“Shit!” he exclaimed as he exploded. Tears streamed down her face as his semen seeped from the corners of her mouth. He continued to hump her face until he was as soft as he was when he first put his penis in her mouth. With his actions, he confirmed his reservation in the hellfire.
“I HATE YOUR ASS! I HOPE YOU DIE!” Bria shouted, as she wiped saliva and cum from her mouth and chin.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You just make sure you get my money,” Trey laughed, thinking it was all a joke. “Now y’all hoes get ready to get my damn money!”
“Come on,” Mama comforted as she helped her daughter from the floor.
“Get off me,” Bria growled and pulled away. The lady hadn’t helped her when her son face fucked her, so she didn’t want her help now. What she wanted was a hitman to come and kill her brother.
Bria’s internet search for a hitman yielded a nothing but a bunch of movies, rap songs and a few books, no killers. She searched killers and fared about the same. She continued to click page after page, until finally she came across 1-800-Killa.com. It felt good to vent as she laid out today’s events. She thought it was a novelty site, but uploaded her brother’s picture none the less. She also filled in his name, hang out spots and the make and model of his car as well. Last but not least, she got to recommend a choice of death.
“Hot!” Bria cheered as she made her selection from the choices of mild, medium, or hot. Visitors of the site could also choose between stabbing, shooting or the culprit being beaten to death. “Beaten, please and thank you.”
“Quit playing and come on,” her mama pleaded. Her brother was in the mirror fixing his pimp daddy pimp curls and getting agitated. The women left their home to trick as Bria’s request reached its destination.
“Sho-nuff?” Killa grimaced at the disgusting details of this latest request. He didn’t think the site would take off quite as quickly as it had, but it did. Every day tons of people reported husbands, wives, bullies and other assorted bad people in need of a violent death. This one, in particular, had caught his eye as he prepared to catch a flight. Once he reached his destination, then he’d catch a cab, catch a body and maybe get a drink.
“Where to now?” Sincerity asked as Killa packed a tote bag. She knew the population of somewhere was about to go down.
“Midwest to holla at a real life piece of shit,” he replied hotly. As usual, Killa wouldn’t announce his presence. He would come and observe to make sure it was as bad as they say it was. If it was, he would make it better.
“Got time for some back shots before you go?” Sincerity wondered. She wasn’t sure how long he would be gone, so she wanted to get some before he left.
“There’s always time for back shots!” he replied frowning at the silly question. Even if t
here isn’t time, you make time for back shots.
“Yay!” she clapped and flipped over onto her hands and knees.
Killa slid into her like a runner sliding into home plate. They quickly found their rhythm and filled the room with the wonderful symphony of sex. Her juicy vagina splashed with each stroke. The sound of skin slapping blended nicely with their moans and groans. Sincerity’s orgasm caused her to clinch her vaginal muscles tight, as a result Killa only lasted two more strokes before giving her a big going away present.
“Y’all come back now, ya hear!” Sincerity called out as he pulled out and slipped into the bathroom. Poor girl was worked so good that she fell asleep right there with her ass still in the air.
Killa chuckled at the sight when he came out of the bathroom. He gave her a peck on her ass check, because ain’t nothing wrong with that, and left the house.
*****
The last time Killa visited St. Louis, he and Yolo were too busy murdering mob members to enjoy the beautiful city. Now that he had a couple of days to spare, he decided he’d check out the city’s sights, sounds and people. The first thing he noticed was that there was some country ass folks in St. Louis.
“A-yo, where’s the baggage claim?” Killa asked a man in skin tight jeans and snake skin boots. The big ass single gold tooth in his mouth fit his Jheri curl to a T.
“Over thurr,” the man said sounding just like the rapper Nelly. Killa nodded his thanks and squeezed his lips tight to keep the laughter in check.
The man reminded him of the flamboyant pimp he and Yolo cut into itty bitty pieces. The man called himself Cock-a-do and dressed in clothes made from or accented with rooster feathers. Yolo had easily infiltrated his stable and got him alone. Killa had been in his feelings when she killed him before he arrived, but at least she had taught him the proper way to cut up a body.
“Just like chicken,” Killa laughed at the memory. His stroll down memory lane was cut short when he accidently bumped into a man at the baggage claim. “Excuse me, my bad.”
“Damn right it’s yo’ bad, country ass nigga! I should slap yo’ bitch ass!” the man snapped. His pants were even tighter than the first man’s and had a large lump in the middle. Instead of a Jheri curl, he had big bouncy Shirley Temple curls. He also had two large body guards who moved in to guard his body.
“Bitch ass?” Killa asked as he looked around at all the cameras and potential witnesses to the pending murder. Even unarmed, he could have easily sent the three of them to the ‘upper room’.
“Yeah, bitch ass, fuck ass, hoe ass nigga!” he shouted as his bodyguards restrained him. “Let me go! Let me get him!”
“Catch you later,” Killa nodded as he retreated. There were people present and dude was causing a scene. He took mental snap shots of the man to save for a later date.
Killa had reserved a car and a room for his week-long stay. He figured it shouldn’t take longer than that to see what he needed to see. If the claims against Trey were true, he had an extremely violent death in his near future.
“Oh, we have a package for you, Mr. Bush!” the pretty hotel clerk advised as she checked him in.
“Call me, George, and thank you,” he said leaning over the counter to get a peek at her ass when she turned to get his package.
“It’s heavy!” she said as she placed it on the counter.
“It’s a bomb,” Killa joked and they both laughed. Actually it was a bomb and a couple of guns, but he made it sound like a joke.
“Well, if you need… anything…” the clerk said with a pause that included her into the anything. The handsome stranger was a refreshing change from all the cowboys in town.
“That’s what’s up,” he agreed. Had it not been for Sincerity’s parting back shots, he may have just taken her up on her offer. Which is exactly why Sincerity had did it.
Chapter 7
“Mmmm” Yolo moaned as she awoke the next morning. Murder always made her sleep like a baby. As usual, her babies were the first thing on her mind when her eyes opened. The multiple orgasms had caused her to oversleep. She blinked at the clock to see if it would change but it was still almost noon.
“Shit!” she shouted and leapt to her feet. She rushed into the next room and frowned at the empty cribs. The violent woman kept at least one gun in every room of the house, besides the armory of weapons the basement. Her room contained twin nine millimeter pistols on the nightstands and an AK-47 behind the door. Each bathroom held a Mac 10 submachine gun. There was even a 40 cal in the fridge and a 22 in the cookie jar. Even the nursery held a 12 gauge shotgun under one of the cribs. Yolo pulled it out and crept down the stairs.
“What the heck!” Christi screamed when she saw Yolo with the large weapon in her hands. The babies who were already laughing and playing turned it up a notch when they saw their mother.
“I um…” Yolo said feeling slightly embarrassed. She rushed from the room and back up the stairs to put the gun up before joining her little family.
“Mm hm,” Christi teased. “I see someone must have been tired.”
“Well, I was, but not like that with your fresh self. I was out making the world a better place,” Yolo said proudly. She grabbed the remote to catch the news in hopes of hearing about The Amityville Rapist. He happened to be the top story, but not exactly how she expected.
‘The serial rapist and killer dubbed The Amityville Rapist has struck again. The body of 17 year old Fredrika Jackson was found early this morning…’
“Oh no! How could…” Yolo shouted before covering her mouth upon recognizing the victim as one of the girls she spoke with the night before. No way could Slick have killed her because he was dead himself.
“You know her?” Christi wondered from her reaction to the girl’s picture on the screen.
“Yes, no, kinda,” she said in confusion as the reporter reported. Once she wrapped up her spiel, she handed the microphone over to the detective handling the case. He quickly had Yolo’s full attention.
“Hubba-hubba,” Yolo said cracking her little friend up which in turn caused the twins to laugh. All jokes aside, she was quite taken by the handsome man on the television. The smooth chocolate man had a clean shaven head and a slight moustache. His tall, lean frame was the perfect hanger for the Brooks Brother suit he wore. “If I didn’t have a man already…”
‘We need the public’s help! So far we have no witnesses nor leads. All we know is that the offender is short with a light complexion and has brown eyes…’
“He just said that there were no witnesses, so how he know what the killer looks like?” the observant girl wanted to know.
“Shh!” Yolo shushed since the pretty black man was still speaking. She had also heard the contradiction, but didn’t contradict his pearly white smile.
‘His DNA is not in any of the police data bases which means that he’s probably in his teens. We’re assuming that the victims are either familiar with or at least comfortable with the predator due to the lack of signs of a struggle that usually accompanies a stranger’s abduction. If you have any leads or possible information, please call 800-555-1234.’
Christi laughed as Yolo scribbled down the number. She assumed correctly when she figured it was for her own personal use and not to report any crime.
“Whatever!” Yolo huffed. “Now get ready and let’s go get some lunch.”
Yolo dressed Sun while Christi dressed Shyne. She then took a twirl in the shower before dressing in a casual pair of capri pants and shirt. Once they were all dressed, they stepped out for a day on the town.
“Ooh, there go Christi,” Yolo laughed when they drove past her mother wearing one of her outfits. The grown woman was a lot thicker than her daughter so the loose jeans fit tight.
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Christi chuckled as she watched her mother walk to the weed spot. That’s why there was never any food in the house. Some man would always come by to feed her dick and fast food while her daughter was left to fend for herself.
*****
Killa scrunched his face and shook his head at the room service menu. He decided to pass on the bland food and sample some of the local favor instead. A pretty blonde clerk was now on duty and she too smiled flirtatiously at Killa as he crossed the lobby. He tipped the valet when he arrived from the underground parking garage with his rental car.
The scenery changed drastically when he left the downtown area and entered the hood. A pack of young girls ambling by dressed like mini prostitutes smiled and waved as he paused for a red light. Killa’s heart was too cold to break, but he sight saddened him none the less. If everyone became pimps, hoes, hustlers and players, then who would be left to raise the children.
Killa turned on the radio to ease his mind, but that only made matters worse. A foulmouthed rapper with the cadence of a Mother Goose fairytale made him writhe in his seat.
‘I put my mama on the rock, then put her on the block. Put my sister on the track and told the bitch to brang it back. Even granny selling love cuz’ pimpin’ is as pimpin’ does’
“And that last single was ‘Pimpin’ Is’ the latest single by our very own Pimp Daddy Pimp. Be sure to come out to the arena tomorrow night and catch the show,” the announcer announced before throwing on another profanity laced tirade against women. Men are supposed to be the protectors and maintainers of women, but obviously this dickhead hadn’t gotten the memo.
The homegrown hometown favorite had single handily fucked up his community. Thanks to the deficiencies of daddies in the hood, the kids were forced to find role models somewhere else. Too often they turned on the television or the radio and found one in an athlete, actor or rapper.
Pimp Daddy Pimp had all the kids thinking it was cool to be pimps and hoes. The boys all emulated him, while the girls allowed themselves to be degraded by allowing themselves to be pimped. In his latest song he said, “If you couldn’t find a whore then pimp the women in your house.” That’s why Trey was on the plate.