by Sa'id Salaam
The large window beyond them offered a gorgeous view of downtown Atlanta. Everything should have been perfect. He had finally wined and dined the jet-black beauty into his bed.
Generally, he would be talking shit while long-stroking, but nothing came to mind except the standard Whose pussy is this? and Take that! he quietly contemplated.
She moaned and coated his dick with the thick cream that differentiates good pussy from great pussy, yet his mind was a million miles away. Sorta like that old song, Your Body’s Here With Me, But Your Mind Is On The Other Side Of Town. Except in this case, his dick was there with her while his mind was way across town.
He courted her for months before she granted him access to her juicy insides. Now that he was all up in it, it was everything they said it was. They said she had some good good, that wet wet, and they were right – “they” being the rumor mill and the gossip mongers who seemed to know everyone else’s business.
Another thing they said about Vita was she was jinxed. She was bad luck, an omen with good pussy. The rumors stemmed from the fact four out of five of her last drug kingpin boyfriends got caught and sentenced to fed time. The fifth one got lucky and got murdered before he even made it to trial.
That didn’t worry Breeze, because he was out of the dope game. Had he still been hustling, she could have had a platinum-coated coochie, and he still wouldn’t have touched her. He got out just in the nick of time, too. The DEA had just swooped in and scooped up his whole team like an eagle getting its dinner from a lake. They had nothing directly on him, but with that many arrests being made, he was sure there would be some song singing going on. As sure as shit stinks, and shit stinks plenty, somebody was going to snitch.
His childhood friend and right-hand man, Ice, beat everyone to the punch. Only, instead of snitching on Breeze, the person he snitched on was himself. He claimed responsibility for the whole operation. He traded his own life for that of his life-long friend.
The lead agent tried zealously to fight the deal the government offered Ice, but to no avail. Special Agent Stevens knew Breeze was the king, but when Ice starting taking credit for many of the city’s unsolved homicides, he was overruled. Ice claimed several cold case murders, including Breeze’s first murder, and because the U.S. Attorney wanted those cases solved and off the books, he allowed Breeze to walk as long as they had his right-hand man.
Breeze was forever grateful for the sacrifice his boy made for him. Had Ice not been a real G, Breeze wouldn’t have been free to continue enjoying life and getting good pussy from honeys such as the one with her nails clawing for purchase at the moment.
“Mmm. I’m. Finna cum,” Vita whined like she didn’t want to. Her vagina bragged on itself by getting wetter and louder. Two more solid deep thrust from Breeze sent her over the edge, causing her vagina to dispense more of its good, creamy lotion while her body seized as if it had been hit by 50,000 volts from a police Taser. She shook, cursed, and slobbered all over herself before collapsing face-first onto the mattress.
Breeze looked down and smiled proudly at his handiwork. In that instant, he abandoned his plan to hit it once and move on. All that changed the second he squeezed inside of her. It was so hot, so wet, he had to double check to ensure he put the condom on. Pussy that good could make most men have second thoughts about everything, Breeze reminded himself.
If Vita knew the power of this good P, she could rule the world. It’s like an ace in the hole, the trump card that turns a no into a yes.
“But, not men like me. I don’t rush head first, thinking with my dick,” he mumbled unconsciously.
“Did you say something?” asked Vita. She was trying to regain her breath.
“Nah.” He stepped from the bed and walked out onto his balcony to be alone with his thoughts. He pulled the empty condom from his deflating manhood and tossed it over the balcony and out toward Peachtree Street.
Today had been a good day, but tomorrow could be even better. Tomorrow would be the day the culmination of all his hard work was rewarded. Tomorrow he would officially become a legitimate businessman. That was the prize his eyes had been on since he slung his first rock on Martin Luther King Boulevard so many years ago.
A ton of cocaine had been sold to get him to this point. Lives had been lost. Friends had been crossed and dreams deferred all so Breeze could make it here. Although it wasn’t visible from there, he turned his head in the direction of Grady Memorial Hospital. That’s where Brezel Johnson had arrived into the world thirty-five years ago.
His teenage mother, Alice, took the fatherless child back to the projects and dropped him off with her mother, then was in the wind. From time to time she popped in to drop off more kids. She was like a ratchet stork, flying in once or twice a year to drop off babies she didn’t want. By the time young Breeze was in the first grade, she had dropped off four more kids — three more boys and one girl, when it was all said and done.
Grandma was only in her mid-thirties and still liked and did her own thing. Unfortunately for her grandchildren, her thing was gin and juice. She was also pretty fond of menthols and malt liquor. As a result, Breeze was forced to be a man at an age when he should’ve been enjoying his childhood.
Since there was never enough food in the house, Breeze hit the streets. Bagging groceries at the corner store didn’t cut it, so he began bagging crack for the project kingpin.
Juice inherited the crown by default, since everyone else was dead or in jail. Using a heavy-handed, shoot first technique, he easily controlled the lucrative projects. Whoever wanted to sell dope around there had to sell it for him. Point blank, period. Violators of that golden rule found their names listed in the obituary column of the local papers.
Despite the warnings, beatings, and murders, there was always niggas unwilling to act right. Always some niggas willing to test the boss’ gangsta. If Juice dropped off a kilo to be bagged up, he expected to pick up a kilo when he returned, but some stupid-ass always had to try to be slick and skim something off. A couple of grams here, a couple of grams there to pay for the latest sneakers and coochie, thinking it wouldn’t be missed. Their assumptions always landed them in the local morgue.
Not Brezel, though. He was always on point. Even when tested, he proved his loyalty, and as a result, the aging hustler took him under his wing.
Juice had hustled in those same projects for decades. He adjusted to the changing times, switching from smack to crack effortlessly.
Juice was a hood nigga to his heart, with nothing else to give but jewels of the game. And he gave them to Breeze straight, with no chaser. He taught him lessons he never actually acted upon himself, but knew the boy would. It would be a decade before he fully understood the most important lesson given to him:
“Selling dope is a handicap for lames. A monkey can sling crack,” Juice told the confused kid.
“So, why you….”
“We ain’t talking about me. We talking about you! Don’t worry about me! This shit is just a means to an end. If you live through it, you should have money, power, and respect. Don’t be no fool and take them to jail or the grave with you! Instead, do something with them! Open you up a grocery sto’, a car lot, or something!”
Juice got himself murdered a few years later, leaving sixteen-year-old Breeze in charge. Breeze was the only one who was close enough to Juice to be introduced to his connections. His connections understood if Juice trusted him that much, then they, too, could trust him.
The hoods in the hood felt some kind of way about working for the kid, but working beat not working, so they accepted it.
His first order of business was to kill the man behind the death of his mentor. His killer was a frustrated husband who got tired of Juice leaving his juice inside of his wife. Juice’s kingdom collapsed over a woman like a ghetto version of the movie Troy.
“How long have you been out here?” Vita purred as she stepped out onto the balcony behind him. She walked up to him, pressing her body against his ba
ck as she wrapped her arms around him and took his dick in her small hands.
“Just a few — Damn!” he said, looking down at his watch. The pink glow of pre-dawn confirmed what the expensive timepiece reported. He had been out there for several hours, not several minutes.
“Nervous about tomorrow? I mean today,” she corrected while she gently tugged on his manhood. It began to rise and stiffen in her soft palms.
“Nervous? Nah, never that. Anxious and excited, maybe, but I’m ready, though,” he said as he turned to face her.
“Yes, you are!” she said wickedly, staring down at the thick erection between the two of them. Realizing it wouldn’t melt in her hands, she decided to put it in her mouth. Breeze smiled appreciatively as she slowly lowered to her knees before him.
“Mmm,” he moaned when her moist, hot mouth engulfed him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back to enjoy the early morning oral stimulation.
Vita kissed, licked, sucked, and stroked his thick erection until he rose up on his tippy toes, signaling his impending climax. She had a decision to make, and she had to make it quick. She debated for a millisecond before snatching his organ from her mouth. The relationship was far too new to be swallowing. That would be like kicking a field goal on first down.
A split second later, he grunted and exploded across her chest. “Let. Me. Find. Out. You scared.” Breeze laughed once he was able to breathe again.
“You first,” she stood and replied. Vita turned and headed back inside, pulling him along behind her by his penis. Once inside, she climbed back onto the bed and spread her legs open wide. Her neatly shaved pussy looked like a plump black clam, and he was quite fond of clams. He took position between her firm chocolate thighs and scrutinized it for several more seconds. That’s the thing about pussy. It’s good on so many levels, it feels good, it tastes good, and it’s a good to look at. As a matter of fact it’s so good that it should have its own TV channel. It would be called VSPN or something.
It puckered up like it wanted a kiss, so he leaned forward and kissed it. He wasn’t certain what he should be doing to it, so he mimicked what he had seen in pornos.
Vita grunted and grimaced as he scraped and chewed at delicate lady parts.
“Un-uh, that’s okay. Bless your heart for trying. You get an A for effort,” Vita said as she pulled him up.
Breeze was a little hurt, but he felt better instantly when she guided him inside of her wet warmth. The hot tightness immediately alerted him of the fact he was inside of her raw. Fuck it, he thought, and began to do just that. Once he worked up a good froth, he guided her legs up to his shoulders.
Vita grabbed handfuls of the satin sheets they lay upon as he sank slowly down to the bottom of her cervix. He pulled out to the brim, only leaving the tip of the head in, and repeated the action. Again and again he hit bottom, only to slowly withdraw his engorged penis, increasing the speed and intensity with each thrust. With each stroke, Vita’s vagina became wetter and wetter, creating more and more juices for his dick to splash around in.
“Shit! I’m about to cum,” he warned, putting the ball in her court. He would pull out if ordered, or stay inside if she preferred. She answered by grabbing his ass and pulling him deeper inside of her.
Vita didn’t usually let a man cum in her, but this time she made an exception. Unbeknownst to Breeze, it was business for Vita, not personal.
Chapter Two
Breeze awoke with the pleasant glow of good sex on his face. He rolled over to see if he was good for one more before they started their day and realized he was alone. On the pillow next to him, he found a note instead of the curvaceous body he had spent the night enjoying. He smiled at the bright red lipstick print and began to read:
Hey Sugar,
Thanks for an incredibly pleasurable night. Good luck today! I’m so proud of you! Xoxo
“Proud of me,” he repeated as he pondered the words. It took a second for him to realize he’d never heard those words directed at him before. He’d never had anyone tell him they were proud of him. Not his mother or grandmother for raising himself and his siblings.
Several minutes passed with him in deep thought over the simple words before he snapped out of it and stood. He was introspective like that. He could spend hours inside of his own head. Even in a room full of people, he had no problem disappearing inside himself mentally.
“You trippin’, shawty,” he chided himself as he glanced down and took note of the dried, flaky residue of raw sex on his manhood. He was pretty sure she was clean. She tasted clean, but he still paid extra attention when he went to the bathroom to relieve himself.
The one time he did get burned, way back in the day, it was his early morning urination that made the diagnosis. He felt like he was pissing flaming razor blades. He wrapped his flame-throwing penis in a wet rag and ran over to the clinic. After that painful experience, he promised himself he would never again engage in unprotected sex unless he was married. He sighed with relief when he peed clean and evenly, and then headed over to his luxurious shower.
A minute later, he stepped out of the stall clean, fresh and smelling good. He dried himself with a towel so plush it practically sucked the water from his skin.
Breeze stepped inside his walk-in closet and looked for something to wear for the day. He ignored the suit he originally selected out of fear of second guessing himself for the third time. It had taken him hours to assemble the right suit, shirt, socks, and shoes, and he wasn’t going through that again. Instead, he grabbed a pair of designer jeans, a matching shirt, and a pair of fresh white tennis shoes. This attire was easier, as well as more relaxed.
A cup of hot chocolate and a bran muffin served as breakfast for the newly health-conscious Breeze. When he was in the streets, he would have hit a greasy diner for grits, eggs, and three kinds of pork. Now he watched carbs and counted calories in addition to using the condo’s gym.
After breakfast, he locked up and headed down the hall. “You did it, boy!” Breeze congratulated the reflection smiling back at him from the elevator’s mirrors. He nodded his appreciation as he descended.
As soon as the door opened, granting him entrance to the underground garage, he hit the remote button on his keys. The lights on his midnight blue 550 Benz flashed in greeting while the engine purred to life. It was the least it could do, considering what he paid for it. He hit the button once more, and the locks popped open.
The ride up Peachtree Street was a little too short for his taste. The only thing worse than a long-ass commute was a super short one. The drive time to and from work was a much-needed buffer to either psych up or tone down. A few minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot.
“Club Illusions,” he proudly read from the sign, like he did every time he saw it. It looked rather plain by day, but come nightfall it would light up the dark sky. It would become a beacon for all who wanted to get their party on.
“Breezy Breeze!” Coach cheered when he saw the boss step from his car. Breeze braced himself for the violent hug he knew was coming his way. The gregarious ex-football player rushed over and hugged him tightly.
“Ugh, hey, Coach,” Breeze managed to utter while his breath was being squeezed from him.
“I’m proud of you,” said Coach.
Breeze wanted to smile from hearing those important words for the second time in one day, but he couldn’t breathe. It was yet another confirmation going legit was the right thing to do. That and Ice getting five life sentences plus twenty years.
“Thanks,” Breeze finally managed to say when Coach released him and his lungs refilled with air. “You ready for tonight?” he asked.
Coach, who was 6’5 and well over 300 pounds, wasn’t there just to show his support. He was the head of security for the club. He protected his boss with the same ferocity he had protected his quarterback on the field when playing in the league.
“Of course! Are you?” he wondered sincerely.
“Hell, yeah!” Breeze r
esponded, sounding more confident than he actually felt. This was it, the big time. He went all out to set up the biggest, hottest club in Atlanta.
Breeze had never heard the old adage about not putting all your eggs in one basket, so that’s exactly what he had done. He was all in. Failure was not an option! He had to go forward, because he couldn’t go back.
To make matters worse, he was running out of cash, and there were no more kilos to flip and make more. Between paying bail bonds, lawyers, and bribes, things had become tight. Add to it the twenty thousand for the liquor license, another twenty thousand for the actual liquor, not to mention the hundred grand that went toward the lights, cameras, and action inside the club. Breeze knew he had splurged, but he would not let that hold him back, he vowed. Again, failure is not an option.
Meanwhile, Agent Stevens was lurking in the shadows, praying for the exact opposite. Not only was he praying for Breeze’s downfall, he was tossing banana peels in his path, hoping he’d slip and fall.
“Hey, Breeze,” the club’s hostess moaned as he passed by her station. She was definitely the hostess with the most-est, with her bright smile and big titties.
“Hey, yourself.” He took a peek at both qualities that had landed her the job. She was definitely his type, but he was smart enough to know not to fuck his employees.
Breeze gave her a quick head nod with his greeting and kept it moving. When he entered the main area, the first thing he saw was his sister, Danisha, raising hell.
“Un-uh, oh hell to the naw! This ain’t no damn shot! Look at this shit!” she griped before tossing the brown liquor down her throat. “Now, fix it right!”
“Danisha, leave ol’ Pops alone. You in here barking orders like you own the joint,” Breeze said.
“I do. Dis here our juke joint,” she teased and cracked up. She had a good buzz going already, so almost everything was funny to her.