The Kat Trap

by Cairo

  Over the past two years, Chanel’s been really gettin’ it in with these niggas. Ever since she got played by this big-Willy nigga she was fuckin’, she been straight wildin’ out with the niggas. Divine is like the fourth nigga she’s fucked in the last six months tryna keep her bills ’n shit paid. That shit is straight nasty to me. Get ya ass up and get a damn job! I mean, there’s nothin’ wrong with slayin’ a nigga’s pockets, but it’s a dumb bitch who lets that shit be her only hustle. And these bitches kill me with no credit, no savin’s, nothin’ to fall back on. If they got credit, it’s either maxed the fuck out or fucked up; and if they got a few dollars stashed, it’s just that—a few damn measly dollars, nothin’ major.

  “Chanel, you do know you a certified trick, right? I mean, really. What the fuck! You sound like a real bird. What you need to do is find ya’self a hobby, take ya ass back to school, do somethin’ constructive with ya’self instead of bobbin’ ya neck up and down a nigga’s dick, and chasin’ niggas to support ya ass.”

  Oh, trust. I know if a nigga wanna trick his money on some pussy or brain, then oh fuckin’ well. I think a real bitch holds shit down for herself, by herself. She knows how to make her paper, and get it poppin’ without leanin’ on a dick to do it. Hell, I know what I’m doin’ is far worse than what she’s doin’. But say what ya want. I’d rather slump niggas for a livin’ than have them hump up in my guts for one. I might be many things, but a gold digger ain’t ever gonna be one of ’em. I don’t need a nigga lacin’ me with ice ’n shit, payin’ my mortgage, car note, or anything else, ’cause a bitch like me buys her own shit.

  “Say what ya want,” she said, soundin’ offended. “Hustlin’ these niggas is a job. And a bitch like me is gonna always hustle a nigga off his paper. Fuck what ya heard.”

  “Do you, sweetie,” I said, gettin’ heated listenin’ to her stupid ass. “But tell me this. What’s really good with a bitch who—after all the fuckin’ and all the suckin’ is done—has nothin’ to show for givin’ up her ass other than rug burns, a wet hole, and some shit that ya had to whore for? What’s really good with a bitch with a pussy the size of a parkin’ garage because she done let every muhfuckin’ wanna-be balla run all up in her so she can get laced? Bitch, you bigga than that, that’s all I’m sayin’. Get ya mind right.”

  “Yeah, whatever!”

  On the real, the only reason I was comin’ at her neck is ’cause she’s my fuckin’ peoples. Otherwise I wouldn’t give a fuck. Do you. See, unlike Tamia and Iris, Chanel not only has street smarts, but the bitch is bright as hell. That makes her ass a serious threat. She graduated top in our class, and hustlin’ niggas is all the bitch wants. She could be a lawyer, engineer, whatever! Humph. If her ass stopped trickin’ for a minute she might see what I’m sayin’. But right now she’s too wrapped up in a nigga’s dick stroke and his pockets. Like my mother always said, “The smartest bitch can still be the dumbest bitch.” And there ya have it!

  “That nigga Divine is big on ya ass, Chanel. The nigga don’t cheat on ya. And if he does, he keeps that shit tucked on the low. He don’t bring drama to ya ass. He don’t call ya out ya name, and keeps ya ass laced. And that still ain’t good enough. You still got ya eyes and mind shiftin’ to the next nigga. Keep up, and ya gonna find ya’self like the rest of them greedy bitches…with nothing.”

  “Bitch, I ain’t call ya ass for no damn lecture.”

  “Whatever.” I was done.

  “And what is it you do again, huh, tramp? None of us seem to know since ya always top secret ’n shit.”

  I had to laugh to myself. A real bitch moved in silence. Thought she knew. Girls or not, the less they knew the better. The last thing I needed was one of them hoes sittin’ around drinkin’ and smokin’ and blastin’ off at the mouth. Then before ya know it I got feds ’n shit sniffin’ ’round like fiends tryna be all up on mine. It’s bad enough I have to watch how I make moves. Can’t be flashin’ and shinin’ and tryna buy up too much shit without havin’ some way to explain how I can afford it. Them feds got eyes and ears everywhere, listenin’ and clockin’ niggas. Lucky for me, my moms got major paper from her accident a few years back, so I can say she hit me off with gifts ’n shit. But still, a bitch gotta know how to move.

  “And you never will,” I said, lookin’ over at the clock while getting up to go into the bathroom. We been on the phone for almost forty-five minutes talkin’ ’bout shit, I thought. “Look, trick, love ya, but I got shit to do. I’ll hit you when I get home.”

  “Fuck you, too,” she said.

  “I’ll be sure to,” I replied, laughin’. We hung up, then I jumped in the shower, rinsed my ass and pussy real good. When I was done, I dried myself off, took another one of the hotel’s plush white towels and wrapped it around my body, then lay across the bed. I needed a power nap.

  At ten p.m., I was in my target’s room with my legs spread wide and bent at the knees, lyin’ in the middle of his bed. I pressed the back of my head into the pillow and arched my back, palmin’ the back of this nigga’s smooth bald head as he ate my pussy inside out. The muhfucka’s lips were heaven—soft, warm, and wet, and felt so damn good on my pussy. He dipped his tongue in, then flicked it across my clit a few times, then darted it back into my pussy.

  “Yeah, nigga, just like that,” I moaned. “Make me cum, daddy…yes, ooh…fuck me with your tongue, nigga.” I pumped my pussy in his face, wrapped my legs around his neck, then begged him to fuck me deep. He flicked my clit with his thumb, then his tongue. He slathered my pussy lips with his wet mouth, then lapped up my kat juice the minute my slit started leakin’. The nigga was teasin’ me, makin’ my pussy churn. “Mmmm…oh, yes! Get all up in that pussy…make it nut, nigga…oh, yes!” I moaned again. “Feed my pussy, nigga.”

  He stuck two thick fingas in me, pressin’ on my clit, flickin’ his tongue while finger-fuckin’ me. He moaned and slurped my pussy until I came in his mouth.

  “Damn, baby, you taste good,” he said, swallowin’ my sweet cum, then lickin’ his slick, sticky lips. That’s right, muhfucka, good to the last drop, I thought, studyin’ him as he got up from between my legs.

  “It feels even better,” I said, gettin’ on my knees and spreadin’ open my ass cheeks. I wanted him poundin’ my pussy with his thick, long dick. “Come fuck my pussy,” I said, lookin’ over my shoulder as he rolled a Magnum down on his dick, which was smooth with big veins and curved to the right. The nigga slid his dick in, then fucked me from the back, deep and hard. “That’s all you got, nigga? When you gonna fuck me, huh, muhfucka? Make my pussy nut, nigga. Make me feel the dick, punk.”

  “Yeah, you a nasty, shit-talkin’ ho,” he said, slappin’ my ass. My pussy grabbed his dick. He slapped my ass again. My pussy grabbed his dick again. “Oh, you like a nigga slappin’ ya ass, huh?” He pulled his dick out to the head, tip-drilled my hot hole, then plunged his dick back in me. I threw my ass up at him, backed my pussy onto his dick. “That’s right,” he said, slappin’ my ass again, “fuck this big, black dick. Work that ass up on this dick.”

  “Stop teasin’ me, nigga. I’m still waitin’ for you to fuck me. Don’t be scared. Beat this pussy up, muhfucka.”

  The more shit I talked, the harder he worked to rip my insides out. The nigga was fuckin’ me so damn good, and grabbin’ me by the back of the head. I had to keep pushin’ his hands off my hair in fear he was gonna yank my wig off. I hated to have this fuck session end. I glanced at the digital clock. It read 9:50 p.m.

  I straddled him and started ridin’ his dick, bouncin’ up and down on it. “Damn, fuck that dick, bitch,” he said, reachin’ around me and slappin’ me on the ass. “Give me that wet pussy. Yeah, that’s right, bitch, yeah…just like that. You like this big dick?”

  “Yeah, nigga,” I moaned, slammin’ down on his dick. “This dick feels good.”

  It was ten o’ clock. I had to hurry this along. “You like this tight pussy? You wanna nut up in my pussy, muhfucka?”

 
“Oh, shit. Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout. Ride that dick. You want me to bust this hot nut in your guts?” he asked, squeezin’ my ass cheeks together to clamp around his cock. “Gotdamn,” he groaned, “you got some good muhfuckin’ pussy. That’s right, make it grab my dick.”

  “Cum for me, daddy. Give me that nut, baby,” I begged, squeezin’ my pussy. “Oh, yeah.”

  “It’s comin’. It’s comin’. It’s comin’.”

  I galloped harder.

  “Give it to me, muhfucka. Yeah, baby, give me that hot nut.”

  “Mmmm, fuck. You ridin’ the shit outta that dick.”

  The minute he closed his eyes and twisted his face, I leaned over, and pulled my Glock out from underneath the mattress where I hid it when he went into the bathroom. “Make that dick shoot for me, muhfucka. Uh, shit. Give me that nut, nigga.”

  “I’m cuummm—” Theessrrpp! I shot his ass between the eyes. A pool of blood seeped out from the back of his head. I climbed off him, pulled off the condom, then wiped him down. When I finished removin’ the sheets and wipin’ off any remainin’ traces of my presence, I dipped outta his room and quietly took the elevator back up to my suite on the eighth floor. It was ten-thirty. I flipped open my cell and dialed.

  “What’s good?”

  “I know why the caged bird sings.”

  “That’s wassup. I’ll get at ya.”

  “Bet,” I said, shuttin’ my phone, then headin’ for the shower.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “You have a collect call from…Naheem…at the Wyoming Correctional Facility. To accept this call, please do not use three-way or call waiting features or you will be disconnected. To accept this call…” I waited for the computerized recording to finish, and pressed one. “Hello?”

  “Aye, yo…’bout time ya ass is pickin’ up. What, you ain’t got no love for a nigga? I’ve been tryna get at you for a minute, but you ain’t never home. What’s good with you? I hear you out there doin’ big things, shinin’ and flossin’ and got every nigga from here to Miami tryna get at your sexy ass.”

  I started laughin’. “You silly. Niggas ain’t checkin’ for me like that. It ain’t even that serious. I’m chillin’. Yeah, it’s been a while since we’ve talked. And nigga, you know I’ma always have love for you. I’m just doin’ me.”

  “Yeah, aiight. I can’t tell. I don’t get no letters, no visits, nothin’ from you. I thought we were bigger than that. I mean, damn! I know I’m not ya man ’n shit no more, but I’m sayin’…shoot a nigga a kite from time to time.”

  Humph. I wish the fuck I would. “You already know how I feel ’bout those visits. I’m not with ’em. And I ain’t beat for writin’ letters. I accept ya collects, so be thankful.”

  “Oh, word. It’s like that now? When I was out on the bricks you wasn’t talkin’ all slick ’n shit. Now a nigga on freeze and you all brand-new. I see how you doin’ it. It’s all good, though. A nigga ain’t gonna be down for long. The minute I touch, shit gon’ change. And you better have that pussy nice and tight, too. I don’t want you givin’ up my pussy to none of them punk-ass niggas.”

  I sighed. “Whatever, nigga!” I said angrily. “Why must we go through this shit every time you call? I didn’t get ya ass locked up, you did. Perhaps ya didn’t get the memo. So, let me give it to ya now: I ain’t no little-ass girl anymore. You can’t spit that shit to me and think it’s gonna be sweet. I’ma fuck who I wanna fuck.”

  “Yeah, aiight,” he said, soundin’ tight. I could tell by the tone in his voice that the idea of me ridin’ another nigga’s dick was a bit much for him. “So who you fuckin’?”

  “None of ya muhfuckin’ business, that’s who,” I said, rollin’ my eyes.

  He started laughin’. “Yeah, aiight. I’ma see what’s really good with you in a minute, baby. Believe that. Fuck ’round and I’ma have another case.”

  Whatever! He’s been sayin’ that “in a minute” mess for almost five damn years, and his ass was still sittin’ behind bars and barbed wire. I don’t know what kinda time clock he was usin’ but he needed a reality check, and quick. The nigga wasn’t punchin’ out anytime soon. I glanced at my 18kt timepiece dipped in ice. This nigga is burnin’ my jack with his bullshit, I thought. I really ain’t beat for this shit tonight. He got two more minutes, then I’ma bang on his ass. “Naheem, is there somethin’ you want? ’Cause if not, it’s been real. I got shit to do, so—”

  “Aye, yo…what’s good with ya peoples?” he asked, cuttin’ me off. “I hear they out there real reckless with theirs.”

  “What you talkin’ ’bout?” I asked, gettin’ ready to flip into bitch mode. “Reckless how?”

  “Well, from what I hear, ya girl Tamia out there bein’ a real rabbit, poppin’ E’s ’n shit, and suckin’ and fuckin’ everything wit’ a dick.” I twisted my lips. E pills? This nigga musta banged his head on his bunk for real, talkin’ that shit. Suckin’ and fuckin’, yeah, okay. And I know the bitch’ll get lifted off some smoke. But pills, nah, that ain’t even her flava. I kept my mouth shut, but inside I was ready to check his ass on the real. “And ya girl Iris out there fuckin’ wit’ this nigga from Long Island whose pushin’ major weight, and he got her frontin’ for him. And Tamia got that shit.”

  That shit? Of course a bitch’s first thought was the Alphabets, ’cause that’s the first thing you hear when someone’s talkin’ ’bout someone with the package. “What shit you talkin’ ’bout?” I held my breath.

  “She got herpes.” Okay, on some real shit, I don’t know if I was relieved that it wasn’t HIV/AIDS or not. But a bitch was pissed that a nigga behind the wall was callin’ me with this mess.

  “Where’d you get that shit from ’bout Iris?” I asked.

  “One of my mans I fuck wit’ up in here is his peoples. And you know don’t shit happen on the streets that we don’t know ’bout.”

  “Hmm. And where’d you get that shit ’bout Tamia?”

  “’Cause another one of my man’s brothas was fuckin’ wit’ her for a minute on the low, and now he got that shit. He tellin’ cats he got it from her nasty ass.”

  “Well, you got ya facts twisted. Ain’t no way Iris frontin’ shit for no nigga. She might be stuntin’ his ass, but frontin’ him? Nah, nigga, you got the wrong one. And I know damn well Tamia ain’t on it like that.”

  “Nah, baby, real talk. My mans got flicks of ya girl Iris wit’ his peoples, mad chillin’. I’m tellin’ ya, dude got her straight rockin’ his dick. The cat’s stretchin’ her neck, and got her pushin’ them thangs for him. Matter of fact, he got like five or six bitches in his stable makin’ that shit do what it do. And that shit wit’ Tamia, I don’t really know how true it is, but word to life this ain’t the only nigga sayin’ it. There’s another cat she supposedly done did dirty, too. You know I’ma real nigga, and I ain’t gonna say shit that ain’t real.”

  “So, if you know all this, then why you askin’ me? Both of ’em are grown-ass women. Iris can do whatever she wants. I’m not her keeper. And I ain’t got shit to do with Tamia’s pussy conditions.”

  “Yo, just tell ’em both to be easy. Shit is real hectic out there.”

  I knew what he meant. The streets were hot. ATF, TNT, FBI, DEA, SWAT, niggas were gettin’ bagged and popped left and right. Iris knew this. It’s on the news, in the papers, on the radio. The drug game, major paper or not, came with some serious risks. Some people gotta live it to learn it. And that mess ’bout Tamia, I refused to believe that shit. Yeah, when the bitch was in her teens she mighta got reckless with it, but she knew shit was too fuckin’ serious now. A bitch could end up with some shit she can’t get rid of. Fuck that, ain’t no way this ho was bein’ that damn stupid. But if it was true, then she’d get what her hand called for. A bitch can end up at the bottom of a river for some grimy shit like that.

  “That’s on them,” I finally said.

  “Yeah, but that’s ya peoples. And one’s fuckin’ wit’ a real live nigga, wit�
�� a whole lotta enemies. I hope she knows what she’s stepped into. And the other is playin’ wit fire fuckin’ these niggas’ lives up. Some of these niggas she’s fuckin’ got families ’n shit.”

  I twisted my face up. “Okay, so you tryna say she’s responsible for what the fuck these niggas bring home to their chicks. Fuck that! That’s on their stupid asses for creepin’, and for fuckin’ a bitch raw. So, them niggas get what they get.”

  I hated that shit! Muhfuckas always wanna blame somebody else for their shit crumblin’. You play reckless, then you die reckless.

  “Nah, I ain’t sayin’ that,” he said. “’Cause them niggas should know how to move. But at the end of the day, she should be responsible enough to tell ’em.”

  “Oh, please,” I snapped. “If the bitch wasn’t bein’ responsible fuckin’ a nigga raw, what the fuck makes you think she’d be responsible enough to wanna tell the next muhfucka her pussy ain’t right. Obviously, she had to get it from some nigga.”

  Okay, I ain’t gonna front. Listenin’ to Naheem’s ass got a bitch sizzlin’ mad. First I’m thinkin’, why the fuck is he talkin’ loose on the phone? I thought they listened in on all those lines. Then I’m thinkin’, if what he was sayin’ was true about Iris, I was gonna scream on that dumb bitch. Fuckin’ a nigga pushin’ weight was one thing, but bein’ his gofer or mule was a whole other thing. We all knew a few chicks on lock for takin’ the weight for some nigga. And while her ass is doin’ his bid, doin’ his time, he’s makin’ moves with the next bitch. We used to laugh at them silly-ass hoes.