The Kat Trap

by Cairo

  He nodded, takin’ it all in. “I hear ya, baby. So why you don’t have a man?”

  I thought for a minute before I spoke. Flashes of all the bitches I knew who lived and breathed a man came to mind. Bitches who couldn’t live without a man, who thought not havin’ one was the end of the world, that somehow they were nothin’ without one. Bitches who would sell their souls for a stiff dick rammed up their ass. I shook the images outta my head. The thought of ever becomin’ one of them weak bitches made me sick to my fuckin’ stomach. Ugh, how I hate weak bitches!

  “’Cause a man don’t define me,” I finally said, lookin’ directly at him, “and havin’ a man isn’t something I need.”

  “Sure you do,” he said, grinnin’.

  I frowned. “How you figure?”

  “’Cause a woman has needs, and no matter how many times she says she doesn’t need or want a man, at the end of the day, she still wants to feel loved and needed and wanted. She still wants a man to make her feel special.”

  “Then she’s a damn fool,” I snapped. “A chick shouldn’t haveta have a man to make her feel special. She should already feel special. She shouldn’t have to rely on a man to be loved. She should already love herself.”

  He smiled. “It’s more about companionship. Having someone she can feel connected to; someone to spend her life with.”

  Humph, fuck all the extras. Just give me the dick. I shrugged my shoulders. “I guess,” I said.

  “So, you don’t wanna spend ya life with someone special; have someone you can share your hurts and fears with, someone you can grow old with?”

  I took a deep breath. A bitch wasn’t ready for this discussion. “I don’t think about it,” I said honestly. Hell, most niggas were too muhfuckin’ shady for my likin’. And some of ’em acted worse than bitches.

  “Oh, okay. Let’s switch gears. Since you don’t seem to need anyone to handle ya emotional needs, how about having a man to handle ya sexual needs?”

  I held up both hands and wiggled my fingas. “This is what these are for,” I said. “They never let me down.”

  He smiled. “Okay, but what about those nights when you wanna feel something thick up in ya guts?”

  “Oh, not to worry,” I said, smilin’. “That’s what my collection of dildos is for. And if I just need a quick touch-up, I have a thick mini-vibrator to take the edge off. Two double-As and it’s good to go all night long. No stress; no mess. I can just nut and go.”

  He laughed as he drove toward the Lincoln Tunnel. “Oh, shit,” he said, grippin’ the steerin’ wheel and tryna keep his eyes on the road while lookin’ over at me. “You funny as hell, word up. I see you got a answer for everything.”

  “Yep,” I agreed. “I’m that bitch; I thought you knew.”

  “So I see,” he said, pullin’ up to the toll booth. He handed the busted chick in the booth a twenty. “Well, I guess since you don’t seem to need or want a man, there’s no sense in me tryna push up on ya.”

  “That’s on you. I just know I’m not gonna expect much. Expectations open the door for disappointments, and I’m not the one.”

  “I feel you,” he said, holdin’ his hand out for his change. The ho was so busy tryna check for him she had to recount the money. I rolled my eyes. The old me woulda been on some real extra shit and woulda blasted her ass.

  When he pulled off and made his way through the tunnel, I looked over at him and said, “I guess you got a lotta bitches checkin’ for you.”

  “Nah, not really. I mean, there’s a few. But it ain’t that serious.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, half-believin’ him. It wasn’t like I was tryna make him my man. Hell, he could fuck whoever he wanted. I just wanted to test ride the dick for myself. But, still, a bitch wanted to know how he did him. “So, how many baby mamas you got?”

  “None.”

  “How many bitches you fuckin’?”

  “Two.”

  “Oh, and what…you tryna add me to the list?”

  “Maybe,” he said, glancin’ over at me. I smiled. I was really diggin’ him. “Why you smilin’?”

  I slowly shook my head. “I don’t share.”

  He grinned. “Oh, so what you sayin’, you tryna have me all to yourself?”

  “Maybe,” I said, lickin’ my lips and starin’ at him real sexy-like, “maybe not.”

  “Yeah, aiight.” He laughed, weavin’ in and outta traffic through midtown. “You got a lotta shit with you, but it’s all good.”

  I smiled, but said nothin’. The rest of the ride we were both silent, listenin’ to the music ’til he turned down Lexington. I peeped Bloomingdale’s on Fifty-Ninth, and automatically knew where we were headed: Mr. Chow’s, my all time fav Eastside spot where fashionistas, money-makers, and celebs frequented, and the food was bangin’. Yeah, it was pricey, and definitely not a spot for a penny-pincher, but it was well worth it. I smiled, thinkin’ ’bout the last time I was there, sittin’ two tables away from Beyoncé and Jay-Z. And four tables over was the one and only Donald Trump, politickin’ with a group of associates. Oh, yes, it was definitely a spot for a bitch like me—rich and beautiful. “Hmmm…how’d you know I like Chinese?”

  “I don’t know, educated guess. You seemed like a Peking duck kinda chick.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, okay. I got ya duck, alright.”

  He laughed with me. “As long as I can have it with sauce, I’ll take it however you got it.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, grinnin’. “I bet you will.”

  After he parked across the street, he opened the door to let me out, then grabbed my hand and held it as we walked up to the restaurant. Once we were seated and our food finally came to our table, a bitch was so fuckin’ hungry I coulda ate a horse. I had the chicken satay appetizers and shrimp toast with the bangin’ sweet brown sauce, then the spicy green shrimp. Grant had the shrimp with glazed walnuts and crunchy seaweed and chicken skewers. We ate, drank, and laughed like we had known each other for years. By the time we finished our third drink, I learned he was born in Hollis, Queens, but was raised in Newark. Played football in high school, and went to college on a football scholarship, but dropped out after his second year when he got hurt and couldn’t play ball anymore. He had three brothers and two sisters and was the middle child. He was twenty-eight and was ready to settle down.

  I ain’t gonna front, the nigga made me feel real comfortable. He was smooth and sexy and so damn fuckable. And let me tell you. After three glasses of Pinot Grigio, a bitch wanted somethin’ more than that light, fruity shit. A blunt and some Rémy XO woulda really set it off and had me lifted and right. But I kept it cute, and sipped on the rest of my wine, grinnin’ and flirtin’ and buildin’ with this fine-ass nigga in front of me. He grinned back and we both already knew what it was. Yeah, muhfucka, I’ma have my pussy all over ya face in no time.

  After we finished dessert and another round of drinks, Grant paid the bill, then took my hand and led me out the door. His big, warm hand made my pussy tingle. And as soon as we got back into his whip, he reached over and started kissin’ all over my neck and rubbin’ my titties and circlin’ my nipple with his thumb. My nipples hardened and I let out a moan. It felt like a bitch’s whole body was bein’ electrocuted. Sparks shot through me. His hands were big, strong, and soft…and his touch was sendin’ a bitch over the edge. I had to stop him before I ended up fuckin’ him in the front seat of his whip. My mind was tellin’ me to push him off me, but my body was in need of a thug-nigga’s touch. It had been so fuckin’ long since a bitch had a real nigga slay this pussy. I couldn’t think straight.

  Since the only niggas I’ve fucked and sucked for the last four years have been the ones I’ve slumped, fuckin’ them allowed me to get my nut off and not have to worry ’bout a nigga puttin’ me on front street. Murkin’ their asses made fuckin’ them that much easier. They’d take my slutty deeds to their graves.

  I know I’m a ho like the next bitch, but…fuck! Not on the first date. N
ot in the front seat of a car. Not in a parking lot. No. No. No. No. I heard the words in my head, but can’t remember sayin’ them. A bitch became a fuckin’ mute. My tongue was stuck in the back of my throat, right where I wanted his dick to be. Oh…my…God!

  He nibbled on my chin, lightly brushed his thick, soft lips against mine, then pulled away, flickin’ the tip of his tongue against my upper lip. “I better get you home,” he finally said in his deep, sexy voice. Just like that! He had a bitch’s thong drenched. Had her pussy cracklin’, and…“I better get you home” is what he hits me with. What the fuck?!

  Oh, no this nigga didn’t, I thought, pressin’ the heat from my pussy shut between my legs. This nigga is teasin’ me. He went to start the ignition, and before I knew what was happenin’, a bitch had climbed up on him and straddled his lap, and was tonguin’ him down, and grindin’ my pussy into him. I sucked on his long tongue like it was a dick, twirlin’ my tongue around his. I hadn’t kissed a real nigga in years and…his lips, my lips, his tongue, my tongue…made my body shiver. He started thrustin’ his hips up into my pussy, grabbed hold of my ass with both of his hands and started squeezin’.

  “I wanna fuck,” I whispered in his ear. “You got a bitch on fire.” I sucked on his earlobe, traced his ear with my tongue.

  “Yeah, baby,” he moaned. His head was pressed back on his headrest, and his eyes were half-closed as his fingas found the center of my wet pussy. He slid his hand under my dress and pulled at the string of my thong. He slid one finga, then two, inside my slit.

  I moaned. “Mmm…you got some thick fingas.”

  “That’s not the only thing thick,” he said in between soft, warm kisses on my lips.

  “That’s what ya mouth says.”

  “And that’s what my dick says.”

  His fingas stirred my hole. “Deeper,” I said. Twinge of desire shot from my asshole all the way to my clit, like sparks. The steam from my pussy could have fogged up the tinted windows. I arched my back, pressin’ up against the leather steerin’ wheel. I reached underneath me and felt the thickness of his dick pressin’ against his slacks. He was stirrin’ my pussy up just right, and I was on my way to bustin’ a thick nut. My body started buckin’. “Mmmmm…you wanna feed me that dick, daddy?”

  “Yeah, baby.” He brushed his lips against mine, losin’ his fingas in my wetness. I moaned again. “That’s right, baby. Bust that nut for daddy; wet daddy’s fingers.” I clenched his fingas with my pussy, started grindin’ deep and hard on his hand, bit him on his bottom lip, and nutted all over his fingas. Sweat dripped from my face.

  “Damn, you got a a nice, hot pussy.” He smiled, pullin’ his cummy fingas from outta my hole. Then he fucked a bitch up when he stuck them in his mouth and sucked the cream off ’em. “Mmmm…and it tastes like honey, too.” He kissed me on the lips, then stuck his fingas in my mouth. He watched me, grinnin’ as I sucked them down to the knuckles. I ran my tongue in between each one, then climbed off him and sat back in my seat. My nut ran down between my legs as I shifted in my seat, tryna fix my short dress so my wet ass wouldn’t stick to his leather seats.

  I flipped down the visor to check my face. I smiled. Sweaty and all, a bitch’s face was still in place. “Shit,” I said. “This was a real bird move.”

  “What?” he asked, startin’ the ignition and pullin’ outta the space.

  “Lettin’ you run ya fingas all up in me.”

  “Nah, baby,” he said real easy-like, lookin’ over at me. “It’s all good. You ain’t rustlin’ no feathers. This was just the beginning of what’s to come. You’se a real dime. And I’m tryna be the man you need. Real talk.”

  I smiled. “Oh yeah. And what makes ya think I need a man?”

  He grinned. “’Cause ya body told me all I needed to know.”

  I sucked my teeth. “Whatever, nigga!” I snapped, playfully hittin’ him on the arm.

  He bust out laughin’, makin’ his way back to my spot.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  At ten a.m. the followin’ mornin’, I was sittin’ in my office lookin’ at the flick of my next target. He was a nice-lookin’ older cat with a full beard, a thick nose, and full lips. I read his stats: 48, 5’10”, 198 pounds, divorced. Hmm, I thought, tossin’ his photo on my desk. I wonder if I should fuck him or just suck his old-ass dick. I already knew if his ass had a bunch of extra skin flappin’ ’round his cock, I wouldn’t be suckin’ on shit.

  I got up and walked to my master bathroom and turned on the shower, then went into one of my bedroom walk-ins and pulled down my yellow Tumi bag. I tossed some wears and cosmetics in the bag before goin’ back into the bathroom to shower. My flight to San Diego was at one-thirty, and I needed to get ready to make my way to the airport.

  At four-forty their time, I landed at San Diego International Airport. After I got my bag, I headed toward the shuttle bus to pick up my rental—a burgundy Toyota Corolla. My destination was the Humphries Half Moon Inn & Suites on Shelter Island. My mark was conveniently stayin’ there for some type of week-long business conference and typically stayed in his rooms alone, so unless he was totally committed in a relationship, or was strictly suckin’ dick, enticin’ him with a dish of this deep pussy would be easy, just the way I liked it. On some crazy shit, I often wondered what I’d do if one of my targets proved to be a bit more challengin’ than I hoped for and refused a bitch some dick. Unfortunately, I’d have to go into plan B: straight sharp-shoot his ass on the spot, then peel rubber. Ugh, that’d be some real borin’ shit!

  Ten minutes later, I was turnin’ onto Shelter Island Drive and slowly makin’ my way to the hotel. When I saw the entrance, I pulled into the packed parkin’ lot and strutted my way to the front desk. Keepin’ shit real, I was really diggin’ the hotel’s layout. All these big tropical trees and exotic flowers ’n shit had me thinkin’ I was in some kinda paradise or somethin’. The receptionist smiled as I walked through the slidin’ glass doors.

  “Hello, welcome to Humphries Half Moon Inn and Suites.”

  “Hi, I’d like to check in.”

  “Sure, your name, please?” I smiled and gave her one of my aliases. For this trip, I was Natasha Simmons. I handed her my fake ID. The room, as with all the others, was already paid for through Cash. Don’t ask how, ’cause on some real shit, I’ve never asked, and I honestly didn’t give a shit how or what he did to make it happen; or where and how he got his connects. I was only ’bout the business of killin’, feel me? All that extra shit was of no concern to me.

  “Oh, yes, Ms. Simmons,” she stated, clickin’ the keyboard with her thin fingas. “Here you are. We have you in one of our marina-view suites. I think you’ll find it to be lovely as it overlooks the marina and the tropical garden. And at night, you’ll be able to see downtown San Diego. Will you need more than one key?”

  Bitch, save all the goddamn extras and just give me my fuckin’ room key. I forced a smile. “Sounds wonderful. Umm, no. One key will be fine.” I signed the printout.

  “Here you go,” she said, handin’ me the key. “You’re in Marina Suite 105.” She pointed in the direction I should go. “It’s out this door to the left, then around the side on your left. You can go all the way around the building, or you can cut through the garden pathway. Oh, I almost forgot. We have a package here for you. Hold on. I’ll go get it.” She went into a back office, and reappeared a few seconds later with a medium-sized box.

  “Thanks,” I said. It was already close to seven-thirty, and a bitch was starvin’, not to mention tired. I wasn’t plannin’ to slump my mark until tomorrow so I had some time to chill. In the meantime, I was gonna jump in the shower, then head to the mall and grab a bite to eat. “Oh, and can you tell me where your nearest mall is? Something with high-end fashion.”

  Chick’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you want to go to the Fashion Valley Mall. It’s in Mission Valley off Friars Road. Here, let me write down the directions. It’ll take you about fifteen minutes to get there, but they have
some fabulous stores.”

  “Perfect,” I said, takin’ the directions from her.

  Once I got to my suite, I tossed my bags onto the extra bed, then looked out on the triangular-shaped patio to enjoy the view. Since I was already pressed for time, I decided to head to the mall, shop a bit, then find somethin’ to eat. If the opportunity to meet my mark presented itself, I’d fuck him tonight, then again tomorrow before I shut his lights. I stepped back into the room, closin’ and lockin’ the patio door, then headed out the door.

  By eight-fifteen, I was walkin’ through Bloomingdale’s on my way to the Louis Vuitton store in search of somethin’ hot. I wanted to slay them bitches back home with a cute bag or a slammin’ pair of heels. My cell started ringin’.

  I reached into my chocolate Bottega Veneta and pulled it out. It was Chanel. “What’s good, tramp?” I said, forgettin’ my destination and goin’ toward Saks Fifth Avenue instead.

  “Shit. Where you?”

  “At the mall,” I said.

  “Ooh, bitch,” she replied. “Which one, Paramus or Short Hills?”

  “Neither,” I said.

  She sucked her teeth. “Well, which one then? Shit. You coulda hit me up to roll with ya ass. You know I can always use a new pair of heels. You stay tryna dip on a bitch.”

  “Whatever, ho,” I said, laughin’. “I’m at Fashion Valley Mall, and the shit is fiiiyah. They got some—”

  “Fashion what? Is that some new shit in Jersey?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, bitch,” I said. “San Diego.”

  She sucked her teeth, laughin’. “San Diego? What the hell?! I swear ya ass down with the secret society or some shit, as much shit you keep on the low. When you gonna be home?”

  “In a few days,” I said, runnin’ my hands over this bangin’-ass black Donna Karan wrap-and-tie jersey dress. I looked at the tag: $2,495.00. Now the old me woulda boosted the shit quick, fast, and in a muthafuckin’ hurry; I’da had that dress plucked from its hanger. “Listen, ho. I’m tryna get my shop on. I’ll hit you back when I touch.”