by Noire
I placed my hands around Sam’s size-four waist and pulled her tight against me as we fucked the shit out of each other’s clits, banging coochies like it was arma-ghetto up in that bitch.
“Fuck me, Sam. That’s right, fuck me,” I said, sticking my tongue out for her to suck on it. She took the bait and began to suck on my tongue as she started to whine.
“Uh, oh, uh, oh,” she cried, the uhs and ohs growing louder and louder. “Cum with me. Cum with me, baby.”
“Fuck that clit. Fuck that clit. Nut on it, damn, nut on it,” I begged Sam as I felt our juices brewing down below.
Sam’s clit felt so warm, so soft, and so precious as it pleased itself against mine. I planted my fingers deep in her ass checks as she rose up and arched her back. Tightly, I pulled her against me as we humped and grinded. Sam’s head was thrown back. All I could see was her perfectly arched neck and her brown titties, nipples hard and beautiful. She was mine. Any nigga, any dyke bitch, would kill to be getting a piece of a pussy so sweet. But it was mine, all mine. After all, I had made it what it was. Before me, Sam had allowed dick after dick to try to fill that emptiness she had inside of her. It was an emptiness that only pussy could fill—my pussy, and my gentle fingers and caressing lips. All her life she had been waiting on me, a woman, she just didn’t know it, or just didn’t want to admit it. But now the obvious was being displayed as I brought her to the climax of her life.
“I am nutting on you,” Sam assured me. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming on you now.”
Just those words sent me berserk as both our bodies trembled as we glazed one another with our special sugary coatings.
“Oh yes,” Samantha said as her petite body collapsed on mine, her chest moving up and down from breathing so heavily.
“Umm, you came a lot,” I said as I reached between Sam’s legs and felt her sticky cream. It was so warm and smooth, just like her. Slowly she began grinding on my hand, just to get one last nut off before retiring to the shower.
Watching her shiny, sweaty ass walk away to the bathroom only made me want to get one more in myself. So I was forced to replay in my head the last few minutes of fucking Sam, and masturbate to the vision, pleasing myself in less than a minute. Sam just had that affect on me.
If I hadn’t discovered by the time I was thirteen that I preferred to play hide-and-go-get-it with little girls over little boys, after taking one look at my sexy Samantha I would have definitely lost my appetite for dick and taken on a new craving for pussy. But lucky for me, I never had to even entertain the thought of fuckin’ around with a bunch of hood niggas only to discover that no-sized dick is worth putting up with them and their bullshit. All it took was growing up with Naomi Kensington—aka, my moms—and living the life she subjected me to, to know that I preferred pussy over dick any day.
“Honey,” I heard Sam call from the shower. “Come join me. Wash my back.”
I loved washing Sam’s back, from her shoulders to the small of her waist. I loved it. With me standing a little under a foot taller than her, towering over her made me feel so protective of her, like she was mine, really mine, unable to function without me. I know damn sure I’m unable to function without her. I love me some Sam, and not just because she was my first and only piece of ass, the woman I learned how to please a woman with, the woman I learned how it felt to be pleased with. It was because she was there when I was sixteen, out on the streets and needing that mother figure, any mother figure, to show me love.
Being five years older than me, Sam was twenty-one when I was sixteen, and she was living with some thug-ass nigga named Detail who didn’t do nothing but beat her and fuck her, and usually in that order. He would clock on her over any little thing. If the toast was too brown, if the bed wasn’t made right or she missed a spot when she dusted, he’d get all up in that ass. He demanded perfection. That’s how he got the name Detail.
He was meticulous about everything. His car had to be wiped down just right. The bed had to be made to his standard, tight like a hospital bed. Towels had to be hung in a tri-fold manner. I mean, nothing got past that fucker’s eyes. He was a real stickler for detail, to the point where, if you ask me, it was a sickness.
One day I came in from hoopin’ at the court in the projects where we lived, and before I could even open the apartment door I heard the thumps of his fists hitting her. I don’t remember a whole lot after that. But I do know that on that day Sam and I fucked that nigga up. That was the last time he ever put his hands on her. He was out of her life for good. From that day on there was this eternal bond between Sam and me. I just remember us holding each other. I was crying so hard that I was trembling. There was blood all over Sam. I just held her, held her for what seemed like forever.
“Did you hear me?” Sam called again from the shower. “Honey?”
“I’m coming,” I called as I sat up in the bed. Before I could put a foot on the floor, though, my 900 line rang. “Damn,” I said under my breath. “I can’t, Sam. That’s my line.”
I knew she was disappointed. I was disappointed. Oh well, there were bills that needed to be paid and that ringing phone meant that there was money to be made. So pushing pussy to the back of my mind, Sam’s pussy, I sat up and answered the call. “What’s your pleasure?”
Whore’s Daughter
I don’t know what the fuck my moms was thinking when she named me Sin. No, it’s not short for Sindy, Sindiana, Sinammon, or any other name black people come up with and think that just because they spell it different, that makes it different. Don’t matter how you spell it. When you say it, the shits all sound the same. So it’s just plain old Sin.
No pun intended, but it was hell growing up in the projects full of Shaniquas, Keishas, and Tahjanays. Them kids let me have it about my name every chance they got. That’s how come I can brawl like Antonio Tarver to this day. I might lose the first fight, but I’ma damn sure prove myself in the second one. My moms had to know I was going to get teased endlessly about my name and have to defend myself with my dukes. So I figured either that bitch was just trying to be funny when she named me Sin, or she wanted me to be a reminder of what her life was full of. And Lord knows what the life of Naomi Kensington was full of, and I know people expected me to turn out just like her.
What I do for a living, running my own phone-sex line, is legal. It pays the bills and I get to keep Sam laced. Morally, I guess muthafuckas would have some ol’ negative shit to say. But hell, I could be out there doing the worse of the two evils. Instead of selling just the fantasy of my twenty-three-year-old ripe pussy for $3.99 per minute, I could be just outright selling the pussy. But that’s a profession Naomi mastered.
The word was written about my moms before she was even conceived. God knew exactly what kind of woman she was going to be, even before my grandfather’s nut clashed with my grandmother’s egg. And it must have been a rotten egg at that, to produce someone as foul as Naomi. That wayward girl, that prostitute in the Book of Proverbs, that would be my moms. As far back as I can remember, Naomi has been saucy and pert, always dressing seductively. She had to. How else could she get married niggas, single white men, non-English-speaking Puerto Rican men, rich Jewish men, and any other species of men to spend their last cent on just the idea of her black cunt?
Granted, Moms was a fine-ass ho, and you really couldn’t tell she was a ho outside of the neighborhood. But in the hood, everybody saw the tricks coming and going out of our apartment. Even our blind neighbor, Miss Bee, saw that shit. If no one saw it, they sho nuff smelled it. I think my moms wore a dab of pussy behind her ear the way men flocked to her. Fuckin’ walking hard-ons is what men are. All them rat bastards ever thought about was getting their fuck on, or their dick sucked. They didn’t even care that a little girl was right there in the house. Hell, they used to sit lined up on the couch next to me while I played Ms. Pacman on my Atari, just waiting to be consumed by the spirit of the Jezebel.
Naomi knew just how to make these men feel like
they were the only one to ever be inside of her, lacing her bed with lovely colored sheets made of the finest linen that she got from Gold Circle department store. They weren’t exactly imported from Egypt, but with the myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon freshener she sprayed on them, who could tell? By the time she whipped that pussy on them cats they felt like they were in a whole nother goddamn world, let alone country.
One time, when I was thirteen going on fourteen, I came home from school early because I got sick during gym class. The nurse tried calling my moms to excuse me, but couldn’t get a hold of her. Because I literally lived about a two-minute walk from the school and there was only an hour left in the school day, they allowed me to sign out and walk home.
When I walked into the house I could hear voices coming from upstairs. I climbed to the top of the steps where my mom’s bedroom was. Her door was open and immediately I realized that was where the voices were coming from. There was my moms, and she had left her bedroom door open not thinking that her little teenager would be home early, and I watched her. I stood there and watched her.
At that particular time she just happened to be tricking with two men at the same time. If one was in her mouth, the other was in her cunt. If one was in her cunt, the other was in her ass, or some type of sexual combination. One would have thought my moms was made out of rubber the way they had her stretched and positioned all over the place. The shit looked like it hurt the way they were blowin’ her back out. I don’t know why, but I just continued to stand there watching. I couldn’t move. Then all of a sudden my mother turned around and faced the door. I guess she just had a feeling that someone was watching her. Someone was watching her. That someone was me, her daughter.
I’ll never—I mean, never—forget the look in her eyes when they locked with mine. By then I think the tears that had welded in my eyes were running down my cheeks. Without saying a word, I curved around to the left, where my bedroom was, went into my room, and slammed the door behind me. I made it over to my trash can just in time to throw up. I had already thrown up twice at school. But then it was because my stomach was sick, this time it was because my heart was.
Of course, Naomi continued fucking those two men. She had to. Everybody knows if dem niggas don’t bust a nut, a ho don’t get paid. Once the two trick niggas finally left, I heard the front door close, and then I heard Naomi come back upstairs.
Please don’t come in my room, I remember thinking. Please don’t come in my room. I was embarrassed for her. I knew my moms was a whore, everybody knew she was a whore, but to see it with my own eyes was just too much for me to take. My moms didn’t come into my room, but I could have sworn I heard her standing outside my door. She never came in, though.
After a minute I heard my moms draw a bath. She soaked for what was hours, I bet. I could hear her weeping. I don’t know if she was weeping because of the pain, the physical pain, or if she was weeping because of the pain, the mental pain. All I do know is that that night when my moms laid down and went to sleep, she never woke up. Whatever kind of pain it was, she ended it with an overdose of prescription pain pills. I was so fuckin’ mad at her. How could she leave me like that? What the fuck did she expect me to do? But I just said, “Fuck it.” Although my moms had quit on me, she had been living her entire life on her back anyway, now she was on her back permanently.
From that moment on I knew I never wanted to have anything to do with a man for as long as I lived, not even my father, who was given custody of me when my moms died. He didn’t want me. He just pretty much didn’t have a choice but to take me. I hadn’t seen him in the six years since he abandoned me and my moms in the hood to take up with that honky bitch he had married.
I tried living with him for a minute, but that bitch-ass white wife of his looked at me and saw my moms, I guess. Why else would she be jealous of me unless I was just a constant reminder of the other bitch he had fucked? I tried to hang in there, but it was two years of living hell. I was invisible in my father’s life with his wife, especially once she got pregnant and they had a child of their own together.
I ended up running away, back to my hood. The hood was all I knew. I hung out, sleeping over a couple of my peep’s houses, here and there until Sam, who was a friend of one of my peep’s mom, told me I could stay with her and her dude when she found out that I was pretty much homeless. At the time, there wasn’t anything sexual between Sam and me. Sam was just good people and felt sorry for me, is all. The two of us had no idea that we would fall so deep for one another. We were truly just friends until after the big fight with Detail. When it was over between them two, Sam and I became lovers.
For a minute there, Sam and I were so caught up experimenting with each other’s bodies, that we didn’t realize that Detail was the muthafucka who made all the money. But when the bills became due, it was a quick reminder. Detail was a small, very small, dope pusher, so when Sam called herself going to some of the cats he fucked with to try and get put on or flip a lil’ somethin’ somethin’, all them niggas wanted to do was fuck, and after a minute I could tell Sam was only one more rejection away from actually deciding to trick with one of them hood niggas. I could tell by the look in her eyes, by how worn down she was from trying. It was that same look my moms had had in her eyes after my father left us and she kept getting turned down from jobs. Finally, my moms decided to just start fuckin’ the bastards who weren’t giving her the jobs. That became her job.
“You thought Detail beat your ass,” I remember telling Sam as I held her by her wrist. She was older than me, but I was bigger than her. “I swear to God, Sam, if you even think about it—”
“Then how the fuck we supposed to live, Sin?” Sam spat as she yanked her wrist away from me, knocking some of the items off of the dresser we were standing by. “I can’t keep this place if I don’t have no money to pay the bills. You thought you were on the streets. We both gon’ be on the streets. Then what we gon’ do, huh?”
I thought for a moment. Here I was only sixteen, but feeling like a grown woman.
“Samantha, I put it on my life that I’d rather be out there on the goddamn streets homeless with you than under a roof where you got to lay on your back to keep the roof over us.”
By then I started to break down just thinking about how my moms went out.
“Sin, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Sam cried as she comforted me. “I didn’t mean to . . . I just don’t know what to do. I’m sorry, baby.”
Sam began kissing my tears away, and then slowly I tasted the salt of my tears on her tongue. I lifted her up and placed her on the dresser. She was only wearing a T-shirt and some panties. I moved her panties aside with my hand and as I tongue-fucked her, I finger-fucked her at the same time. Her ass scooted back and forth on the dresser as she pleased herself with my three fingers that were inside of her.
“Oh, Sin,” she moaned. “This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be—”
“Shhh,” I quieted her as I felt her pussy muscles squeeze around my fingers with the pressure of a boa constrictor. “Something that feels this good has to be right. Age ain’t nothin’ but a number,” I assured her. “I know what I’m doing. I know what I want, and right now I want to make you feel good, Sam. Am I making you feel good, Sam?” By then I was all up in her shit, pumping my ass like I actually had a dick up in her soaking-wet pussy.
“Oh, Sin, baby,” Sam said as she grabbed me by my head. That was the prelude to her about to nut, so I quickly pulled away and tasted her creamy stream of sugar water. It was crazy, but I think I actually nutted on myself too. My panties were so wet and sticky that it was unbelievable. Just the feeling of making Sam feel so good actually made me cum. I knew I had to take care of her, take care of our situation, and that’s when I got the idea to start the phone-sex line. It only made sense. Niggas loved pussy, and this was the next best thing, and it proved to be a good money-maker. Within a few months we were able to move out of the projects and into the nice little condo we lived in now.
>
In the beginning, Sam and I would alternate taking the calls, then eventually Sam got a “real” job, according to society’s standards, working in a check-cashing place. Within two years, we each owned a car. I started placing ads in the back of magazines, and my business shot through the roof. Just last year I bought Sam and me matching motorcycles, and paid for us to go on a Carnival Cruise that ported in Mexico and the Bahamas. While in Mexico we got someone to perform a civil ceremony, which, of course, isn’t legally recognized in the United States, but in Sam’s and my eyes, we are married.
Out of the blue I drove Sam to New York and took her on a shopping spree. We stayed at the Waldorf Astoria, just because, while we were there. It only took me about a week of phone calls to replenish what I had spent on our weekend getaway.
Something inside made me buy my moms a really nice headstone to replace the little cheap one the state gave her. I got her one of those huge marble ones that stands about three feet tall, with a crystal vase for keeping flowers. I guess it was just my way of saying that I forgave her, and at the same time a way to let her know that, to be whore’s daughter, I wasn’t doing that bad at all in life.
Keep It in the Closet
“Yes, yes, that’s right! Fuck me! Fuck me in my ass,” I yelled to the down-low homo-thug on the other end of my 900 line.
He was some guy named Braw from the West Coast. Pussy-ass nigga done been in that California sun too damn long. I could always tell a homo-thug from a straight dude no matter how hard they tried to keep it in the closet and pretend to be all hardcore and shit. On the first phone call, right away they’d start out with just wanting me to pretend to be getting fucked in the ass, no getting their dick sucked, no nothing. They’d jump straight in the ass, no foretalk. By the second phone call they wanted me to talk them through my make-believe boyfriend watching him fuck me in the ass. By the third phone call they wanted me to talk them through me watching my make-believe boyfriend fucking him in the ass. So with Braw, unlike Papi who would visualize that I was some Latino Mami that he was stickin’ it to, Braw visualized I was some big black nigga with a big black dick to match the one he was getting stuck by.