by Mz. Robinson
A few hundred dollars more, and Tiffany was as naked as the day she was born. The excitement of the drugs, alcohol, and men touching her was too much for her. She was in a zone as she leaned against the pole, gyrating with the music and rubbing her rock-hard nipples.
Tiffany lost track of her surroundings as she got caught up in the sensation she was giving herself. She slid down the pole until she was squatted with her legs wide open. Oblivious to the crowd and needing to get off, she began to masturbate.
The club grew eerily quiet, as the DJ got so caught up in the show that he neglected to put another song on. The only sounds to be heard were Tiffany’s whimpers as she neared an orgasm.
Tiffany couldn’t contain herself any longer and let out a scream as the powerful climax wracked her body. Her legs came out from under her, leaving her spread eagle on the stage, exposing her dripping vagina.
The club was still, and not even the chirp of a cricket could be heard.
“Hell, yeah!” someone yelled, causing the club to erupt.
Tiffany was totally embarrassed as she came back to the reality of her surroundings. Through a rain of bills, she saw hundreds of smiling faces. Only one face wasn’t smiling. In fact, its owner looked mortified. Tiffany squinted to bring the shocked face into focus. It was her turn to be shocked once she recognized Carlos. She sprang to her feet and bolted from the stage.
When she made it to the dressing room, Tiffany collapsed on a bench. She was just so embarrassed. She wished she could just disappear.
Just as she made up her mind to get dressed and go home, another dancer came in with a bucket of cash. “Gurrl…you…turned that shit out!” Diva exclaimed.
Tiffany was confused by the money but accepted it. “Um…thank you,” she mumbled, looking at what had to be thousands of dollars, not to mention the garter she wore was also stuffed with cash.
Soon, the other dancers flowed in, all echoing Diva’s sentiments.
“Girl, they still tripping out there!” one yelled.
“Ima do dat same shit,” exclaimed another.
All the girls congratulated Tiffany except one. Wanda was absolutely fuming at the thought of being shown up. It was her man’s club, and she was the star, the headliner. To make matters worse, she saw how Mike reacted to the performance.
“What the hell is going on back here?” Mike boomed as he made his way into the crowded dressing room. “This s’pose to be a strip club, and all the strippers in here! Y’all get y’all asses back on the floor,” he commanded.
The room emptied before all the words exited his mouth. The only people left were Tiffany, Wanda, and Mike.
“You! Come with me,” Mike demanded, looking at Tiffany.
“You want me to come too?” Wanda pleaded.
“Nah. Go dance,” Mike replied without even bothering to look in her direction.
Wanda shot Tiffany a dangerous glance as she rushed to catch up with Mike. She knew full well Mike intended to sex her after that nasty little show of hers. “I got you,” Wanda spat at Tiffany’s departing back. “Yeah, I got you.”
* * *
“Close the door and lock it,” Mike demanded as he entered his office with Tiffany in tow.
She did as ordered but stayed by the door, afraid she was in trouble. She’d heard Mike complain time after time about the vice squad spying on him. One girl had been arrested the week before for solicitation. Tiffany clutched at her robe just knowing she was about to be fired.
“Come around here,” Mike ordered in a softer tone as he sat at his desk.
Tiffany, still fearful, didn’t budge. When Mike began to unbutton his shirt, it became clear what he wanted. Tiffany decided in an instant that she was going to give it up to him.
When she came around the desk, Mike picked her up and placed her on the desk in front of him. He opened her robe and then laid her back and spread her legs. To Tiffany’s surprise, Mike buried his bearded face in her crotch. By now, he knew enough of Tiffany’s sexual and hygiene habits from Wanda and had no qualms about going down on her.
Tiffany, who had never experienced oral sex and considered it to be gross, came in seconds. When Mike’s tongue slipped inside of her, she was shocked that it felt as large as Marcus’s penis.
Mike kept licking her until another strong orgasm shook her small body. When she came, she emitted a spray of juices that splashed Mike’s face. When he stood up, his beard was literally dripping.
Remembering how, at the dentist, looking at the needle was always worse than the actual shot, Tiffany told herself not to look as Mike removed his pants. She regretted not taking her own advice when she saw the huge penis in front of her. It looked to be the same size as his leg.
Mike lined himself up and pushed forcefully inside of her. Tiffany screamed as he filled her up, then again when she came for the third time. A few strokes later, Mike screamed as he let go inside of her. Through the pain, Tiffany was quite pleased with herself when the large man slumped on top of her, breathing heavily.
Wanda had heard enough from the door and removed her ear. Blinded by tears, she ran to her car without even bothering to change into her street clothes.
When Mike’s breathing returned to normal, he ordered Tiffany to get dressed to leave. He called his assistant manager and told him he was leaving for the night.
Sam, the assistant, understood; he’d seen the show as well.
Tiffany would have to get the tour of Mike’s swank Buckhead condo some other time. As soon as they entered, he practically dragged her to the rear. The plush furnishings and 1,000-gallon fish tank filled with colorful creatures were just a blur.
Mike’s bedroom walls were painted black to match the carpet, curtains, and furniture. He turned on a black light that bathed the room in a gothic glow. “Go on. Knock that out,” Mike said, handing her a black plate with neat white lines of powder cocaine.
Tiffany longed for a blast, but this would have to do.
He popped a pill and swallowed it with a large shot.
“What’s that? X?” Tiffany inquired giddily between snorting lines.
“Uh-uh. Viagra,” Mike replied with a wicked grin. He almost felt sorry for the young girl, knowing what was in store for her.
When Mike began to feel the effects of the Viagra and the liquor, he stripped Tiffany and then himself, and everything was underway.
* * *
The next morning, Tiffany’s vagina was so battered and swollen she couldn’t even put her panties back on.
Mike got a kick out of watching her limp around his apartment. “You a’ight? Sprain yo’ ankle or something?” Mike giggled as they made their way to the elevator.
“Ha ha,” Tiffany replied, poking out her lip.
“How much did you make last night?” Mike inquired, sounding businesslike.
“Um…almost $2,000,” Tiffany answered, a little taken aback by the change in his demeanor.
“I know you was in a hurry last night, so make sure you bring your 10 percent when you come tonight. You’ll do a lot better once we get you a few table dances,” Mike rambled on with dollar signs in his eyes.
Tiffany chided herself internally for allowing herself to think last night meant something. “Yeah, I guess so,” she said sadly.
Mike wasn’t new to the game. He heard her tone and knew she needed to feel special right then. The young ones were like that. He’d been turning girls out on some level since third grade. “This is just the beginning for us,” Mike said, pulling her close. “I have much bigger things in store for us.” Mike planted a soft kiss on her forehead to punctuate the word “us.” The girls liked that word; it made them feel included.
“Mmm. Bigger than this?” Tiffany asked, playfully grabbing his manhood.
“Don’t start nothing you can’t finish,” Mike warned, reacting to her touch.
Tiffany felt a stab of pain in her crotch when Mike began to stiffen in her hand. She quickly pulled away, fearful of dealing with that monster again
so soon.
Mike got a good laugh out of the horrified look on her face and teased her about it.
They were so caught up in their playful banter that they walked right past Marcus, who was slumped down in a stolen car. He’d followed them from the club the night before and spent the night smoking in the parking lot. Marcus smoked and plotted, plotted and smoked. He fully intended to make good on his promise. Tiffany had just been added to his list.
Coming 2012
David Light, professionally known as D-Lite, wanted nothing else in life except to rap. His journey takes him from the mean streets of the South Bronx to the bright city lights of HotLanta!
Childhood friends, Desean and Shelby are along for the long as faithful sidekicks. However, life at the top of the charts is more than they bargained for.
Success transforms David into the image created for him by his label. The lines between art and life blur as envy turns to jealousy and jealousy turns to murder.
Written by music business insider, Sa’id Salaam, Rapper’s D-Lite is wildly entertaining but slyly intertwined with a moral message. In the end, decide for yourself if success is worth the price of fame.
Enjoy a bonus read from
Sabrina A. Eubanks
author of Karma I, II & III
Chase Brown has it all…he’s wealthy, owns three of the hottest night clubs in New York City and he’s boyishly handsome. Chase’s rise to the top hasn’t been easy and memories of his mother’s murder, as she died in his arms when he was only twelve years old, still haunt him. These memories birth Smoke, his monstrous alter ego, who is psychotic and very dangerous.
Chase and his younger brother Corey are close—so close that his older brother, Cyrus, uses emotional blackmail to make Chase carry out his deceitful and murderous deeds. While attempting to bury Smoke and break free from his brother’s spell, Chase meets the beautiful Bliss Riley. They fall madly in love but there is only one problem…Bliss isn’t aware of Chase’s murderous appetite and the demon that lives inside of the man she loves.
Will Chase be able to bury his demons for good and live happily ever after with the woman of his dreams or will Smoke take Chase and Bliss on a journey that will leave dead bodies throughout the city of New York? Only time will tell!
Prologue
Chase Brown had never been moved much by the power of prayer, but he was sure as hell praying now. There, in what were apparently the last moments of his life, he discovered the truth: You really do see your life flash before your eyes. His life story did not unwind like one of those grand and glorious old epic movies; rather, it was a jarring assault, just starkly vivid sparks of random memory. He saw hundreds of bits and snatches of everything he’d done: things he’d done right, things he’d done wrong, and things he should have done differently. Then there were the things he never should have done at all.
What should have happened in the blink of an eye, though, seemed to stretch out unnaturally in some sort of strange, revised measure of time. Chase wondered why his thoughts were so scattered, why he couldn’t think straight. Everything was flying around in his head with such swirling, blurring speed that it was impossible to get his thoughts to gel. He felt dizzy, and his heart hammered in his chest.
Violence had always been an abstract to him, and he always associated it with his older brother, Cyrus. That’s not to say he was a stranger to it himself. Chase had grown up around violence, had seen friends and family fall prey to it, and had inflicted a generous amount of it himself; though rarely had he been on the receiving end, unless it was from Cyrus. And, the violence he doled out himself was for Cyrus. The shit he did for Cyrus had niggas scared to death…but obviously not this nigga.
Objectively speaking, there really was no reason for the guy to be afraid of Chase. After all, the man holding the .45 on Cyrus Brown’s little brothers was Herc Mercer. He and his boys went back a long way with Cyrus, but as of late, most of their history was far from pleasant. They’d started out as friends and business partners when Chase was still in junior high. Chase knew Herc, Rome, and Khalid—knew them niggas well. He knew things were turning sour between them, but he never in his life did he think he’d find himself looking down the barrel of Herc’s infamous .45.
Herc waved the gun in front of his face a bit. “Stop daydreamin’ and answer the damn question. I swear, I ain’t never seen a man drift off with a gun in his face. Where’s Cyrus, Chase? Is that muthafucker hiding from us?”
Chase narrowed his eyes and licked his lips. He looked Herc straight in the eye when he lied to him. “I don’t know.”
They stared at each other, neither wavering for a second, and Chase felt sweat trickle between his shoulder blades.
Herc looked at him dubiously. “What did you just say?”
Chase squared his shoulders and held his gaze. He was scared, but there was no way he was about to let Herc see that. If he was going to shoot him, he wasn’t going to let him punk him first. “I said I don’t know,” Chase repeated, careful to keep his voice even. Raising up had no place here. He knew Herc, and he didn’t doubt for a minute he’d blow his brains out. His best bet was to try and smooth this dude out by keeping it even.
Herc was glaring at him with murder in his eye, but he spoke to him gently. “I don’t believe you, son. You know, a man can get in a whole lot of trouble lying to me. Come on, now. Tell me where Cyrus is, and y’all can walk away like this never happened. See what I’m sayin’? Be good, baby. Tell me where he is.”
“Fuck you, Herc!”
Chase and Herc both turned in surprise to see Corey standing there, bristling with outrage at the indignity. His sixteen-year-old manhood was offended, and he was full of piss and vinegar.
“How you gonna pull a gun on us, Herc? What the fuck is wrong with you, man?”
Chase put his hand on his brother’s arm. Things were about to get crazy; he could feel it.
Herc smiled grimly and turned his gun from Chase to Corey.
“Shut up, Corey. Don’t say nothin’,” Chase ordered in that same even voice.
Corey shrugged his hand away. “Naw, man! Fuck this nigga, Chase!” He turned his head and scowled at Herc, his young, handsome face glowing with indignation; his eyes were ablaze with it—with bright anger and naiveté.
Chase stepped in front of him to try to diffuse the already out-of-control situation, hoping he was not too late to change the ending of this story. He could understand Corey’s anger, but he also understood the fact that if Herc had the audacity to pull a gun on them in the first place, he most definitely had the nerve to follow through.
Herc grinned and spoke through his teeth. “Who you talkin’ to, boy?”
Corey pushed against Chase. He foolishly feared neither Herc’s size nor his weapon. “I’m talkin’ to you, you big, stupid, motherfucker! How you gonna pull a gun on us, Herc?” he demanded again.
Chase pushed him right back. Corey’s fast temper and big mouth were finally about to get him into something neither one of his brother’s could fix. “Shut up, Corey! Stop talkin’! Just shut the hell up!”
Herc reached past Chase and snatched Corey up by the front of his T-shirt.
“Let him go, Herc!” Chase yelled, pushing his weight against the big man who outweighed him by fifty pounds, easy.
Herc knocked him out of the way like he was swatting a fly and hit Corey in the face with his .45.
Corey yelped in pain, but it didn’t take the fight out of him; instead, it only made him angry.
Chase knew his brother well. He knew what Corey was going to do even before his hand went under his shirt. Corey might have only been sixteen, but he never left the house without his trusty .32. Chase’s brow furrowed in resignation. He was resentful about the unfortunate turn of events. All he wanted to do was go to the park with his brother and get in a simple pick-up game of basketball, but this fool had come out of nowhere with his flexing and his questions. He’d even felt brave enough to come alone, thinking he’d intimi
date two teenagers. Chase smiled a sad smile as he watched Herc turn his gun to point at Corey’s head. He couldn’t just stand there and let that murderous fool kill his little brother. Just like everyone else, Herc had slept on Chase, paying him no mind,
Because Herc had his back to Chase, he didn’t see him slip his hand into his back pocket and pull out his own weapon of choice. Chase quietly put his foot between Herc’s feet and put his left hand on his forehead, pulling his head back to his shoulder in an oddly intimate embrace. By the time the look of surprise fully registered on Herc’s face, he was already wearing a broad smile across his neck. Chase wiped the blade of his silver-handled razor on Herc’s pants and stepped away.
Corey, who’d been down this road before, wrested himself away from Herc before the blood could touch him.
Herc didn’t care that Corey got away from his grip, because he had more important matters to consider at that moment. He instinctively clutched at his throat and unleashed the torrent. He watched in shocked dismay as his warm crimson life force jetted between his fingers, coloring the air with its spray and soaking the pavement. “Shit . . .” he gurgled.
Chase shook his head. “You got a couple seconds to find God, Herc. Maybe you should pray.”
Herc gurgled something unintelligible—maybe it was a prayer—and then he fell on his side in a growing pool of his own blood.
Corey leaned down and looked him in his dying eyes. “That’s what you get when you pull a gun on us, Herc. Don’t nobody pull no guns on us. Oh, and don’t worry…we’ll make sure we tell Cyrus you were lookin’ for him.”
Chase tapped his brother on the shoulder. “It’s not right to mock a dyin’ man, Corey. Let’s get the hell outta here and leave this nigga to his last breath.”
Get your copy today!
Highly Anticipated Sequel to Dope, Death and Deception
STILL DECEIVING
Lovely Brown was living the good life as Detroit’s top drug dealer, operating under the alias LB. Everything was going smooth until her father Lucifer escaped from prison, ready to return to the throne and destroy anyone in his path, including Lovely. While running for her life, she was also being investigated by the Feds and simultaneously set-up for the murder of her mafia connects’ nephew. This resulted in a ONE MILLION DOLLAR bounty being placed on her head. Achieving the impossible, Lovely managed to escape unscathed.