Prison Throne

by T. Styles

  Rasim looked down at his hands that were clutched in front of him. “Dad, don’t do it.” He didn’t have any details but he could tell by the dark air the men left that something was awry.

  Kamran frowned. “You can’t ask me what you choose to ignore,” he said calmly.

  “What does that mean?”

  “War is upon us, son. Which side are you on?”

  “Dad, you don’t know what you’re doing.” His voice was high pitched. “You and ma are computer analysts. Not soldiers.”

  Kamran was insulted. His lips tightened. “Do you think just because you wear your Kufi costume when you’re in my home that you have the right to talk to me about my beliefs?”

  Mental shots were fired.

  “Dad, I’m not saying that,” Rasim exhaled. “And I’m sorry that I haven’t embraced the religion and the customs of our people like you have. But it doesn’t mean that I don’t have a right to love you.” Rasim decided he would no longer sit so close to his father and not express his love so he touched the top of his hand. “Dad, I’m begging you, whatever you’re planning please don’t do it. Think about me, your only son, and ma.”

  When Rasim saw his father’s cheek bubble on the left side he knew that he was suppressing a cry. But instead of allowing the weight of Al-Qaeda to release itself from his shoulders, he swallowed it again.

  Angry with Rasim for stirring up his emotions, he jumped up and said, “As long as you continue to deny Muslim beliefs and the damage that this country has caused to yours, you are not welcome in my home. Now leave!”

  Rasim’s eyes widened as he heard the words he never thought his father would ever say to him.

  Fuck no he wasn’t leaving!

  Kamran was his man and he loved him!

  So instead of bouncing, he rose and snatched his father into an embrace. For a second Kamran didn’t push back. But as if the levees were suddenly broken on a dam, he shoved Rasim with so much force that he toppled over the chair.

  “Leave, Rasim,” Kamran warned pointing at the steps. “Your mother and I never want to see you again. If you choose not to, the next thing you hear will be the clap of my gun.”

  ****

  Rasim sat in his BMW for an hour outside of his home. He heard the saying that you make your bed and you have to lie in it but there was a flaw. Rasim had two beds. One he made with Selena and the other that Al-Qaeda created. So where would he sleep?

  This was all too confusing. First he had to deal with his parents and now it was time to handle Snow. Today just wasn’t his fucking day.

  As he leaned back in his seat he thought about how sad Snow looked earlier and could only derive that at the moment she was an emotional wreck, especially since he hadn’t called.

  Normally he would blow her phone up when he was caught cheating but considering his father and the mess he had gotten himself into, well, simply put, Rasim didn’t have any verve to spare.

  When he realized Snow needed him too he exited the car and strutted to the tiny home they owned off of South Dakota Avenue.

  The moment he opened the door to his house he saw the table set with fried chicken, rice and spinach, but it was Mute Candy who was the chef.

  Snow was balled up on the couch sound asleep.

  Aw shit! She was bound to be a handful.

  Rasim hung in the doorway and refrained from taking another step inside of his own home. He knew how Mute Candy felt about Snow. The world did. Her feelings were almost as strong as his but not quite.

  With a serious attitude problem and with eyes on Rasim the entire time, Mute Candy snatched her leather coat off the chair and punched each arm into the holes. For added flair, she snatched her purse off the table and threw it over her shoulder so hard it slapped against her back and she burped. With her items in order, she stomped toward Rasim and scrutinized his eyes.

  When she held back long enough, she slapped him on the right side of his face and proceeded to the left. With his face burning red, she tilted her head, pointed aggressively at her cheek and he bent down and kissed it.

  “I love you too,” he said because it was true.

  Mute Candy stomped out of the house leaving him and his girl alone.

  Her antics may have seemed bad but Rasim knew the only other person on the planet earth who loved Snow as much as he did was Mute Candy. He was lucky she chose the method of slapping him as opposed to anything else. Why, just last Christmas, Bernard Miller from Bladensburg, Maryland, found himself in front of her car when he hurt her cousin’s feelings. So Rasim was grateful.

  When Mute Candy left, Snow was sitting on the sofa with her legs pressed against her chest. She looked over at him. She looked like a little girl who just received the news that both her parents and best friend were killed in the same day. Always at Rasim’s beck and call, she asked, “You want me to make your plate?” Her voice was subdued.

  “No, baby,” he swallowed. “I can’t eat a thing.”

  Rasim maneuvered his tall body toward her slowly. When he stood above her, he reduced his height so that he was looking directly into her eyes. Since it was widely known that Snow did limited talking, especially when she had to express her feelings, he moved to kiss her without asking. Her feet fell to the rug and she pushed him with a shove of her tiny fist.

  He didn’t give a fuck though.

  She was his bitch and it was time to beg until his knees bled.

  So Rasim attempted to kiss her again and this time she used her knee to press his lanky body out of the way. However, Rasim of Pakistan was nothing if not persistent.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered kissing her softly on the cheek. This time he nailed it.

  “Stop,” she said so softly her voice was almost undetectable.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he kissed her neck.

  With each peck, he apologized until her face was covered and he kissed each tear away. Since he had begged a thousand pardons it was only fitting to kiss her eyelids next. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” he repeated as he removed the gray University of Maryland Dance Academy sweatshirt she wore.

  Snow tried to fight but it was no use. The only thing she wanted in the world was Rasim. The humans on Planet Earth could keep everything else.

  Rasim was so sorrowful that he chanted, “I’m sorry” as if it were an ancient incantation that would make her forget how Selena suckled his dick hours earlier.

  He was passionate and he wanted Snow to know that he would cut off his hands if he were sure it would stop the lust he had in his body for Selena. “Hit me,” he begged.

  “No, Rasim,” she whispered.

  He aggressively gripped her wrists and got in her face. “Hit me, bitch.”

  It was amazing!

  He said the magic words with the proper power and Snow slapped him so many times his bottom lip cracked open and bled. Suddenly she was crying again.

  Bloodied and bruised, he said, “I love you.”

  Snow couldn’t hit him anymore so she spit in his face.

  He didn’t wipe it away. He let it remain because she put it there.

  “I love you,” he said again gazing into her eyes.

  She spit harder and it dropped on his bottom lip and he licked it off.

  Passionately she snatched his face against hers and kissed the blood off of his mouth.

  When she was done, Rasim chanted repeatedly how sorry he was and by the time he was finished he kissed her out of her clothing and she was laid before him on the floor naked. As he stood on his knees and observed her beautiful body, he felt like shit. How could he keep treating his angel so poorly?

  Snow’s hazel eyes looked upon him with mercy. All she desired was for him to stop breaking her heart. Stop making her cry and stop allowing other women to touch what was rightfully hers. His body.

  “I’d give you my soul if you would just promise to stop hurting me, Rasim,” she wept as her body convulsed. “I just can’t take it anymore. Have mercy on me. I’m begging you.” />
  Now it was Rasim who was choking up. He wiped his tears away with his wrist, grabbed the comforter she was using off of the couch and put it over her body so that she would be warm.

  He stooped down and kissed her lips, “I’m so sorry, baby. That bitch doesn’t mean anything to me and I will never hurt you again.”

  Her mind maintained that his tongue spoke lies but her heart rejoiced. Whether or not it was true, for the moment anyway, it felt so damn good.

  Rasim lowered his body and gently spread her legs apart. He could smell the faint musty odor stemming from her pussy but it was not offensive in the least. It just meant she had been a wreck since she left dance class and, thanks to his bullshit, she didn’t have time to shower.

  Even if she smelled of the foulest sea, he would still kiss her until she was all clean. Because he was certain that, if nothing else, he was the only man who had ever entered her body, which was more than he could say for Selena the Siren.

  He placed his partially open mouth over her pussy and blew a blast of warm air onto her clit. He liked to heat up her button before he did his thing and she loved it too.

  “Piss on my face, Snow,” he ordered.

  “No, Rasim,” she whispered and tried to clamp her thighs together.

  He slapped them apart again and his red handprint presented itself on her skin. The only time Rasim agreed with beating women was in the bed and Snow secretly loved it.

  “Piss on me,” he demanded more aggressively.

  Fuck that nigga! She thought.

  If he wanted it, she would let him have it. So she relaxed her body and pissed all over Rasim’s face, drenching the carpeted floor beneath them.

  He wanted to be degraded.

  He wanted to be punished.

  When she was finished, she felt eerily vindicated but Rasim was far from done. He blew warm breaths into her pussy again until she was as hot as a furnace. He lapped his tongue repeatedly over her clit. Up and down, left and right until her syrup was oozing into his mouth.

  “Rasim,” she wept, “I love you so fucking much.” Snow was crying real tears, not tears of joy and that fucked with Rasim’s head.

  It hurt his heart to know that because of the shit he did on the street, he had broken his angel’s heart yet again.

  Worried she was on the verge of cumming too soon, he stopped laboring on her clit. Instead he entered her warm tunnel with his stiff tongue recurrently, until she was clenching his ears like handles and bucking her hips wildly.

  Rasim was skinny but he knew how to beg and fuck. That was for sure.

  After fifteen minutes, when he’d given her tunnel the proper observation, he revisited her clit again. Rasim’s dick was so swollen and erect that it was uncomfortable to lie on his belly so he reached into his jeans, shifted that bitch to the right and proceeded to handle his business.

  Not being able to enter her was torture!

  As much as he wanted to bury himself inside of Snow’s body, this shit was not about him. It was all about his sweet baby.

  However, in a surprising turn of events, Snow was so wet and Rasim was so turned on that he was able to rub one out on the floor anyway. It was the first time he was able to cum like that but he would never forget it. Without the benefit of entering her body, she still satisfied him.

  Amazing.

  Rasim was even more passionate as he gripped her thighs and buried his face so deep into her mound that, before long, Snow exploded over his lips. Even though she begged him to stop because her clit was tender, Rasim licked and licked until all of her juices were gone and that’s when he really went to work on her.

  The morning dropped by when Rasim finally stopped. And it was only because his jaw was so stiff it was discomforting and she couldn’t cum anymore if she tried.

  That was the best begging he had done in his life and he only hoped she could feel his heart and feel his sincere apology.

  He regretted hurting her.

  He truly did.

  Rasim had to hit the blocks to get his paper but he didn’t want to leave her.

  He was still between her legs when he looked up and asked, “Can I stay here a little longer?”

  She smiled because she was so worn out that she didn’t want to go to dance class either. “Yes, Rasim,” she whispered.

  So he lowered his head and took a nap right next to Snow’s pussy.

  CHAPTER 11

  RASIM

  It was a gray day and the sun was hiding behind chunky clouds. God was threatening the young hustlers with rain. Rasim, Donald, Brooklyn and Chance were standing against a fence in front of a building within the projects, waiting to serve customers.

  Although the sky would most likely open up and spill water, the day was actually heavy with possibilities. Earlier Donald received a call from Phantom, their boss, and it sounded promising. If shit worked out, he could earn more money, which meant an increase for them all.

  Rasim was ecstatic for Donald because over the six years after the rape charge, he couldn’t seem to catch a break. He was in prison for a year and came out lost and confused. It wasn’t until Sheila was mysteriously found with her neck slit open that Donald was blessed with a bout of good luck.

  For starters, he married a girl who reached out to him on a pen pal site and wrote him frequently while he was locked down. When he came home they had twin girls and everyone said he seemed more relaxed since he was a dad. He didn’t pop off the handle much anymore and all he could talk about was his kids every free second he got. He wanted to be the parent he never had and he did an outstanding job. Everyone surmised that even a wild bear could show love to its cubs.

  If he received the raise from pawn to lieutenant, he would be able to help his wife, who held a government job, with the expenses. He would save his paper, buy his family a nicer home and move them from DC to Maryland.

  “Who fucked you up?” Chanced joked looking at Rasim’s mouth. Snow had thrashed him something fierce and it showed.

  His homies looked at him and awaited an answer.

  “Your mama’s fat ass,” he winked.

  Everyone chuckled.

  “Man, I can’t stay still,” Donald said as he continued to look up the block for Phantom’s car. “Where this nigga at?” He looked at the watch on his arm. He stuffed his hands in his jacket.

  “I don’t know why you worried,” Brooklyn responded as he leaned against the fence, making it squeak. Over the years, he lost a few pounds, which he converted into muscle, and during the summer months he would fake spill some shit on himself to gain a reason to take off his shirt and flex his muscles. The bitches loved it but his homies hated the show. “You got that. You already know.” He slipped his hood over his head.

  “Right, who else gonna get it?” Chance asked as he served a chick he fucked once in high school who was so skinny he almost didn’t recognize her. “Me?” He pointed to himself. “Or that fake ass exhibitionist to your right?”

  “Fuck you,” Brooklyn said.

  “What about me?” Rasim joked as he popped a few sunflower seeds into his mouth.

  “Ain’t nobody hiring your Afghan ass to do nothing but find Saddam Hussein,” Chance responded with a corny joke he was known for. “I know you got his number, don’t you? Tell the truth.”

  Rasim wore a smile but he was sure getting tired of people bringing up Hussein whenever he was around. He did all he could to look like his friends, including stuffing his Kufi in his pocket, wearing baseball caps and hiding most of his face. Most of the time, he looked Indian or black. But at the end of the day they always reminded him about who he really was…Pakistani. And he didn’t know who to hate more because of it. Himself for neglecting his religion and people, or his friends.

  “I’m not trying to hear that shit,” Rasim said as he pretended to busy himself with the phone in his pocket. “How ‘bout you check under your mama’s gut for the nigga.” He paused knowing his parents owned a bakery and Chance’s mother was overweight. “
That bitch eat more product than she sell.”

  The young men spent another ten minutes laughing and disrespecting each other’s mothers until Donald said, “Rasim, go get me some Hennessy from up the street. My nerves gonna be bad unless I get a drink.”

  “Aight,” he said as he zipped his jacket.

  “I’m going with him,” Brooklyn said.

  “I don’t give a fuck, nigga,” Donald responded.

  He gave Rasim the money and he and Brooklyn bopped up the street to the liquor store. Neighborhood rock stars since day one, they waved at the locals on the way to their destination. They talked about their girlfriends and how Rasim got caught with Selena again and how he was really done with her this time. Brooklyn heard all the shit before but he was reminded of something when he heard Selena’s name.

  “Hey, you ever see her kid?”

  Rasim frowned. “Naw, why you ask that?”

  “Because I swear he looks slam like you, slim.”

  Rasim chuckled as they dipped into the liquor store and grabbed the Hennessey. “Yeah, aight. How he gonna look like me when she married that nigga? How you know it ain’t his kid?”

  “Because lil youngin’ ‘bout five or six. And if I recall, that’s the same amount of years it’s been since you first fucked Selena.” He pointed a stiff finger into the center of Rasim’s chest. “Do the math, homie.” He stepped off and proceeded to the Funyuns aisle.

  Rasim brushed him off because he knew it wasn’t his kid. Selena said she had a child with her husband. He didn’t want one but if he was a father, he would deal with it as best he could.

  After buying the liquor, a large cup and a soda they were a block away from where they perched but before reaching Donald and Chance, Rasim said, “Hold this for a second.” He gave him the bag.

  Always the jokester, Rasim poured all of the Hennessey into the cup and then poured the soda into the Hennessey bottle. Since his gag required three-part harmony, he poured all of the Hennessey from the cup into the soda bottle.