Prison Throne

by T. Styles

  Snow was on top of her man as she rode his dick with an equestrian-like flow. Although Snow’s body art paled in comparison to her husband’s, she dabbled a little and as a result the entire right side of her body was covered, with the largest tat being Rasim’s name, which appeared to crawl down her right thigh.

  Rasim looked directly into Snow’s eyes as he moved inside of her slowly. His left hand gripped the back of her neck and his right rested firmly on her waist. As good as her pussy was in the moment, if she moved one inch he was liable to kill her.

  But Snow was inspired to switch shit up so she migrated from horse rider and embraced the passion of a young Jamaican dancer as she handled her beau with long smooth strokes.

  Sweat poured down their faces as they were brought closer to ecstasy. Since they were covered in tats, they resembled two Jean-Michel Basquiat paintings straight fucking.

  They didn’t make a sound as they enjoyed each other’s bodies. He looked upon her as Julius Caesar did Cleopatra. And she envisioned the Greek God Zeus when she gazed into his eyes.

  Rasim was enamored and captivated and at times his love was so strong that he wished he could kill her then restore her life, just to fall in love all over again.

  When Snow felt his dick pulsating she knew he was on the verge of exploding so she placed her hands on the edge of the chair against his thighs like a gymnast. Using her arm muscles she rose up and then slammed back on his stiffness five times and he could do nothing but tap out as he came hard.

  After all these years my wife can still fuck, he thought.

  Of course Snow saw the admiration Rasim felt for her. She had grown too over the years. No longer was she the mousy type who chose to speak few words.

  When Rasim went through the storm after the loss of his best friend and his parents, he needed a strong woman at his side. So little by little, he created a bitch in his likeness. A woman who could deal with whatever came her way and he was proud of his accomplishment.

  After making love, they jumped into the shower and embraced while kissing deeply. The showerhead dangled over their heads and the water poured over their bodies, bringing their tattoos to life.

  They were the couple people dreamed about. And they were all about each other.

  When they were done Rasim got dressed and Snow wore only red pumps. She strutted to the kitchen and worked the stove like she was a DJ on the Ones and Twos. In the end, Rasim had a man’s breakfast before him, complete with two kinds of meat, grits, potatoes and toast.

  A lot changed about Rasim and Snow. Although they were still husband and wife, they were physically stronger. Rasim’s body was chiseled and Snow’s was firm and sleek. Their living arrangements also received a makeover. Rasim moved into his parents’ home and renovated it into a castle and Snow was very pleased.

  When Rasim was fed, Snow got dressed and hit it to The University of Maryland Dance Academy to teach dance and he headed to the warehouse to move dope. Their paths were different but it was their life and they liked it that way.

  The saddest part was that the more things stayed regular, the more things started to change.

  ****

  The sun beamed down on Rasim’s black Cadillac Escalade, causing it to glow. He gripped the steering wheel with his right hand and leaned slightly to the left. It wasn’t because he was stunting. Rasim was already smooth. It’s just that when your dick was as big as his, tilting a little made you slightly more comfortable.

  As he cruised down the DC streets, the soft cotton gray shirt he wore melted into his frame causing the outlines of his muscles to be seen by all who chose to glance. And because the window was open, the expensive cologne he sported whirled throughout the truck and mixed with the black ice car freshener that was hidden below his steering column.

  A photographer at heart, he even snapped a few pictures for his personal collection although he would never get them developed.

  At the end of the day even in a plain t-shirt and designer blue jeans, Rasim was mighty fresh.

  His left hand rested next to his dick as he observed the sights and sounds of the city. Women wearing clothing so tight you could see the veins under their skin and the print of their pussies, squirmed up and down the blocks.

  There was no doubt that the sexy vixens held his attention but unfortunately he could do nothing with them. For as much as he desired, he made a promise to remain faithful, which was growing harder to keep. Still, true to their agreement Rasim hadn’t touched another woman since the last time he saw Selena. Almost eleven years ago.

  There were many reasons for his faithfulness. Number one, he knew that no matter whom he dicked down, he would never leave Snow. He worshipped her so much that on several occasions he ate her pussy even while she was on her menstrual cycle.

  The women whom he ran into in his travels flirted with him religiously but they didn’t want to possess his body. They wanted Snow’s career as his wife and that position was already taken.

  The second reason for his faithfulness was that he believed Snow when she said if he ever fucked her over again that she would bounce. Although she held a fragile heart, she was the strongest woman he knew. She showed him when she left many years ago that she had the capacity to remain true to her word and it took the death of his parents and his best friend just to bring her back to him.

  The third reason he couldn’t cheat was because he upheld one rule that he used both in business and in life. And it was to never deal with a person who had nothing to lose.

  Meeting a woman who had investments of the heart and business on the line was as uncommon as finding a DC nigga breaking bread with a Baltimore dude…it just didn’t occur. If only the realization that he could only partake of Snow’s pussy for the rest of his life would sit well with him, he would be fine. But as of now, he was severely bored.

  Oh how he wished Snow would understand that he desired variety. If he dabbled in a new pussy here, and a new pussy there, it didn’t mean that he didn’t love her. Rasim was an alpha male! A king of kings! And as a result his sexual appetite craved more. Couldn’t she see that?

  It was different for men. It was a scientific fact, to hear him tell it.

  No matter who he bent back, no matter who he had clawing the walls and screaming his name, his heart would always belong to her.

  When he made it to the block and he saw Tracy, with the 3D ass, he gripped his thick dick and yelled, “Fuck!” That bitch was getting finer with time and he could only envisage about what she felt like inside.

  Summertime was always toughest on Rasim but he would have to do like he always did. Go home with the impressions of sexy women on his mind and fuck the dog shit out of Snow for denying him a platter of assorted pussy.

  As Rasim promenaded down the street he saw kids bouncing balls, niggas talking shit as they sipped from the brown paper bags clutched in their hands and women prattling with their backs toward the streets in the hopes of roping an up and coming dope star. However, the moment his trucked spooned the curb, the block died.

  Rasim slinked out of his truck, pointed his remote at his ride and activated the security system. It chirped and he dropped the keys into his pocket. As cool as a Corona on ice, he gripped his dick slightly to reposition it and then released.

  As he moved away from his Cadillac, he took a huge step, which nailed the sidewalk.

  Now the block had life.

  In his usual chill manner, Rasim advanced toward the building. He stroked the Kufi once as if he was smoothing his waves and nodded at a few people he knew. Although he didn’t practice the Muslim beliefs, he wore it every day to warn those with dishonorable intents to beware. All who were around in the earlier years knew that before he wore that headpiece, he was a different man, a kinder gent. But these days, simply put, he was a stone cold killer.

  There was something else about Rasim besides his strikingly good looks and features. He had a rock star quality that was undeniable and appealing. He was a far cry from the scraw
ny kid who joked around in the Strawberry Meadows days. That’s for sure.

  His presence was so alluring that children leveled their fingers in his direction as huge smiles consumed their faces. Batman didn’t have shit on him. And lesser men in both the mental and dick departments even looked away for they were not worthy.

  As the un-American idol continued to trek toward the building, if you looked closely you could see the ground shatter each time his butter colored Timberland boots slammed against the pavement.

  When a little boy who promised to get better grades saw him moving in his direction, he caught wheels and leaped into his arms. Rasim hoisted the musty little fellow up on his broad shoulder and steadied his body with one hand as he reached into his pocket with the other. “What’s up, lil man? You got that report card on you?”

  Did he have it on him?

  Hell yeah he did!

  The lad carried it everywhere he went after receiving better grades in the hopes of seeing Rasim. Besides, Rasim promised him a crispy fifty-dollar bill if his shit was in order and in the little dude’s mind, the moment he saw that truck, it was payday.

  The kid pulled out the wrinkled report card, wet with the sweat of the day, and showed Rasim his progress.

  Rasim considered it for a moment, saw the A’s versus the D's and slapped a brand new one hundred dollar bill in his palm. The child’s eyes grew as wide as saucers as he wiggled with excitement. And to think, it wasn’t even his birthday.

  Rasim placed the kid down although he took a moment to grip at his leg and said, “Thank you, Mr. Rasim! Thank you so much!”

  When the kid bounced, Dee-Dee and Monique started twerking their young asses up and down in the hopes that Rasim was disbursing cash to everybody today. Unfortunately for the cuties, the Bank of Rasim was officially closed.

  When he finally approached the door leading into a large brick building, the two men protecting it, Erick and Fish, nodded and allowed him entrance. Before going inside, Rasim whispered something of major importance into Fish’s ear that he wanted only him to hear. Once the intel was received, Fish nodded like the loyal soldier he was and Rasim swaggered inside.

  He dipped sideways down the dark steps until he was looking at one of his soldiers spread on a silver table under a bright surveillance light. Sadly, it was Navy. His light skin was bruised, which indicated that he took a severe beating. There was no need for violins, however, because the shit was all his fault.

  Two weeks ago Navy hired a new soldier named Detroit without properly vetting him to figure out his background. After not even two weeks, it was discovered that Detroit was working for the FBI. He was uncovered when Chance determined that he didn’t like the way his plain white t-shirt bubbled ever so slightly in the front. So he ordered a silent pat down and voila! The wire was found.

  Rasim’s men spent an hour putting Detroit through unbearable torture after disarming the mic of course. In the end they found out that nine of Navy’s men, including Detroit, were helping the government. But Vance was still on the run.

  With the new info, they decided to handle Detroit first. After they operated on him with hammers and scalpels, they quietly dismembered his body parts and drove along the eastern coastline feeding the fish his limbs in the process.

  With Detroit out of the way, along with all seven of his dwarfs, Rasim only had to care for Navy who was on his table and Vance who was effectively missing in action.

  On to the first order of business, Rasim dapped Chance and Brooklyn who had been waiting for his arrival. “Did ya’ll find Vance?” Rasim asked.

  Chance jabbed a stiff finger in the cup of Navy’s throat. “Naw, this nigga claim he don’t know where he at.”

  Navy looked upon Rasim with sorrow. “Rasim, I’m begging you, please don’t kill me. If I knew where the nigga was I would’ve told you myself. Handed him to you with my own hands if you gave me a wheelbarrow. I mean look at me; you got the upper hand, man. Why would I lie to you?”

  Rasim placed his hand on Navy’s forehead as if he were checking his temperature. “Don’t worry, man. I’m not going to kill you,” he smiled.

  Navy was surprised and delighted. “You not?”

  “No,” he said calmly.

  He remained relieved until he recalled Rasim’s legend in his mind. If Rasim was going to mark him, Navy wanted to suggest that he’d go on ahead and kill him instead. Mainly because when people saw his face he wouldn’t last a day on the DC streets. His fears were realized when Rasim reached in the back pocket of his jeans and removed a switchblade.

  “No,” Navy screamed as he moved his head quickly from left to right in an attempt to stunt Rasim’s groove. “Please don’t! I’m begging you!”

  “Hold him,” Rasim said looking upon his men.

  Chance gripped the top of his head while Brooklyn steadied the chin as Rasim cut into the left and right corner of his lips just enough. When he was done, Rasim punched Navy several times in the gut until he screamed out in pain, causing the muscles in his face to contract and the slits Rasim created to widen.

  When Rasim was done, blood poured out of his face and spilled onto the silver table beneath him. These days Rasim was doing a better job of giving his award winning Glasgow smile. That was for sure. He had to give himself credit.

  In no way was Navy the first. Many men roamed the streets of DC with a smile like Navy’s. Some would say they were brothers.

  Most of the time Rasim would allow a patient to wander, knowing that the victim wouldn’t last a day without some young killer preying upon him and snuffing out his life in the hopes of gaining Rasim’s favor. And Navy wouldn’t be any different.

  Brooklyn and Chance cut the ropes binding Navy’s arms and legs and Navy slid off of the table and slammed against the floor on all fours, resembling the dog he was born to be.

  “Get the fuck out,” Rasim told him by way of a swift kick to the lower chin. “And enjoy what’s left of your life.”

  Navy hustled up the stairs backwards, as if his greatest fear was niggas grabbing asses, instead of shooting bullets in his head.

  When he was gone Rasim observed his men. He had been in charge for years and they respected and feared him greatly. It was mighty different from those lovely Strawberry Meadows days.

  “We have to find Vance,” Rasim reiterated.

  “I’m already on it,” Brooklyn nodded.

  “You want us to put one in his brain when we do?” Chance asked.

  “No. Bring him to me.” Rasim turned to leave but Brooklyn stopped him.

  “Look, before you dip, why didn’t you stop when I honked my horn at you yesterday?”

  “Yesterday?” he frowned. “I was up under Snow all night. You ain’t see me.”

  “First off, when are you not up under Snow?” Chance kidded.

  “Fuck you, nigga,” Rasim joked with his brother.

  “No seriously,” Brooklyn interrupted. “I thought I saw you driving this white van down Minnesota Avenue. I was trying to get your attention but you ain’t stop. Wasn’t sure if a body was in the back or not and you needed my help.”

  “Wasn’t me,” Rasim repeated firmer.

  “Sure looked like your Indian looking ass. The van pulled up at Martin’s Supply Plant off of Benning Road. You should go see that nigga. Word to God, dude could be your stunt double.”

  Rasim brushed it off. Lately people had been claiming to see him and in places he simply wouldn’t roam. He just figured a dude with similar features was a little too close for his comfort. For now shit was cool, just as long as the replica didn’t try pulling rank using Rasim’s stripes. “Like I said, it wasn’t me. Now find Vance.”

  “I know you let ‘ole boy go,” Chance said. “Since you like dudes to sport the Glasgow smile like Jordans and shit.” He paused. “But are you sure Navy won’t go tell him we coming?”

  “I’m praying he does. That’s the only reason I let him go. Before coming down, I told Fish to stay on him when I let him up a
nd don’t let nobody kill him. So for real, it’s just a matter of time.”

  ****

  Rasim was back in his truck and on BWI Parkway and then the dumbest shit happened. As he rolled past a construction site, his right wheel caught a nail.

  “Fuck,” he yelled slamming his hand against the steering wheel. He couldn’t be without his truck so he decided to pull off the parkway onto the shoulder and look up the nearest garage with his navigation system.

  He was in luck. A place called King Amongst Kings Body Shop was located off the next exit. Although he never patronized the spot, he decided to give it a chance. He figured it was luck because its name was an old saying he used frequently as a kid.

  When he pulled up, a white man dressed in a butler uniform rushed outside with a glass of champagne on a silver tray. Dude grabbed the glass and the moment Rasim stepped out, he offered him the flute.

  But Rasim gave up alcohol and weed long ago so that he could keep his wits about him in the streets. Still, he was impressed that some boss thought enough to offer such a classy service in the nation’s capital. “I’m good,” Rasim responded. “But thanks, man.”

  “Not a problem, sir,” he replied placing the glass back on the tray before opening the door for him. “Right this way.”

  When Rasim stepped inside, he was pleasantly surprised. Everything outside seemed regular but it was all an illusion. The moment he walked in, he was transported from Washington, DC to what resembled a small palace in London. It was elegantly dressed with burgundy furniture and outlined in gold with huge King Chairs in every corner.

  Impressive. Rasim nodded.

  When he peeped the counter, he checked out the white marble along with the dark-skinned gorgeous cashier behind the register with a Colgate smile. Rasim stepped to her and she said, “Your wish is my command, sir? How may I serve you?”