Sex in the Hood Saga

by White Chocolate

  She could not look away from the woman on stage who was facing one of the rappers. It was Honey’s sister.

  The one Duke was fucking in front of me.

  Duchess’ pussy was so hot, wet and swollen, she could cum with just a couple of squeezes of her pelvic muscles. She wanted to make love with Duke like they did a little while ago. But not in front of all these people.

  “Duke! I wanna leave!” she shouted over the deafening music. “Duke!” He did not look up from an electronic pager. He was frantically pressing buttons. She grabbed his arm.

  The music stopped.

  Everybody in the garage turned toward them, up here on the balcony, as if she and Duke were the stars of a concert. Except most of them were either naked or had glistening dicks sticking out of peeled back jeans or had big nipples pointing up from open jeans jackets.

  Beamer came out of the mass of bodies behind them and handed Duke a cordless microphone. Beamer stood beside Duke.

  “Yo, y’all!” Duke shouted into the mic. “Ha y’all doin’?”

  Wild screams pierced the air.

  “E’rybody know Duke da boss. And when Knight come back, he gon’ be right back beside me, buildin’ Babylon to conquer the world.”

  The crowd roared.

  “Is gon’ be three of us.” He raised Duchess’s hand. “The Duke foun’ his Duchess. Y’all got to bow to her jess like you bow to me.”

  The hundreds of faces below were solemn and silent, some nodding slightly. A guy shouted, “You need a real sista!”

  “She black as you, baby!” Duke bellowed. “The rest o’ y’all, just know she ain’t white. So zip dat shit now. Duchess a sista jess like y’all.”

  “Y’all be nice, now!” the lead singer of the band shouted into his microphone on stage. “Don’t judge a book by the cover you can’t even see through yo’ own hate.”

  Cheers and boos shot up from the crowd.

  “So, all y’all plantation mentality ma’fuckas,” the singer, Jamal, shouted, “thinkin’ about you stuck in the cottonfield of life while that long-hair, light-skin bitch livin’ large up in the big house wit’ Massa Duke!”

  “Yeah!” too many people shouted.

  Jamal laughed. “You right! An’ ain’t shit y’all can do about it ’cept love this sista like she one o’ us. ’Cause she is.”

  The band played a deep chord. Smiles and smirks rose up from the crowd.

  “Preach that shit!” Duke shouted. “Yeah!”

  Duchess shivered. Had she been taken from a normal day in her past life and transplanted to this spot, she would faint. So would everyone else she knew back then. Even Brian. This would scare the shit out of his punk ass. He thought he was so tough, knowing all the latest rap, blasting it in his Porsche and Land Rover. But his hip-hop clothes and backward baseball caps were fake. He was such a punk deep down that once when a black guy walked up and asked directions to the nearby bookstore, Brian was trembling afterward, saying, “Man, I thought he was gonna whip out a gat and car jack me.”

  That’s how too many girls were still glaring up at Duchess now. Ripping her to shreds with their stares.

  Those bitches have so much nerve, cuttin’ their eyes at me while they’re standin’ there naked with nut drippin’ down their chins and thighs.

  And Duke wanted her to say something? The last time she addressed a crowd, besides all those wicked reporters, was to introduce the debate team at the awards ceremony at the yacht club. But this here wasn’t the time for the traditional “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” Victoria Marie Winston’s white girl cadence would spark an uproar of laughter, or worse.

  No, this was the official unveiling of The Duchess. Even though half the people down there were staring at her like she was Marie Antoinette and they were the citizens of France who wanted to haul her off to the guillotine out back.

  This is where I belong. This is how I can help people. This is the stage to share my purpose and passion that I just discovered in bed with my soul mate.

  But how to connect through the hostility?

  “Find common ground,” Daddy used to always say. “Disarm your enemies by finding common ground. Then, don’t just extend the olive branch, hand ’em a fondue fork with the juiciest chocolate-dipped strawberry you can find. You’ll have ’em in the palm of your hand forever.”

  Duke was already on the subject, with his deep voice booming through the huge, silent space. “Think of her as the male version of me,” he told the crowd. “Anybody thinkin’ about tossin’ up some hate gon’ face the same brute as if you messed wit’ me. Duchess in charge, so e’rybody make her feel welcome at Babylon.”

  Duke handed her the mic. She wrapped her hot, damp palm around the metal.

  Yeah, I have the power. Celeste’s mix-race woman power. Black power. Duke power. Love power.

  She took a deep breath and looked out at the sea of faces.

  “A sista inside,” she said, deep and sultry, “who been tryin’ to hide . . . won’t be denied.” She stepped in front of Duke, raised a knee to one side, and ground her hips into the side of his rock-hard thigh. “My sexy ride.”

  The crowd exploded. Duke’s beautiful, white teeth sparkled down at her as brightly as his eyes. She spun back toward the rail. “Look in my eye, a butterfly, broke out a white coccoon, flutter to black so soon . . . singing a new tune.” Her tone and cadence were perfect spoken word sista-girl.

  “From suburban to urban, virgin to vixen, caucasian to mixin’ the black”—she turned so that her side was toward the audience then pressed her titties into Duke’s arm—“to the top o’ my stack. Step back before I attack”—he strutted in front of him, grinding her ass into the tree trunk in the crotch of his leather jeans—“and jack, your dick.”

  The guys and girls in the audience shouted, “Yeah!” as they thrust fists up.

  “My slick candle wick, you stick in my swirl of melted mix-race girl . . . vanilla-chocolate squaw in us all . . .”

  She strutted back and forth along the rail, holding the mic and cutting a flat hand through the air to emphasize her words, just like Jamal did while he rapped. Duke crossed his arms, with a quick point down to Jamal, then nodded to her beat.

  “In life’s game, we’re all the same by any name,” she said as a bass beat boomed up from the band. The crowd started dancing, rubbing, and kissing.

  Suddenly, with the sexy music and the cool vibe from the crowd and the potency of Duke’s eyes and the power of her pussy that was wild and free now, she was having a mind-gasm, loving this! She shivered with the thrill of it as she rapped her rhymes.

  “I can’t blame those lame ma’fuckas who wanna tame my fame and shame . . . me.” She stopped, turned to Duke, let her eyes slowly devour him from his boots to the top of his sexy bald head. “You see,” she teased toward the audience, where some guys and girls were back to fucking. She ground her hip into Duke’s thigh.

  “Do dat!” a guy shouted amongst cheers.

  “Sexy and free.” She turned her butt to the crowd, smacked the round of her ass and said, “A certified Double D.”

  The crowd whooped.

  “So let me shout, this sista comin’ out! Beside your Duke, it’s no fluke, up in this juke joint. Make a point to anoint yo’self with Babylon juice. Get wild and loose!”

  The sea of people roared. The music got louder. Jamal punctuated her rhymes with a deep “Fuck, yeah!”

  “Get hot,” she said. “Do not waste a drop of that sweet treat . . . from yo’ meat. You gotta beat in this heat ’til yo’ feet curl, girl, make yo’ mind swirl, ’round the world.”

  Several girls extended their arms into the air and clapped to Duchess’ beat.

  “Get yo’ sex on, chick. Flex on that dick, yo’ slick joy stick.”

  She pressed her ass back into Timbo, who was pointing straight out of the open zipper of Duke’s pants. The black satin flesh against the leather and brass zipper made Duchess’ pussy shoot steam. She would be on that in a m
inute.

  “You can lick and do your trick. Get yours, give ’im his and don’t miss,” she almost whispered, “a single kiss.”

  She turned around, kissed Duke’s sucka lips. The noise of the crowd could blow off the ceiling, screaming, cheering, clapping, and fucking.

  Duke took the mic, raised Duchess’ fist in the air and shouted, “Duchess, baby! Babylon, rock on!”

  The band cranked the bass. Bodies twisted back together.

  And something, someone, knocked Duchess to the floor.

  Chapter 53

  Knight’s pipe was steaming again, about to bust after watching Tinkerbell rap the house with her clever spoken word rhymes. It took a minute, but now the masses were screaming for The Duchess like she was the hottest superstar around. And she would be, on many fronts.

  My goddess aced both tests, in my bed and in front of Babylon.

  Now all Knight had to do was make his chivalrous rescue of the damsel in Duke-stress, and let her sprinkle that pixie dust all over this urban empire and every territory that Knight wanted.

  All night, he’d been watching her and Duke from this plush couch near the rail, shielded just enough by a circle of two dozen strong Barriors and B’Amazons. He had a clear view of her ass in those tight leather pants, now and when she rapped. And she took that knock-down by Milan like a champ. She shot back up onto the heels of those sexy-ass boots then body-slammed Milan into submission. The B’Amazons hauled away that poor, emaciated victim of her own manipulative evil and Duke’s neglect. All while the Barriors carted Beamer’s stupid ass away with her.

  If Tinkerbell was scared on the inside, she don’t look or act like it. Her soft, innocent appearance, yet sexy, strong behavior were making Knight want her so bad, he could taste her again.

  He didn’t brush his teeth on purpose so when he talked to Li’l Tut, he’d have Duchess pussy on his lips and on his breath.

  Once she goes black as Knight, ain’t no way she goin’ back. Anywhere. She was physically standing next to Duke right now, but the chemical and spiritual reaction going on inside her was like an internal branding by the fire that started during that intergalactic star show as their bodies and souls united. His sperm was still up there. Now her uterus, her ovaries, her heart, her soul were branded in words of fire spewed by Knight’s big, black pipe: PROPERTY OF KNIGHT JOHNSON.

  And ain’t no doubt my turbo sperm is makin’ itself at home; at least for nine months, up inside the luxury accommodations of the most exquisite pussy I’ll ever need.

  “Let’s move,” Knight said, his deep, sex-powered voice cutting through the ear, splitting cheers and bass rumble of the band.

  Big Moe’s hand grasped his arm. “Naw, man, we got this easy. But let him get all the way vulnerable for full effect.”

  Easy was right. With all of Li’l Tut’s mismanagement and failure to take action on plans laid years ago by Prince and Knight, the Barriors and B’Amazons couldn’t wait for Knight to come back and make things right.

  They operated entirely under Duke’s stealth radar, giving Knight detailed reports about Milan—keeping her on the job despite blatant violations of trust. Izz’s thievery. Duke’s hot head flash and dash all over TV and the newspapers, drawing fed heat and reporters to Babylon. It was all because he brought that media magnet/federal fugitive, despised rich-mix girl up in the heart of the hood.

  Knight was sure, when he first heard about it, that she’d have to go out with yesterday’s trash along with Milan and Beamer. But Victoria Winston was gone. This chick was someone else entirely. She looked different, sounded different, felt different on the inside. Tonight wasn’t just a test, where you drop a substance on chemical-treated paper to see if it sizzles or smokes or turns colors.

  “Tonight is her blackness test,” Knight said.

  Big Moe held up his hand, pressed his fingertips together at the top of his thumb then flicked his hand open like a magician tossing sparkle dust. “Black magic, mon. Ttttsssst! She sizzlin’ an’ smokin’ an’ sexin’ like dis where she belong.”

  To have and to hold, from this day forward.

  Chapter 54

  Beamer shook just as hard as Milan as they knelt on the basement floor. She had already thrown up some green shit on his shirt. She was a mess with that long, curly-haired wig hanging on one side of her head, her real hair sticking out in a rat’s nest that was so close it was scratching his cheek. She stared him down with eyes so wild and crazy, she looked like she would snap at him and bite down on the dick that got him into this trouble in the first place.

  “I now declare you man and wife,” the two-dollar preacher from the corner church said over them with all seriousness in his voice. But who could take him seriously, standing there with no shirt and just black leather chaps that let his still wet dick hang loose at Beamer’s eye level?

  “Mr. Beamer, you get to kiss the bride now.”

  I’d rather tell her to kiss my stupid ass.

  His childhood dream to kiss Michelle Henderson was now finally coming true in the worst fucking nightmare he could have imagined. Driving his Hummer into that semi-truck the other night would have been a better future than locking down with this bitch and chain.

  An’ I ain’t got no choice.

  Duke stood by him with arms crossed over his chest, looking down at him like he wasn’t shit.

  ’Cause I ain’t. Finally proved it to myself and e’rybody else by tryin’ to cross The Duke.

  “Y’all can take ’em to they honeymoon suite now,” Duke said, “so I can get back to my birthday party.”

  The Barrior who grabbed Beamer’s handcuffed wrists said to the other, “Bet, dude. Which one gon’ kill tha otha one first?”

  The other Barrior laughed. “I think they gon’ get locked up in that room and make like Romeo and Juliet and end the drama right there with a double suicide.”

  Beamer already knew the only way outta this was to stop breathing, because no way was Milan going to be in the mood for love when she was growling at Duke like that.

  “Yeah, they gon’ make war, not love.” The Barrior laughed. He turned to Beamer. “Yo, dude, a word of advice on yo’ wedding night. I’d keep my dick on lock-down if I was you.”

  Chapter 55

  Duchess sat on her throne, holding Duke’s hand as they watched a writhing tangle of male and female strippers perform up close and personal. Beyond the dancers, a wall of Barriors and B’Amazons in head to toe ninja black formed a half-circle around them.

  Duchess was still quaking with fear. The sinister, pounding rhythm of the music echoed her racing heart.

  “Duke, baby,” she shouted so close to his head that her lip brushed his silver hoop earring. “I can’t get our freak on when some other crazy bitch might come flyin’ outta the crowd at me!”

  He shook his head. “You don’t ev’a have to worry about Milan again.”

  “What about someone else?” she shot back. “The way you keep lookin’ around, it’s like you know some other whack shit is ’bout to break.”

  “It won’t.” He turned toward those bodies in black, caramel, and brown. They were making a long sandwich of bodies pressed together, all facing forward so their sides snaked in a slow-sexy groove for Duke and Duchess.

  “Duchess,” he said with a delicious gust of his Black Cashmere cologne and natural musk. “All these pussies and dicks in here for me an’ you. An’ you love they stuff just as much I do. They all clean, so do yo’ thang.”

  He nodded at another girl who wore a tiny, light blue crocheted bikini and a silver belly chain that said BABY BLUE.

  With the help of a gorgeous brown hunk behind her, she put her foot on the arm of the throne, yanked back her bikini crotch and opened her pussy in Duchess’ face. The guy ran his big hand over it as if he were in a jewelry store waving a hand over the pearl counter for customers to pick one.

  “Lick that pussy,” Duke ordered.

  She stared at the Brazilian bikini-waxed flesh. Flawless.
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  The woman ran a fingertip over her pussy then sucked it loudly. Celeste was twitching, screaming.

  Duchess touched the tip of her nose to the clit. Rolled her head so that her nose stimulated the chick just right.

  “Damn girl, do dat.”

  Duchess made a peace sign with her fingers, licked them then ran them down the pussy lips. Suddenly, another stripper was at her feet, another at her waist. They were taking her pants off.

  Duchess ran the tip of her tongue from the bottom of the pussy up to the clit. The stripper sucked air and spit through her teeth. “Oooh, shit!”

  At the same time, other girls helped Duchess ease out of her pants and thong. Duke, at her side, stroked Timbo.

  He stuck his tongue out and they both chewed on Baby Blue’s filet mignon. After a while, Duke slurped on Duchess’ tongue then sat back to watch.

  One stripper raised Duchess’ right leg up to the arm of the throne, the opposite side as Baby Blue. On her knees, the stripper dove into Duchess’ pussy.

  “Oh yaaaay-yaaaaaah,” she moaned. The double pleasure was incredible, a mouth on her pussy while she sucked on a clit.

  Her head spun. She was fueling her woman-power with double intensity, and Celeste was loving it. From suburban virgin to Detroit dick-lovin’ dyke. Just keep it comin’.

  Duchess peered over Baby Blue’s thigh. Her eyes locked with Duke’s. Who knew you could have such intimacy with a group? But the look in Duke’s eyes screamed, I am yours. Forever.

  This is all for you, baby girl.

  Duchess was lapping it up like a kitten. Baby Blue groaned like it was her first time, or her best time. Nina licked Duchess’ pussy with perfect precision. She hit that fire spot at the tip of her clit that Duchess could never hit herself. Brian always found it and made her cum quickly. Duke and Honey did too. Now Nina was there, on it. Damn, her clit felt like the center of the universe as Nina worked her tongue all over it.

  From the sound of Baby Blue, Duchess was doing just as well. She imitated the way Duke made that windshield wiper motion, from light to harder pressure, all while finger-fucking her.