Sex in the Hood Saga

by White Chocolate

  Just like Knight, Prince, and Duke had given Jamal their word three years ago that they would bankroll his music until he became the next P. Diddy or Jay-Z. And the three brothers had stuck by their word. They’d done everything, from financing his studio time, to sponsoring his national concert tour, to using their underground network and power plays to get him on the hottest radio stations across America.

  So by the time Knight had gotten out of lock-up, Jamal and Bang Squad were so rich and famous that their nasty beats were rockin’ in cars, flowin’ off lips from the cities to the suburbs, and even playing on the soundtrack to a couple in-the-hoodstyle Hollywood movies.

  Jamal’s dick threatened to turn to mush. Because if he turned on Knight, he’d be through just as quickly.

  I’d be a dead, out of bidness muthafucka.

  But the idea of taking on an illegitimate business, now that Jamal had huge, legitimate record deals, made something sharp and wicked slice through his gut. Then again, the idea of raking in all those millions that Babylon was making across the country, suddenly made Jamal’s dick stand to attention and pledge allegiance to his boy and their deal.

  His dick got even harder as The Queen moaned, “Yeah, baby, promise me we can be wild and free and love to the infinity.”

  And the video of them, right now, making love like a man and a woman was so hot, a magical glow lit up the studio like The Queen really was Tinkerbell sprinkling her pixie dust all over the two of them.

  “Millions,” Jamal whispered, shifting his hips to shove his dick deeper into CoCo’s sexy little mouth.

  Yeah, this video would show the hip-hop generation what real love was all about.

  “CoCo, you doin’ it jus’ like Daddy love it,” Jamal groaned. His phone vibrated on his hip. DICKMAN flashed on the red screen. Raynard would have to wait.

  I’ll holla back in a minute.

  Right now Jamal only had two things on his mind; music and making love. ’Cause CoCo had a way of letting lots of spit cover her lips and the inside of her mouth while she slurped up and down on Beat.

  I love the way CoCo give head.

  Unlike some girls who act like a dick’s gonna lurch up and bite them, or get stuck in their throat, or make them sweat out their hair, CoCo always got down and dirty, and acted like she loved that shit. A sexy shiver rippled through his six-foot frame as he watched Knight and The Queen through the glass in the sound booth. The Queen’s earphones held her hair back over her shoulders as she moaned into the mic that descended from the ceiling. Her hair swayed back and forth, over her bare shoulders as Knight drilled her fine ass from the back. So the sexy sounds everybody would hear at the wedding reception would be real. Because they were really fuckin’ in the sound booth.

  As CoCo squeezed her slippery lips over his dick, up and down, he shifted his hips in the red suede chair.

  Jamal slid up the bass to capture the full range of The Queen’s sexual sounds.

  Ain’t no betta life than this shit. He couldn’t even see CoCo under the board. She had a pillow down there in the darkness, to cushion her knees as she sucked his dick. As good as she sucked, he might consider making her his queen when he officially took over Babylon from coast to coast. This king would soon be ruling his kingdom. His Grammy award-winning musical empire was quickly expanding with hit making new artists, a clothing line, a custom Bang Squad SUV, cell phones, male and female fragrances, and even restaurants in New York and L.A.

  Adding sex to the enterprise would help him make his billions even faster. And it would be easy to hide under all his legitimate and highly respected business endeavors. He was about to become the most revered and feared gangsta anywhere, ever.

  Jamal nodded to the sexy beat that he had laid for their wedding song, “Promise Me.” He had promised Knight that their deal would be top secret and not revealed until well after he had disappeared into tropical oblivion.

  “Damn, look at that muthafucka,” Jamal exclaimed, watching Knight jackhammer The Queen nonstop. Her erotic moans into the mic made Jamal shiver. “Yeah, suck that,” he said down to CoCo.

  She sucked faster. “Come up here,” he said.

  She climbed out of the darkness with eager eyes and wet lips. Her black denim mini-dress was already hoisted up over her thighs.

  “Come sit on it.”

  She was so tiny, she could sit back on Beat and not block his view of the sexiest couple he’d ever seen gettin’ it on in his studio.

  “Oh, fuck,” he groaned as her pussy squeezed around Beat.

  She ground, round and round, knowing just how to move so that he could still have his hands and forearms on the console.

  “Work that shit.”

  She licked her fingers and pressed them down to her clit. That made her pussy squeeze harder as she rubbed herself.

  “Yeah, cum wit’ me,” Jamal groaned. “Cum wit’ me, sweet CoCo.”

  They faced forward, getting their freak on, watching their best friends do the same, and making beautiful music all at the same time.

  Chapter 66

  The Queen felt so wild and rebellious as her ass poked out and back toward the traffic. Riding through downtown Detroit on the back of Knight’s Suzuki motorcycle, it was as if she were telling the wicked world to kiss her black booty.

  The bike lurched forward. The Queen held on tight. And Knight took off, screeching through the intersection as the traffic light glowed green on Jefferson Avenue. The Queen closed her eyes as the power rumbled through her so strongly, rousing shivers.

  “Yeah, rev me like that, baby,” she purred into the microphone wired inside her black helmet. She needed to write a song called “Lifegasm,” about the spasms of love and orgasms she constantly experienced. Knight was driving so fast, the momentum and speed gave her a buzz. Maybe he was zipping through downtown to find a spot where they could park the bike and she could straddle him right there on the seat.

  She kept her eyes closed to let that fantasy play out in her mind. The vibrating seat was getting her ready to cum again. Plus, Celeste was still throbbing from the sensuous, candlelit lovemaking and singing in Jamal’s studio. It seemed like the more they made love, the more she wanted it.

  She gripped the insides of her thighs along the outsides of his legs. They were touching all the way down to her black boots, which were just behind his. All her hair was tucked into her helmet because Knight had said they stood out enough and didn’t need any more attention. The last time they had taken the bike out, and she’d let her long black hair fly in the wind behind them, somebody in a van had followed them and asked if he could take their picture for the newspaper.

  “Je regrette que je ne parle pas anglais,” The Queen had cooed, later laughing that she’d told the photo journalist in French, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak English.”

  Knight didn’t laugh though, because he said it could have completely blown their cover.

  That’s why today, when Knight had at first refused to take the bike out, The Queen had pleaded with him saying the fresh air would make him feel great. And it did, because he’d seemed much more relaxed now.

  The Queen opened her eyes. They were speeding west on Jefferson. She smiled behind the tinted glass of her helmet. She began singing their wedding song. “Promise me you’ll always—” All of a sudden a deep rumble all around them made her stop.

  “Don’t turn around,” Knight said. “It’s a gang.”

  Beside them, a lime green bike pulled up on their left, along with an orange one. Two black ones stopped to their right.

  “Moreno’s muthafuckas.”

  The Queen froze. I’m pregnant.

  She knew Knight would handle it like a Hollywood stunt man. The light was still red. They were in the middle of five lanes, surrounded by bikes. City Hall was on their right. TV trucks and police cars usually lined the curb, but today there was only a meter maid, a cab, and a bunch of hoopties.

  “Hold on, baby girl.” Knight proved that his bike really could go f
rom zero to eighty in the blink of an eye. He screeched at the speed of light, making a bold right turn onto Woodward from the middle lane. The revving engine beneath them was all the noise they heard.

  The Queen’s heart pounded as she gripped Knight with her arms around his waist. We are safe. She knew Knight was thinking that he should not have let her talk him into taking the bike to the studio. She could hear him thinking, The days of reckless abandon for the sake of fun are over. Until we get to paradise forever. And we will.

  But what did “paradise forever” mean? Marriage? Or something else? This telepathic love connection was kind of a bitch. Because she got these hunches that raised questions that maybe she didn’t want to know the answers to.

  “Biker One to Cairo,” Knight said as he sped toward a park at the city’s center. Campus Martius outdoor café was bustling with business people and families as Knight sped over the patterned red brick of the circular boulevard.

  The deep roar of bikes behind them made her heart hammer.

  “Ramses, over,” Gerard answered from the security post back at The Playhouse.

  “HO delivery. Copak.”

  The Queen knew that meant “Hummer One pick-up at Comerica Park,” the downtown baseball stadium where the Detroit Tigers played.

  “Ramses, over.”

  The Queen also knew that Babylon’s security system had a lojack installed in every vehicle, including the catering trucks. So that right now, Paul or Gerard, could be watching exactly where their motorcycle was, along with the fleet of Hummers and cars. That way, he could direct Hummer One to the exact spot where they’d meet.

  “Hold on, baby girl.” Knight whipped the bike around the circular park. He zipped between a Mercedes and a UPS truck. Then he shot into an alley between two office buildings. He cut a sharp right into another alley, then a left into another.

  A few bikes followed; several others rumbled on the streets at the ends of the alleys.

  The Queen could hear him thinking, Here we go. Grip me good.

  His mind was ticking down options at the speed of light as he turned down another alley between tall office buildings. Pedestrians jammed the sidewalk at one end. It was an art fair. Vendor booths and food stations packed the streets. That was virtually a dead end. With brick walls at their sides and bikers behind them, it appeared they were stuck.

  Suddenly The Queen realized that her fingers, gripping tightly around Knight’s waist, were trembling.

  This is some dangerous shit!

  For all the exhilarating highs, they were marked by sudden flashes of terror.

  Were all the super high moments of exhilaration worth these life threatening lows? Was this the type of lifestyle in which she and Knight wanted to raise a child? But if they were to pick up and leave Babylon, where would they go? What would they do? How could they possibly finance this glamorous life that they loved in a way that was safer, legal, and more low profile?

  The questions whizzed through her head as fast as they passed the people, buildings, and vehicles around them. They veered a pasta delivery truck with its back ramp open. A private valet parking lot nestled behind the buildings offered a wide open space.

  In one dizzying flash, Knight spun the bike 180 degrees. Two dozen bikers were heading toward them, straight on. He stopped. His black boots touched the brick alley in a way that said, “Bring it on, muthafuckas!”

  They zoomed close. And Knight revved the engine. The bike sped straight between the gang.

  The Queen imagined she and Knight on the bike were like a bullet shooting past those losers.

  She pressed her cheek into Knight’s back as he wove between dumpsters, delivery trucks, and people. On the street, he zipped between cars. Not a single biker appeared in the rearview mirrors or at the front or sides.

  Knight ripped back up Woodward Avenue. He sped past restaurants, a drug store, chic nightclubs, and lofts. Then he turned right at Grand Circus Park, just south of the fabulous Fox Theatre where Motown greats once played. He whipped toward the giant stone tigers that greeted fans to Comerica Park.

  He followed the shiny black stealthiness that was Hummer One, just down the street, as it turned onto a back street for their rendezvous.

  Chapter 67

  Reba and another Slut, Baby Blue, sashayed amongst the mostly black clientele of Northland Mall.

  “Girl, admit it,” Baby Blue said as a half dozen teens stopped in their tracks and watched the women switch on high heels, “you a hater.”

  In a skintight, denim bodysuit, Reba led her best friend into their favorite leather shop that sold the most blingin’ styles in D-town. She was treating her girl to an impromptu shopping spree, thanks to the thick stack of Benjamins that Gerard gave up after their sexy splash in the jacuzzi last night.

  Reba’s whole body felt tingly, because by the end of the day, Baby Blue would be her partner to move up and out of hoin’ and into positions of power.

  “I don’t hate, I plan.” Reba stopped at a rack and fingered an orange opalescent leather mini-skirt with cubic zirconia studs. She snatched it and its matching cropped jacket. “I know what I want. I’m gon’ get it. An’ ain’t nobody gon’ stop me.”

  She pointed a long, acrylic nail toward the chick who wore a store name badge but looked as uninterested as a gay dude in Victoria’s Secret.

  Reba ordered, without making eye contact. “Sweetheart, get me the matching boots in size seven. In orange and black.” As her expert shopping vision zoomed in on the sexiest shirts, pants, and dresses, Reba thought about all the steps she’d have to make for her plan to become reality. She was already working every angle.

  Reba held up some low cut Baby Phat jeans with a sparkly pattern on the butt. “Ooohh, girl, these would hug your cute little ass just right.” She handed them to Baby Blue, who smiled. “And take that bustier top too.”

  Baby Blue’s eyes got big, making her blue contacts look extra bright against the whites of her eyes. Her long, sandy blond weave hung straight over the fronts of her shoulders in two ponytails. Her lips as full and red as Betty Boop’s lips on her tight black T-shirt pulled back as she smiled. “Reba, since when does Christmas come in September? You act like you hit the lottery.”

  “I’m ’bout to,” Reba said, tapping the Louis Vuitton bag over her shoulder. She glimpsed her phone in a side pouch; in a minute her partner would be calling to check the progress of her recruitment for Plan B. “Yeah, we can both hit the lottery if you help me.”

  “How?”

  “Aw, shit!” Reba exclaimed, striding quickly on her high heeled sandals to pick up a royal blue crochet dress. “Ain’t you got a bikini like this? Girl, wear that under this dress. You’d have niggas lickin’ yo’ toes.”

  “I already do.” BabyBlue giggled.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Reba said. “I heard The Queen turnt you out the otha night. Why you didn’t tell me? Ain’t I still yo’ girl?”

  Baby Blue turned away like she was looking at the baby T-shirts against the wall. “It ain’t somethin’ I like to talk about.”

  “How you gon’ go from bein’ the freak of the week, puttin’ all kin’ o’ stuff up in yo’ pussy while you on stage at The Garage, and now you shy wit’ yo’ girl?”

  Baby Blue’s cheeks turned red. She stepped to a nearby table displaying a rainbow of lace thongs. She chose three, each a different shade of blue. “I hit the jackpot. These are my favorite brand. This stretch material don’t cut into my crack like the regular ones.”

  “You ain’t hearin’ me,” Reba said playfully to hide her pissed off feelings inside. Maybe Baby Blue wouldn’t be as easy to convince as she thought. “Knight and his snowball got you on some kinda gag order?”

  Baby Blue snapped. “Don’t ask me what I do wit’ them. Just ’cause you saw her eat my pussy last year at Duke’s birthday party don’t mean somethin’s goin’ on now.”

  “Yeeeeaaah . . . right!” Reba flitted toward a fur bikini in the corner. “Girl, the yacht
party comin’ up. Check this out!”

  “I like the blue leather one better,” Baby Blue said, picking up a thong bikini with turquoise beads sewn in star patterns over the nipples. “I can wear this in the Sexiest Slut contest during The Games. Girl, if I win all that money, I can seriously think about retiring.”

  “That’s chump change compared to what you can make wit’ me,” Reba said.

  Baby Blue laughed. “I wouldn’t call a hundred grand chump change. Plus, last year’s winner impressed one of the celebrity judges so much, he married her. Now she lives in some mansion in New Jersey.”

  Reba fingered the blue leather bikini and said, “Dream on, girlfriend.”

  “So what else you wanna ask me?”

  “Be my partner,” Reba said. “I can’t tell you the details just yet, but know that you’ll get paid when it all go down in a couple weeks.”

  “Sounds too vague,” Baby Blue said. “And if you tryin’ to buy me in”—she put the bikini back—“then I can buy my own shit.”

  “Naw, girl!” Reba grabbed the bikini and put it back in Baby Blue’s hands.

  I’m gon’ make this bitch cooperate wit’ my plan one way or the other. She the only one I trust enough to make it happen now, ’cause Duke only gave me three days to recruit my team. Smiling, Reba said sweetly, “This just a treat ’cause you my girl. C’mon, let’s go try this on.”

  As Reba marched toward the dressing rooms with an armful of clothes, the Bang Squad’s hit song, “Freakalicious,” blasted from her phone. “Girl, just a minute. It’s Gerard. This pussy gave him a lobotomy last night. Bet he callin’ to ask for help rememberin’ his own damn name.”

  Reba held the phone so Baby Blue couldn’t see ANTOINE flash on the display. “Hey, big daddy. We shoppin’ thanks to you.” Reba smiled at Baby Blue, who looked tense. “Yeah, I do. Ain’t nothin’ like help from a fine-ass man to save the day for D-town’s workin’ girls.”

  Baby Blue drew her brows together and mouthed, “Fine?” She rolled her eyes, knowing damn well Gerard was not fine.