Chapter 4

By the time I made it out of my executive luxury home on Quaker Lane after leaving the post office in D.C., it was little after 6 p.m. Rush hour traffic was really a headache. It was a good thing that my home was located right across the 14th Street bridge, about a fifteen minute drive from the District of Corruption.

During the ride home, I received a few phone calls from Safire, my old flame before I went to prison. I ran into her one day while visiting a buddy over at D.C. Jail. She was visiting some guy who ultimately embarrassed her in front of everyone in the visiting hall.

I caught up to her at the end of the visit and gave her some words of wisdom and encouragement. She tried to throw the booty on me again, but I politely declined. We talked for a while after that and I told her that we couldn’t ever have sex, but we could work on being friends again.

Apparently, she ate that shit all the way up, because she hasn’t stop blowing my phone up in the twenty-eight months since my return to society. I sent her ass straight to voicemail because I wasn’t in the mood to hear her begging me to come around her and spend some quality time with her. She knew I had a girl and she still tried to give me the puss. I talked with her from time to time on the phone, but I always managed to avoid going around her because I didn’t trust the little head in my pants. I wanted to remain faithful to my fiancée Markita, and hanging around Safire’s sexy ass would only cause major problems in my life - something that I didn’t need right now.

After entering the kitchen and breakfast area of my 3,200 square foot castle, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was home and I still couldn’t believe it. I went from living in a 6x9 prison cell to living in this huge Columbia Brougham stunning five-bedroom home. It had multiple turned gables, a spacious octagonal study with vaulted ceilings, oversized Palladian windows, large family room with a fireplace, a living room next to my study, and a huge center hall that opened up to the second floor overlook. I had another staircase that led up to the second floor from the kitchen, which reminded of how the kitchen area was designed on the sitcom A Different Strokes starring Gary Coleman. We had a powder room downstairs on the first floor, four huge walk-in closets, and my master suite with its own bathroom and sitting room. After Markita got done with the interior decorating, I felt like I was living up in one of them MTV Cribs type of joints. That’s a helluva accomplishment for a convicted felon who never finished high school, but sometimes I felt bad for doing the things I had to do to live this way.

Once I reached the octagonal study that I had turned into a home office, I took off my shoes, slipped on my slippers, and headed over to my desk with all the mail I had picked up. After taking a seat in the plush wingback office chair, I began reading every letter. Some letters were inquiries from authors about how they could get their books published by Omerta Press. Other letters came from a few good men who were still trapped in the struggle. Some I knew and met during my ten year prison bid. Others were referrals from those good men who knew about my passion for cleaning up the game that had been overrun and infested with rats.

I opened the fourth letter only to see my old friend, Andre “Dre” Darden’s jail photo and a greeting card. I opened the greeting card and smiled at his short missive.

 

What’s up?     

I see you done went out there and forgot all about a real nigga, Shorty. I ain’t mad at cha’ though. It’s outta sight, outta mind, huh? Ay, Shorty, I just wanted to let you know I been hearing ‘bout you all the way up here in the mountains of Kentucky. All I’ma say is move with caution and trust no one. Holla at me when you can, Shorty.

Much love and respect,

Dre

 

Damn, I forgot all about him all this time I been home, I scolded myself while conjuring up memories of the wild youngster from Congress Park Southeast who was out at Terre Haute Penitentiary with me. He had an asshole full of time because of three snitches that did the crimes with him, but they didn’t hold water and sold Slim out. I couldn’t understand how those rats could walk the streets with their heads held high, knowing they committed the ultimate betrayal to the game.

I turned on my desktop computer to check my e-mails and Facebook page to see how many orders I got for Big Nate’s book, No Turning Back. Once I saw I had 150 regular orders to fill and a few pre-orders from major book stores like Shiptoinmates.com, Amazon.com and Barnes & Noble, I felt good, which urged me to hit up the Western Union website. I wired some money to Big Nate, Marquette Cheadle, Azariah “Head” Israel, Michael Lucas, Dre, Titus Webster, Samuel “Chin” Carson, Fat Bug, Lil Marvin, Jo-Jo Green, Wee-Wee, and a few other good men to help them cope with the expenses of living in the Federal penal system. I looked at it as the more I gave, the more blessings I’d get in return, and I also could write them off in my taxes for Omerta Press.

One huge blessing came in the form of me selling 8,000 copies of Big Nate’s book, working him as the flagship author for Omerta Press, which seemed to be doing fairly good for an upstart small business. Even though Big Nate’s novel was doing okay numbers, I needed to give the people something new and refreshing to keep the publishing company in the mix with all the others out there who were saturating the game with a bunch of watered-down bullshit. I really think that chick Zetta might be what I needed for Omerta Press.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, Markita came sashaying into my office naked as the day she was born. Our son had to be asleep, because that’s the only time she walked around the house nude, rocking her 6” inch Cesare Paciotti suede knee-high come-fuck-me boots. She got all her $953 worth and more out of those boots.

“Hey, Baby Daddy, it’s feeding time,” she said while strutting over to my oak desk. Mating signals were dancing in her eyes. She got right up on the desk and opened up her legs wide, putting the swollen mound of her pussy inches away from my face.

“Feeding time, huh?” I asked, watching her finger fuck herself and rub her juices all over her clitoris.

“Mmm, yesss, boo. Bon appetit,” she moaned and then grabbed my head.

Before I could move, she had pulled my face forward to make contact with her juicy nectar. While using my lips lightly to skin her meaty pussy lips, I had my fingers playing in circles on her budding clitoris. She squirmed a bit, moaning loudly, encouraging my probing tongue to dive inside her pulsating slit…

“Mmmm…ssss…” Markita moaned, licking her lips, while watching me go downtown on her.

As she felt my snaking tongue slithering inside her, she slightly adjusted her pelvis and began massaging my head, settling on my ears. Then she grabbed my ears and began humping my face. Moving up, I nibbled on her clit gently and quickly returned back to the meaty fold of her pussy lips. I lapped up one liquid spray after another from inside to outside, up to her clitoris and back inside her oozing nectar.

“Oh my gawd, boo…I’m…I’m…I’m cu-cuummmmiiinnggg!” she shrieked, swinging her legs over my shoulders.

As soon as I felt the ooze of her love juices flooding her tunnel, I lapped them up with pleasure, slurping loudly. I got my jeans down as much as I could from my sitting position while opening her up with my tongue. I explored every fold, sucking her clitoris several times like I was nursing on a breast and trying to extract milk. When I had her at my mercy, I finally eased up to slide my rock-hard manhood lightly up and down her hot, pulsating slit.

“Ssss… Melo…C’mon, baby…Stick it in, baby…Hurry up,” she moaned, her eyes wild with lust.

Ignoring her request, I stuffed most of her left breast in my mouth, sucking on her nipple, which was harder than a bullet. I moved to her right nipple and back to the left one as my hands caressed her soft flesh.

“Pleeeasse, fuck me, baby.” Her breath caught expectantly as she felt my hard pole inching inside the mouth of her moist coochie.

She rose, resting on her elbows, trying to inch forward, so I dipped inside the swollen mound of her pussy lips. I extracted my steely tube, beating it against the crack of her soft butt cheeks. The more I teased her pussy flesh and sucked on her titties, the more she demanded that I penetrate her love oven.

“I kinda like this better,” I teased as she wrapped her fingers around my throbbing hard-on and pumped it several times.

“Boy, you better stop playing with me,” she moaned, squeezing my joystick, yanking it roughly towards the mouth of her pussy sheath.

I paid attention to her glassy, lust-crazed eyes. They were focused between her legs, staring at my love muscle, which she had aimed at her slit for contact.

“I been thinking about this dick all morning,” she revealed, grinning seductively while easing my pipe inside the weeping mouth of her tunnel.

She was so tight and wet, forcing me to stroke her slow, gently and cautiously, out of fear of climaxing too soon. When I got balls deep inside her thrilling twat and our pubic hairs met, I began churning her sugary walls with my boner like one does when they’re trying to make butter from scratch.

“Ssss…ooooh…fuck yeah…fuck yes! Gimme that dick…give me all of it!” she cried, wrapping her legs around my hips and digging her spiky heels in my ass cheeks, urging me on to stroke faster and faster.

Her inner muscles squeezed repeatedly, thrilling my pounding piston to a wonderful tension that ached for release.

“Fuck me, Melo! Beat it up! Ssss…beat dis…pussy up, nigga!” she huffed, hugging me to her, raking her nails up and down my back.

Writhing beneath me, Markita began shaking and crying out joyously. Knowing she was climaxing again, I sank my hammer to the balls and came down on her open lips with a passionate kiss at her next attempt at a scream.

“Mmmm…” she moaned, tongue-kissing me back and pumping her hips back to swallow more of my driving meat into her oozing, suctioning love nest.

When I felt her pulsating walls vibrating and contracting all over my jabbing meat, I couldn’t hold back the built-up lust and tension consuming me.

“You want me…to fu-fuck…ya-ya-ARRRGGGHHHHH!” I groaned joyously, feeling my hot splashes of semen rocketing into her well-oiled depths.

As soon as I released my babies inside her tunnel, peace washed over me. I held her in my arms and tenderly kissed her face, her nose, and her mouth.

“I love you, baby, ‘cause you da best I ever had,” I sang, mimicking that hit single by the rapper Drake.

“I love you more, Baby Daddy.” She grinned. “Thanks for the compliment, and I’ma really thank you later on tonight with my special treat after you get off work.”

I got hyped, knowing that she wanted to make tongue and mouth crawl all around my love muscle. Even though I was totally satisfied with Markita’s freaky lovemaking skills, for some strange reason, that little sexy chick Zetta from the post office stayed on my mind the entire time I was making love to my soon-to-to-wife, which frightened me.

I felt my heart beating wildly against my chest as I tried to ignore the guilt I felt - the kind of guilt that a man feels after cheating on the woman he loves. The kind of carnal thought I was having about that woman Zetta urged me on to imagine myself pounding deep inside Zetta instead of Markita with a hungry appetite and repetitive thunder.

Now I felt like some shit. I hurtled down an emotional sliding board and landed in the sands of regret.