Page 3 of The Mob: Shio Cuppacio
Rema’s lyrics were as exotic and exhilarating as Bahati was. If I didn’t know any better, I would think that he wrote the song just for her.
Still not missing a beat, her hips swayed hypnotically to the beat. Any other nigga would have been entranced. But Shio Cuppacio wasn’t any other nigga. I was a fucking king, even if I was living slightly above that of a guard, because I damn sure wasn’t a peasant. The throne was mine for the taking, and unfortunately for Bahati, I wouldn’t be sweeping up the princess in order to be crowned. Nah, I was straight snatching that shit, even if the current king’s head had to come with it.
Running my hand down the middle of her perky breasts, I let my fingers glide down to her taut waist and didn’t stop until I got to her lace panties. Scoping them to the side with my index finger, her glistening box stared back at me, leaving a sticky mess all over my abdomen as she danced.
I’d never run inside of Bahati raw, even though I knew she was clean as a whistle. The last person who had my dick without a barrier had been too old to be fucking me and had been the one who introduced me to the world of sex. Tonight, though, she'd get what she'd been begging for.
Tugging harder, I ripped her panties right from her bottom, making her gasp in surprise. “Those were Victoria’s Secret, bebe.”
I’d more than likely bought the motherfuckers. The way I saw it, she’d worn them for me, so that meant I could do whatever the fuck I wanted to them.
Lifting her by the waist like she didn’t weigh a hundred and seventy pounds, I lined my dick up with her pussy, and dropped her down on my throbbing dick.
“Ohhhh! Bebe… you know meeehhh,” she half-sang and half-remixed the fucking song as I filled her up.
Keeping my expression neutral, even though she was squeezing the fuck out of my dick, I let my head hit the pillow as she did the same thing on my dick as she did on my stomach.
“So, so biiiiig, bebe.”
The song repeated while she twisted her lower half. With the way Bahati was working the dick, she could have asked for anything, and a nigga would have gone broke giving it to her, except I wasn’t just any nigga. If I hadn’t learned anything in the last few months, I’d learned discipline. It was the only way I was going to be able to get where the fuck I was trying to go. I couldn’t just think for me, I had to think for the fucking team.
She was so fucking wet, so fucking tight, and her sing-song voice, along with the sweet smells of her arousal, was enough to send a nigga into overdrive. While the dancing was cute, I needed to fuck.
Hooking my arm around her waist, I lifted us from the bed, her legs locking behind my back, and then pinned her down. I stepped completely out of my pajama pants and grabbed her ankles. Her eyes were more slanted than they normally were—another thing that she did when she knew she was about to get her fucking back broken.
I pushed her legs so far back that her ankles now were next to her ears. Hearing one of her bones pop in the process, I gauged her face for any indication of pain. Shifting my eyes, I looked down at her pussy dripping and her booty hole winking at me.She looked good enough to eat, but none of that would be going on. As bad as I’d wanted to taste it over the years, I refrained. She wasn’t endgame—I’d always known that—so I held back. Now that I know what I know, I’m glad I haven’t let her burn my fucking head. She was a piece on the chessboard, and I controlled the center.
“Bebe.” She brought me back. I’d zoned the fuck out.
“Keep them legs back, Bahati,” I demanded.
Placing my hand back around her neck, I sank into her wetness, pussy sucking me in like wet sand. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as her pussy flowed like a fucking river. With her mug contorted, she was making the ugliest faces even though she’d been blessed in the physical department by the Most High. Trying to concentrate on the feel of her pussy so that my near flaccid dick could stay hard, I was almost losing the battle. I wasn’t one of those young niggas that couldn’t get his dick up. I knew most of the niggas from around the way were too drugged out to fuck, but that wasn’t me. Did I do drugs? Yes, every fucking day, but that didn’t affect my performance. The only time I couldn’t fuck was when I was processing, and if I was processing, that meant a motherfucker had fucked up.
Bahati chewed on her bottom lip as the Afrobeat’s blared from the speakers. Twisting my torso, I hit her with a curve that had her back arching and nearly lifting off the bed. With my arm around her neck, I kept her pinned in place as I gave her mediocre dick, but with the way she was whooping and hollering, you would have thought I’d been putting down my best moves.
Closing her eyes, her nails began to glide up my arm that had been holding her down. The tingling trail that it left behind felt good—too good. Touches from a woman that I liked had always been a turn-on of mine. I didn’t need a woman to dress in lingerie or prance around naked, even though it was very muchappreciated. Simple touches like scratching my scalp, grabbing my hand, or wrapping her arms around me did it every time.
My dick hardened, and Bahati’s moans intensified.
Bahati. Pretty, black-ass Bahati had been a good arrangement. Great pussy, independent, own spot for a nigga to crash, a great cook, even though some of her native dishes were a bit much at times, I’d enjoyed her. She was a freak in the sheets and a means for a nigga to make some money. I’d told myself I wasn’t going to get comfortable, but each time her papa came through with that pack, I spent more and more time in her bed. No matter how much of my dick she stomached, I had been upfront and honest. I wouldn’t be her African Prince. For one, I was Black and Italian, and a king couldn’t beprince’d.
Pushing the lust to the back of my mind, I focused on what I’d come over here for. It wasn’t fish and peas. It wasn’t even pussy. It was to scratch one of the things off my list that grew longer and longer the more I thought. One less thing, though, meant I could breathe a little easier and blink a little slower. There wouldn’t be no sleeping going on any time soon, but I’d do a long-ass nod off after today.
A stinging feeling shot up my arm as Bahati’s nails dug into my skin. Using my free hand, I slapped her arms away, and at the same time, her eyes popped open. They were no longer sleek with passion; they were bulging with fear, and the pressure from her chin digging into my hand did nothing to remove my hands from around her neck.
I didn’t let up.
I kept on squeezing.
I kept on fucking.
“Bahati, baby. You know how important taking care of my family is to me. So why would you gamble with your life over some shit you knew wasn’t committal from the jump?”
Sliding my dick out, I thrust back in, and even though her airway was restricted, her pussy was the wettest it had ever been. My dick was now at its full length, and I’d have to say, this was the best sex I’d ever had. Speeding my pumps up, I was beating her pussy at the same tempo as the sporadic music playing.
“For the last few months… your papa has been giving us the run around… with our supply, Bahati.”
She tried gasping for air, reaching for my hands, but I didn’t need my fucking DNA under her nails, so again, I knocked them shits away. She was so wet that her secretions slapped on my stomach each time I entered her. Her face had gone from a shiny black to a bluish-ash pale, but she was still holding on.
