Corrupted
A Serial E-book
By
Chapter 10
The City That Never Sleeps
Antonio looked over at Darlene while she slept in bed. She was so beautiful that he stared at her with his eyes adjusted to the dark. Once he had gotten enough of his fix, he took a deep breath and looked up at the claustrophobic ceiling.
I had no idea she would be anything like this, he told himself, grinning. It’s a pleasant surprise. But now . . . she’ll be heading back home to Denver tomorrow.
That part of the equation dimed the brightness of his radiant smile. He began to miss the girl before she even left him. He wondered when she would be back, and how long it would take her to decide to move there to New York.
I guess she needs to settle in on her publishing deal first, he imagined. A hundred thousand dollars, huh? He looked around the tiny hotel room and smiled again. That would buy her a much better place than this. Her closet will probably be as big as this place.
He thought about that and was happy and hopeful for her. He imagined Darlene becoming the hottest new thing on the New York literary scene. They were already priming her for an immediate rise. She definitely had the looks and the sizzle for it. And now he knew, for a fact, that the Denver, Colorado snow bunny had the real deal sex appeal to go right along with it. However, Tony’s grin and hope quickly turned into paranoia.
What if she blows up so big that I become a small fry to her? he panicked. What if I can’t find my own publishing deal, and then everyone advises her to choose a more high-profile boyfriend for her public image?
What if she chooses Jackson Smith to hang out with? he envisioned. That would be the worst, especially after we all met up together. Vincent Biddle was already pushing her that way. And if she doesn’t like Jackson, who else will they try to link her to, a popular athlete or a movie star?
Every public couple seems to be a match made in media heaven these days, he thought. So what if I don’t make the cut? Will this be a one stand for us . . . ? Shit!
He couldn’t get the thoughts of losing her out of his head, and his paranoia kept him wide awake, even though his body was exhausted.
I guess I’ll have to figure out how to sleep again once she’s gone, he mused. And that fucking sucks! Who would ever think I would be whipped this soon? I thought girls were the ones to get whipped after a one-night stand.
I’m such a fucking wuss! he told himself. My sisters would all laugh at me. This feels like something fresh to write about though, the fear of loneliness. I could only imagine how lonely monsters feel. No wonder they’re all so crazy about women. Who the hell wants to be left alone at night . . . ?
Except for fucking zombies, maybe, he countered. They don’t care about anything but eating warm flesh. But when are zombies ever alone? It’s usually like, a million of those fuckers! You kill one and ten more pop up even meaner. But a werewolf . . .? He’s as lonely as a mummy away from his tomb. That’s why he’s out there howling at the moon at night.
Antonio began to smirk and chuckle softly at his crazy, late night monster thoughts. He looked over at Darlene again to make sure that she was still asleep. Once he was certain she was, he stretched his neck skyward from the pillow and let out a soft wolf howl, “Ou-wuuuuu . . . Ou-wuuuuuuu . . .”
DeWayne McDonald couldn’t sleep that night either. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning at his place, and he still wondered how he had allowed Amber to fall asleep in his low-setting, king-sized bed without fucking him, sucking him off, jacking his dick or anything.
This pretty bitch is sleeping like a baby, he thought as he lied his in bed next her. I guess I was the one sleeping before, huh? But that’s before I knew this bitch carried knives on her. But if I told her to go home because of that shit, I’d look like a pussy. I never told her to go home before.
I guess she ain’t scared of me at all though, he thought. If I wanted to, while she’s still asleep, I could reach over and strangle her ass before she got to her knife. But really, I just feel like fucking her from the back real good, like in prison.
I still remember that Denzel Washington scene from He Got Game, he mused. He jumped on that white girl from the back, straight from the penitentiary. But he still had his clothes on and shit. That ain’t real fucking. But the scene in that Mexican movie, American Me, with James Olmos was way more vicious when he fucked his girl. That shit was real!
He thought about Amber sleeping there peacefully in her usual t-shirt and panties and became anxious.
Would she be mad if I tried to fuck her while she slept? he wondered. Would she wake up and try to stab me and shit . . . ? This is fucking crazy! She got my dick hard and everything in here, thinking about this shit. It’s like that knife of hers turned me the fuck on, but in nervous kind of way.
He even smiled at himself. I’m fucking buggin’, but I’m ready to do this shit too, he admitted. Fuck her damn knife! Since Amber used “the patch” to prevent any slip-ups of pregnancy, he knew that he could raw bone her. So he leaned over in her direction and plotted out his moves.
Okay, so . . . I pull down the covers, grip her panties down, open her legs up and get in between them from the back, and then keep her body penned on her stomach, he plotted. But what if she spin over real fast and kick her legs? She might feel like I’m trying to rape her . . . But then again . . . if she’s all violent like that, she might just like the shit.
Forced to caution from his thoughts, D played out several scenarios in his head before coming to a conclusion.
Okay, so . . . I gotta make her feel pretty while I’m fucking her. And if she don’t go for that . . . then I’ll just leave her the fuck alone for the night and call it a day. She won’t stab me just for trying, he reasoned.
He reached over and gently pulled down his dark blue sheets from her back to see if she would respond to it. When she didn’t, he starred down at her pink satin panties and plotted on getting them down gently as well.
Just keep everything cool and calm, he told himself. You don’t even want her to feel it yet. I don’t want her to feel nothing until I stick it in.
Looking like a mad scientist in a horror movie, he attempted to pull Amber’s panties down with the two thumbs and index fingers of his hands, while barely touching her.
So far, so good, he told himself as he got them halfway down her smooth and dimpled ass. But then he needed to tug them from the front, where her body weight would definitely make it noticeable.
All right, do I yank them down from here and go for broke, or try to keep peeling them off easy? Because I know she’s gonna feel this part, he assumed. But her pink satin panties were so smooth against her soft, light brown skin, that he was able to keep peeling them down gently to her knees without yanking them.
Oh shit, I’m almost there! he exclaimed. Now if I can just get them off of her legs.
When Amber moved her right foot, she seemed to make it easier. And that only made D more excited.
Aw, she know what time it is! She’s down to let me do it, he cheered. His dick was already standing at full attention in his boxers. So he yanked them down to get himself in position behind her. Only then did she respond to it.
“Mmmpt mmm,” she whimpered and tried to squirm away.
But it was too late for that. D was already in position behind her and in between her legs. And it wasn’t as if she was a big girl who could readily toss him. Amber barely weighed over a hundred pounds to his one-hundred and eighty.
“Aww, you pretty as hell, girl. You beautiful. Don’t you know that?” he whispered as he aimed his tip for her sweet spot. Once he found it, nice and soft, he forced more of his body weight, pressure and strength on her lower back to hold her
still and steady.
“Aww, baby girrrl,” he moaned as his tip found its way in.
Amber felt it and moved forward in bed, as if trying to escape it. But that only made DeWayne grip both of her hips beneath him and force himself deeper inside of her.
“Mmmm,” Amber moaned.
Knowing that he had her, D pumped furiously from behind, talking shit to her all the way. “Oh, you so sweet, girl. Oooh, you sweet!” he told her.
Feeling his urgent thrusts inside of her, Amber raised her head and panted through an open mouth. There was nothing left she could do to stop it but scream in vain like a blonde-haired white girl in a horror movie. But who would come to rescue her in the heart of Brooklyn? So she took it like a tough, inner-city black chick instead.
Damn, this shit feels gooood! she acknowledged of DeWayne’s deep and steady stroke. It was a hot and slippery torpedo, suddenly pushing its way in and out of her body in the middle of the night. All the while, D continued to talk to her.
“I want you so bad, girl. I want you!” he told her. “I can’t let you go to sleep on me like that tonight, girrrl. You look too damned good for that.”
Oh my God, I’m ’bout to cum already! Amber thought to herself. I’m about cummmm! I never came this fast!
D felt a strong climax coming on as well, much faster than he wanted it to. But it felt that good to him. It wasn’t just talk. The fact that he was able to do it to a dangerous and beautiful Chinese Jamaican, who had a sharp knife on her, made it all the more enticing, and much more so than it had been previously.
This nut ’bout to explode through her fucking ears! he imagined. I’m gon’ bust her open like a water fountain. God yesss!
So he kept pushing, shoving, pulling, squeezing and pumping as the anticipation of an explosion rose higher and higher through his system. And as he continued to work his way up to his climax, Amber squeezed her eyes shut and felt hers coming on already.
“Uuunnnnhhhh!” she moaned, squeezing out her love juice as she trembled beneath him. But D didn’t even acknowledge it. He was too busy going to work on her.
Oh my God! He’s killing it! He’s killing it! she told herself as her head and body bobbed forward in a steady rhythm with his thrusts. There was no letting up until he felt what he wanted to feel and did what he wanted to do. And in a second, Amber felt good and sloppy, while working her way toward a second serving.
All the while, DeWayne continued to talk shit. “I’m gon’ let it go, girrrl. I’m gon’ let it gooo,” he moaned to her. “You gon’ let me cummm?”
“Yeeaah, go ahead. Do it,” she moaned back.
“I’m about to. I’m about to do it. I’m about to do it.”
“Goooooo,” Amber squealed, releasing her joy for a second time before he could have his first. She squeezed her legs together and locked them up on him, making it harder for him to move. But he no longer needed to. He had finally reached his climax, where his body jerked forward on its own, pulsating with the essence of new life that squirted all into her warm body. And Amber felt of it all, like a flood from the ocean, rising up against the shore and slamming against the rocks.
“Oooohhh, shiiittttt!” she moaned back to him. But D had nothing else to say. He didn’t want to destroy the moment as he closed his own eyes and enjoyed his sweet release, imagining her body being filled up with his nut from head to toe, as if she were an air balloon that needed his cum to rise instead of his breath.
When he was done, he fell across her back and breathed heavy into left ear.
“Damn, girl. Damn!” he huffed, all out of breath.
It took a minute for Amber to recuperate from it as well, and then asked him innocently, “Why you wake me up and do that?”
D heard that and laughed breathlessly. “What? Shit, girl, if it felt good for you like it did for me, then you already know why.”
Amber smiled and said nothing. If his ass only knew! she thought to herself as the last of his cum squeezed out and emptied into her body. She could feel him go limp inside of her, and they had both been satisfied.
Now he’s gonna have the whole fucking bed all messy, she thought. But I can’t complain. It was worth it.
Chelsea Christmas couldn’t say that she felt worth it at her hotel room in Times Square, Manhattan that night. She had gotten what she wanted out of the young, impressionable singer from Gary, Indiana, but after taking a hot shower and relaxing in her bed alone, she felt guilty about it.
“Awww, that little boy was so disappointed that I didn’t give him any punanny after squeezing his pretty face between my legs,” she reflected as she checked her cell phone beside her. She saw that she had missed his call while in the shower. It was too late to call him back, so she shrugged it off instead. “But that’s what his young ass get for going down on a stranger. He don’t know what I could have had.”
Chelsea had sent the R&B singer, G. Flow, back to his room early enough for him to call up some girls from the New York club scene if he wanted to. All he needed to do was crash a few nightclubs and parties before they all let out.
“I’m sure he’ll have no problem pulling a couple of New York hotties up into his room with his entourage with him,” Chelsea commented, grabbing the television remote to channel surf. “That’s just what they do,” she mumbled. “But me? I gotta get back home in the morning. So I need these last few hours of rest before it’s time to rise and shine.”
As she began to settle under the covers in a Miami Dolphins t-shirt with plain white panties, there was a hard and sudden beat on her hotel room door.
BOOMP! BOOMP! BOOMP! BOOMP!
Chelsea shook in bed, startled by it. “What the hell?” She jumped up to go look and see if someone had the wrong door. When she looked out of her peephole, she viewed a tall, wide and dark, black man in his twenties, wearing all dark clothes. He looked like a football lineman, the six-foot-four, three-hundred pound type who wore the oversized uniforms that she could swim in.
“Ummm, who are looking for? You got the wrong room,” she told him through her locked and latched door.
“Are you Chelsea?” he asked her.
She paused. “Why?”
“You had company earlier?”
She hesitated again. “Who wants to know? And who are you?”
“My boy, G. Flow, wants to know. You got company in there now?”
Chelsea stood there and thought, Is this shit really happening? He called his damn bodyguard on me!
She said, “If I did, then that’s my business. But it’s a little too late for all this right now. So, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some sleep.”
“Ay, wait a minute,” G. Flow stepped into the doorway and addressed her. His real name was Gervin Thompson, and she didn’t know that he was even out there.
Chelsea eyed him through the peephole and was pissed. She snapped, “Motherfucker, you don’t come back to my room with some big-ass bruiser beating on my damn door this late at night. What is wrong with you?” she scolded him. “If you had a problem you needed to handle, then you needed to be grown enough to handle it yourself!”
“Let’s just talk about it,” he told her. “We need to finish something.”
Chelsea cringed behind the door. “Are you serious?” she asked him. “Little boy, I don’t know you like that, and I don’t wanna know you. Nor do you know who I know,” she hinted. “I will have your whole career fucked up. So I advise you to just go on back to your room, get yourself some sleep, and pay it forward. Okay?”
She hoped he would listen to logic and reason instead causing a commotion in the hotel hallway late at night. Even his big bruiser seemed to agree with her. He looked at the young R&B artist and shrugged with a grin.