Thug-A-Licious

Chapter 1 It was the night before our critical championship game against the Lakers and I was chilling in the G-Spot, watching some fine-ass stripper work the stage. "Do that shit, Honey Dew! Show these niggahs how you can work them pliers you got stuck up in your pussy!" The girl was built with perfect proportions and every dick in the Spot was hard, including mine. The G-Spot was a gentlemen's club for celebrities and hustlers deep in the game. I was a successful rapper and a rising baller with long paper, so I got a lot of nods of awe and recognition, and a few lame niggahs even stared at me, wishing they had my skills. I'd had some beef with niggahs in the Spot a few years earlier, so after glancing around to make sure everthang was straight, I put my hand over the rock growing in my lap and sat back to enjoy the show. The lights went dim, and suddenly a single spotlight flashed over Honey Dew's outrageous body. She gave us a few slow, nasty moves, and niggahs clapped and broke out the dollars as she bent over and spread her fine ass cheeks. She laughed and winked over her shoulder at niggahs in the audience, then squatted down and sucked a full bottle of Coke off the floor, gripping the neck with nothing but her tight-ass pussy. "Dat ain't shit! Dat ain't about shit!" some drunk poseur standing beside me with gold fronts on his teeth yelled. "Dey got dat dere shit beat in the dirty souf! I know a ho down at Club Magic who can puff a cigarette with her pussy. And dat pussy be blowing perfect Os too!" I prolly shoulda been resting at the crib on the night before a big game, but G had sent me a personal invitation, and I wasn't about to turn him down. Some major shit had gone down between G and my cousins a few years back that coulda got bloody. By showing up alone tonight I was sending him and his boys a clear message that Thug Williams was just as gangsta as ever. Don't let that NBA shit fool you. There wasn't a drop of bitch in my blood. Not a dime's worth of fear was in my pockets when it came time to roll up in G's Spot. I stood up and clapped hard for Honey Dew, then tossed her a bill that fluttered to the floor at her feet. She scooped up all her cash and gyrated her juicy ass off the stage, and I stayed on my feet as the DJ introduced a dancer called Money-Making Monique. "Goddamn!" I leaned forward so I could see better. This jawn was rocking her hips like a motherfucker. Her long skinny fingers was rubbing and squeezing her firm breasts, and from where I was standing it looked like she mighta had three nipples. Monique was a true freak. She did some damage to that pole that had my collar choking real tight, but when the music changed and a bunch of big niggahs in tiny drawers came out shaking their dicks for the ladies, I knew it was time for me to bounce. I walked over to the bar and gave a hustler named Moonie some respect. He was real loyal to G, but T.C. had dug him back in the day so I knew he was solid. "Whattup," Moonie said, showing me love. I stayed cool. "Handling my shit, man. You know how it be." "Your album is hot, man. You been hooping like a motherfucker, too. The Knicks needed you, man. They ain't been this hot in years. Keep 'em lifted, yo." Even though G had sent me a personal invitation, nothing in his Spot came free. I'd dropped a grand to get in the door, and another one to cover my drinks and a piece of pussy too. I was cool with it tho' 'cause I knew I'd get more than my money's worth in one of them back rooms. Some wild, funky sex always helped me getNoire is the author of 'Thug-A-Licious', published 2006 under ISBN 9780345486912 and ISBN 0345486919.