ISBN-10:
0-9722990-1-7
ISBN-13: 978-0-9722990-1-5
Retail Price: $15.00
Paperback; 389 pages
Publication Date: November 2003
Trim Size: 6 x 9
Chapter 1
All hell is about
to break loose.
Jonah uses his key to blow through the apartment like the Tasmanian
Devil, throwing shit everywhere and overturning furniture. We meet
eye-to-eye. The coldness in his eyes sends chills up and down my spine.
“What happened to you last night, girl?” he spews in a southern drawl,
enunciating every word. He lowers his head while his eyeballs roll up
toward his brow. A satanic smile spreads across his full lips. This
bastard looks like the one who flew over the cuckoo’s nest. Like a
vulture, he starts encircling me, sizing up his prey.
“I was unavailable,” I stutter, biting down on my bottom lip, causing a
tear. I lick my lips nervously, tasting the fresh, salty blood.
His expression holds a note of mockery. “Yeah, I gathered that much.”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” I plea, backing myself against the
wall, fear and anger knotting my insides.
His tall figure stiffens. “You damn right it won’t happen again,” he
snarls, temper flaring.
Jonah’s temper, when crossed, could be almost uncontrollable. Fear of my
fate weakens my body. Like a rag doll, he grabs me by the throat and
slams my head against the wall. A sharp pain shoots from the back of my
head to the front, bringing on a serious migraine.
“The next time you miss an appointment, girl, I will put my foot up that
pretty lil’ ass of yours,” he bellows, leaning in close. His
liquor-drenched breath blows like the Sahara across my cheek. “You hear
me?” he barks, ready to attack my jugular. The stench coming from the
bowels of his stomach is foul and making my stomach gurgle.
“Yeah, I got it.” I gulp hard as the hot tears flow down my cheeks.
Jonah releases his grip, takes a step backward and lightly fingers a
loose tendril of hair away from my brow. The toothpick dangling from his
bottom lip is held in place by dried saliva. He looks me up and down as
though I am on an auctioning block and he’s making a bid. “You know you
gotta be punished for makin’ Jonah look like a fool in front of his
client.” He turns his back on me and walks toward the black marble and
brass dining room set that I found at one of those posh Beverly Hills
secondhand shops. Jonah carries himself with a conceding air of
self-confidence. With his back to me, he clears his throat. “Now you
know we can’t have that.” He looks over his shoulder at me while making
sucking noises with the toothpick between his teeth. “You know what I
mean, Maya?”
“Jonah, please don’t hurt me,” I cry. “Please, not in the face. I have
an audition tomorrow.”
He cocks his head to one side. “Naw, I won’t touch that pretty face
‘cause that, along with that tight ass of yours, is what makes me my
money.” He takes off his camel colored, wool cardigan jacket and tosses
it across the dining room chair. “I got something better you can do.”
I feel like I am eight years old again, taken back to the time when
Daddy sent me out to pull a switch off a tree because I bit the
babysitter on her inner thigh. I sunk my fangs deep into her inner thigh
until the white meat showed. Who told her she had the right to spank me?
So what if I was running around acting like a spoiled brat when I
should’ve been in bed? She called Mama and Daddy at the Jones’, where
they were having dinner, and told them what I had done. Later that
night, Daddy came storming in the house yelling, “Maya, go get a
switch!” Reluctantly, I pulled the smallest switch I could find from the
oak tree that leaned in the front yard and took it inside to Daddy. That
only added fuel to the fire. “Oh, you’re trying to be a little smart
ass,” he said. Daddy yanked my pants down, turned me over his knee and
tore my ass up with the palm of his strong, rough hand. The babysitter
stood nearby watching and laughing. Free, China, and Jade were upstairs
peeping over the banister. Daddy whipped me so bad I peed on him, which
made him whip me even harder. Daddy was a massive presence. He had an
air of authority and demanded obedience from his daughters. Back then,
it was called discipline. Today, an ass whipping like that would be
considered child abuse that could land your ass in jail.
Don’t think that babysitter got away with that shit, though, ‘cause she
didn’t. Free was furious that, because of her, I had received the
whipping of my life and she was determined to get her back, and get her
back good. The next time the babysitter came to sit for us, Free poured
the soda from her Sprite bottle down the toilet and filled it with
Citrate of Magnesium and Epsom salt. The last we saw of her was her
back. She shitted all the way home and never sat for us again. Word got
around about the instant laxative, and Mama and Daddy caught hell trying
to get another babysitter. Eventually, they gave up and decided that
Free was old enough to take care of us. It got a lil’ too good to Free,
though — she planted switches to our tails every chance she got,
especially mine. “This gone hurt me just as much as it’s gone hurt you,”
she would say, all the while laughing.
“Jonah, I didn’t mean to stand up your client,” I quickly say,
attempting to smooth over a hostile situation. “I got delayed at my
audition and I might get the part. It’s not the lead, but if I get this
gig, it will lead to bigger and better things. . .” I gasp at the look
of scorn in his eyes. “But, I promise you, it won’t happen again, baby,”
I whimper, my voice fragile and shaking.
“Bitch, will you please shut the fuck up?” he snaps. His voice, which
was generally deep with a rough edge, was now crisp and clear, causing
me to jump and tumble backward onto the sofa. “You ‘bout to make my
goddamn head hurt.”
I jump to my feet and rush to the kitchen, getting the hell out of his
way. “Would you like a cocktail or something, baby?” I ask, hoping to
calm him down so that he would change his mind about my punishment,
whatever that is. “Let’s have a drink and relax. Okay, baby?”
“Nope, don’t want no drink,” he smirks, his tongue heavy with sarcasm.
He unzips his camel twill slacks, allowing them to drop to his ankles.
Jonah has always been a snazzy dresser. Even his boxers have creases.
“And, you not getting out of your punishment that easy,” he growls. “So
you can cut out all that goddamn game playing, girl.”
“Baby, I’m not playing any games with you. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Smart move,” he says, clenching his jaw. Jonah takes a seat on the sofa
and kicks off his shoes. “Maya, it’s time.” Jonah shoves his right hand
inside his cream-colored boxer shorts, letting the tip of his penis peep
through. “Get to suckin’.”
I take a deep sigh of relief and cast my eyes downward. Thank goodness,
all he wants is a blowjob. I just knew he was gonna put a real hurtin’
on me for standing up that client. Hell, I can’t stand that client. He
grunts like a pig and starts to sweat as soon as the tip of his head
touches my snatch. And he stinks, too—smells like something you find on
the side of the road dead. So, if all I have to do is suck Jonah’s dick
as punishment for missing that appointment, let’s just say, it’s well
worth it. Then again, maybe not. Jonah is a good twelve inches rock hard
and likes to be deep-throated. I just can’t take that entire dick down
my throat, not without throwing up.
I kneel before him, lower my head and try not to bring up this morning’s
pancakes and link sausages. “Yeah bitch, you a pro at this shit,” he
moans, tilting his head back and palming the top of my head. “Take it
all.” He casually stretches his long legs before him and encircles me.
“I can’t,” I hum, with a twelve-inch sword about to pierce my tonsils.
“You are too big.”
“Do it!” he demands.
I raise my head and look into his eyes. “Baby, I can’t deep throat you.
You’re too big.”
Smoke seems to exude from Jonah’s ears as he slaps me silly. “What did I
tell you ‘bout tellin’ me what you can and can’t do, trick?”
Blood trickles from my nose and drips onto the commercial beige
carpeting. I use my sleeve as a handkerchief to wipe away the blood. I
force a smile. “You promised you wouldn’t hit me in my face, Jonah,” I
whine. “You can’t honestly think that I can swallow you. I am not that
deep, baby.” I lick my finger, tilt my head back—more so to keep my nose
from bleeding—and stroke myself from my throat down to my kitty cat.
“But, I can take you down here.”
Jonah pokes out his bottom lip, nods his head and grunts. Before I could
blink, Jonah jumps to his feet, grabs me by my shoulder length hair,
snatches me to my feet and yanks my head back as far as it will go. I
struggle to maintain my balance. “Whatchu say, bitch?”
“Jonah, please!”
Jonah leans in close to me, his eyes dark and cold. “Answer me,
motherfucker, before I have to break your fucking neck!” he spit,
showering me with his funkiness.
“I. . .I said. . .I can’t swallow. . .”
“That’s what I thought you said.” He raises his arm in the air and forms
a fist. “A hard head makes for a soft ass.” Jonah plows his fist into my
face, knocking me to the floor. He kneels before me. “You do what I tell
you to do!” Bringing me to my knees, Jonah strikes a powerful blow to
the side of my face, sending me crashing into the glass-topped coffee
table. Shattered glass pricks me like cactus thorns. I hear a snap that
causes me extreme pain in my lower back. “Bitch, rise to ya feet!” he
groans. I can’t move. “Did you hear me, cunt?
I said rise. . .”
“I heard you, Jonah,” I whimper.
“Oh, so that ass ain’t soft enough?”
“I can’t move, Jonah. I’m hurting.”
“Well, you ain’t finished with your punishment.” Jonah steps out of his
trousers and boxers and walks toward me. He stalls, for what seems like
forever. Then, using his foot as a broom, he sweeps the broken glass
from around me. He straddles me and squats down, his crotch aiming at my
face. “Open your mouth,” he says. His voice is stern with no signs of
sympathy.
Blood trickles from my mouth, down my neck and drips onto my chest.
“Jonah, please. Don’t do this. I’ve learned my lesson.”
Grabbing me by the throat and lifting my neck off the floor, he leans
in, studying me intently. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” His grip
tightens around my neck. Hesitantly, I gradually open my mouth and Jonah
inserts his girth. I lie there, peering into his eyes, trying not to
regurgitate, wondering how or what could make someone so mean. With his
knees planted flat against the floor, Jonah tosses his head back and
releases a deep-throated moan. My jaw muscles weaken and my teeth graze
him with every thrust. His veins pulsate against my lips. “Fuck!” He
pulls from deep within, while releasing his fluids in my mouth. I
swallow to keep from choking. Jonah looks down at me with bloodshot
eyes. “The next time I tell you to do something, you better do it.”
After wiping himself off on my face, he rises to his feet and starts to
walk backward, his calf muscle grazing the edge of the sofa. He looks
down at his knees. “Damnit, look at what you made me do!” Splotches of
blood dance around his knees as chips of glass fall to the floor.
I boldly meet his glare. “I hope it was worth it.”
“You still talkin’ shit?”
“No, I’m not. . .”
He raises his hand in an ‘I-don’t-want-to-hear-it’ fashion. “It’s cool.
One day you will learn to keep your fucking mouth shut.” Jonah slips on
his pants, his fake alligator Stacy Adams and grabs his jacket. “You
know, Mama, you give good head.”
“I ain’t your fucking mama, you bastard!”
With the swiftness of a cheetah, Jonah leaps toward me and kicks me in
the hip. “That was for my Mama, you ho!” I close my eyes and try like
hell to wish him away for good. “Good luck on your audition,” he
chuckles as the door closes behind him.
