Chapter 7 Chapter VI continues

people. You ain't pick that up with that much ease from White folk, that's fo' sho!" They drove again for some time in silence.

"In any case," Branson continued, "I don't want you using that word when you with me, and even when you might be with some bozo ass nigga." That was a shot at Tray Mac.

"I understand," she replied. He squeezed her thigh and she felt a bit better. No further hijinks befell them on their way to Branson's crib. His apartment was on the third floor and his bedroom and one bathroom window faced the 144th Street corner of the crossroad between 144th Street and 145th Street and 8th Ave. He parked in front of his building and walked to the corner store to talk to a few of the night hustlers who, of course, knew him and who, of course, also paid dues. The Strongmen collected fully half of the night's earnings when the shift changed at 6a.m. Before opening the gate he glanced up at his apartment before letting Naomi precede him inside.

Gentleman,myass!Youjustwantherinfrontofyouincasesomebodytrytoshootyour foulassthroughthefrontdoor.

He paused as he shut the gate behind him, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, gathering himself. When they walked up the short flight of stairs he deliberately placed himself directly in front of Naomi in order to prove the voice in his head wrong. There were six floors in the building, each floor having two separate apartments. They walked into the building and walked down a clean corridor and then to their left where they took the old but clean and functioning elevator up three flights. Inside the elevator, Branson again placed himself in front of Naomi, senses alert. The elevator door opened and a short hallway forward to the floor's only other apartment was the first sight in view. But stepping out of the elevator one saw another short corridor to the left that ended with Branson's apartment door.

Branson unlocked the front door and motion sensors turned on the lights, dimly at first but then growing brighter. The front door was heavily reinforced by a thick bulletproof steel inlay between the highly varnished and intricately carved mahogany wood frame. There was a CCTV camera in the peephole. There were more CCTV cameras dispersed about inside the apartment which recorded by activated motion sensors. Branson pressed some buttons to the side of the entry which deactivated an alarm system that could be heard by everyone within a two kilometer radius, along with a blinding kaleidoscopic light show. He'd pulled out no stops on his home security. He held the door for Naomi to come in and directed her to remove her shoes as he was doing. The hardwood at the front entryway was old, dated back to the forties and he'd wanted to preserve it, so most of the apartment was covered by thick white carpeting, called "alpaca," expensive as fuck, not including the kitchen and bathrooms which were floored

with micro silicate tiles, a new fashion.

The living room was to the right, a spacious and aerodynamically designed affair, from the deep cushioned black-on-black Italian leather couches and single lazy boys, to the

220 inch curved plasma screen hanging from thin yet strong cables. The t.v. also quietly turned on to Amazon's Invincible show, the apartment's interconnected technology systems sending out electrical directives that the master was home. "Make yourself at home, Nay," said Branson. "There's a bathroom here and there." He pointed out their locations. "The kitchen's over there, to your left. Make us something to eat, there's food everywhere." She took off her short Dior leather jacket and hung it near where he'd hung his Pellé.

Branson made his way to his bedroom where the lights already illuminated the space. The blinds were halfway shut, facing down, as he always left them. He went straight to the walk-in closet; turning right a few steps he bent down at the corner and depressed a finely hidden button. He then made his way across the room to the bathroom.

Everything was pristine and sterile, much of the surface area laminated in a chrome and glassine combination, save for the tiles and tub. Even the toilet was chromed out, as was the sink area and the bidet, justbecause.

Youain'tshit,youain'tnevergon'beshitandyourbrother'salwaysgon'bebetterthan you.

Branson closed his eyes and leaned onto the sink for some moments. Then he opened his eyes again and stared at the figure staring back at him: lean and well built, tall, dark and handsome with a connecting goatee and long dark braids. He wondered if anyone else could see the rising misery in his eyes, the dread of getting caught, the slyness. He couldn't have fooled Kingson at all, he realized. This boded ill for everyone concerned.

He washed his hands and face and toweled off with a face towel (there were several rails placed all over the bathroom from which hung an assortment of variegated hand, face and body towels). Stepping back in the room he began undressing, throwing his clothes on a nearby resting chair. He went back to the closet, turned left a few steps and reached high into the corner, depressing another well hidden button. In the bathroom a secret door to the side of the walk-in shower opened slightly. He left the closet and went back into the bathroom, closed and locked the bathroom door, then entered into a smallish room specially designed by Edward Bozek, a childhood friend who was also a specialist in fabricating secret rooms, hideouts and compartments anywhere.

In the room were an assortment of legally and illegally obtained firearms, handguns and submachine guns, magazines and banana clips and good number of grenades. The light

was shaded but he only wanted to look around. Two bookbags full of cash, meticulously skimmed off the top of The Forum's profits over the years, the zips half open on one. He felt no remorse about skimming. The petty hustlers did it; the Strongmen did it; Get

Right and Cholo did it. Everyoneskimmed and if you didn't you were a fool.

Noteveryone,youcunt.Notyourbrotherandhe'scertainlynofool.

A faint, mocking laugh followed this statement. Annoyed with the voice, he switched off the dim light and left his stash room, securing the door.

Naomi, in the meantime, had been putting together a meal consisting of spaghetti and fried calamari with fried chicken on the side. The sauce was the bomb, a perfect

balance of ingredients melded together in equal balance. Branson had all possible dried herbs in their shakers. Normally, spaghetti went very well with meatballs but the canned calamari and the Tyson's Chicken was due to expire next week - best to make use of it now. She spiced up the tomato sauce a bit more and put it to simmer. The chicken had only to be reheated so she pulled out some porcelain plates and set them on the kitchen counter. Fifteen minutes later, Branson came into the kitchen wearing a silk bathrobe and handknitted woolen sandals he'd bought from his man doing time up north and involved in arts and crafts. He had about ten pairs in various sizes and colors and directed Naomi in which closet to go and get a pair for herself.

"Hey you," Naomi cried out, faking indignation when she came back into the kitchen and found him tasting the sauce in the pot with a small spoon. "Didn't the women in your family ever teach you that the kitchen is where the woman belongs?"

Branson laughed and threw his hands up in surrender. "You got it, ma," he assured her. Naomi put the chicken in the microwave as he went to the living room and began surfing for some type of comedy to watch. She rinsed the plates because she was the type of person who would never just up and serve food on plates without first rinsing them - it just seemed so offensive, and lazy, and dirty. She served them on a tray: spaghetti and spicy tomato sauce with fried calamari and fried chicken on the side. They sat on one of three couches facing the t.v. She went and got some white wine but he asked for apple cider. They sat and enjoyed a good hot meal while laughing through a couple of reruns of the classic and hilarious hit comedy show "Martin," featuring Martin Lawrence and Tchina Campbell, long ago discontinued. Every so often each would glance at their phones to send various messages to friends and family on WhatsApp, FB, the Gram, MeWe, Parler, Twitter or whichever of the social media apps they were most active with. Branson left a message for Kingson that they'd made it home fine.

[I never doubted it] Kingson texted back. But Branson remembered both close calls on

the highway and wondered. Naomi finished and waited for Branson to also finish, going over to him to sit on his lap, admiring his braids, running her fingers down the clean lines between his braids.

"Your hair is crazy long yo," she complimented him.

"Shit, yours is too," he reciprocated, playing with her long and wavy pitch black tresses, but with blonde highlights towards the tips. Branson picked up his phone and went to the YouTube app. He found a certain content creator called "Natural Melonie" to whom he was subscribed; she was a young and really light-skinned Dominican comedienne who was pretty as fuck and funny as fuck too. "This who you look like, baby." Naomi looked at Melonie and except for the latter's lips being slightly juicier, she really could've been this girl's twin sister.

"Bison, she is beautiful- and you're right, I do look like her," boasted Naomi. "But her lips are more fantastic," she added. True, Melonie's lips were thicker but all of us couldn't be superstars, could we?

Naomi suddenly kissed Branson and encountered a passion as great as hers. He practically tore off her strapless dress in his haste to remove it. Creamy breasts bouncedout of the top of her dress as he easily lifted and repositioned her on his lap. He sucked each titty like it was white chocolate, eliciting sharp intakes of breath from

her. She pushed his face more forward onto her breasts, caressing the back of his head. He switched to sucking the other titty again and lifted her dress up so it was now just a black sash covering her abdomen.

Branson focused on sucking and biting the areolae of Naomi's breasts while his hands squeezed her buttocks, kneading them with passion and urgency. He stuck a finger into her pussy from behind; she gasped and her body instinctively tightened, then moved in time with the entry and withdrawal of motion of his finger. Still alternating on titty sucking and areola biting, he added the middle finger to the forefinger and she purred into his ear, licking around and into his earlobe, tracing its ridges before moving to his neck. He increased the pace of finger fucking for some minutes while she sucked at his neck; her pussy was becoming wet as a watermelon and she was squirming and trying to gyrate on his fingers. Suddenly he removed his fingers and licked them, looking at her directly into her eyes. She kissed him again, biting down hard on his lips and sucking on his tongue with alacrity, tasting herself in his mouth. He lifted her up and spread her

ass cheeks as he undid the sash of his bathrobe. His dick was rigid as stone as he guided it into her love box while lowering her.

"Oh, shit," Naomi whispered in a loud hiss. She bared her teeth in surprise, some pain and ever present pleasure as Branson slid farther into her. Her pussy was tightand he

went slow at first, allowing her vagina to fully enwrap his member, to become familiar with its length and width. Her vaginal juices flowed freely and fully, coating his black shaft almost completely before he Branson turned up the tempo. As she matched his initial slow movements he, on the other hand, stopped all movement. She understood and got to riding his shaft like a world champion bull rider, taking a bit of time but finally, after a few minutes, being able to go down on his phallus entirely, albeit in great discomfort.

"Alexa, play classic love songs," Branson yelled out. Alexa was also programmed into the surround sound system in the living room and the bedrooms. The two guest rooms hadn't been wired.

TheveryfirsttimethatIsawyourbrowneyes,yourlipssaid"hello,"andIsaid"hi"-I knewrightthereyouweretheone...ButIwascaughtup,inphysicalattraction,butto mysatisfaction,babyyouweremorethanjustafriend... The sweet sounds of Shai undulated throughout and beyond the living room as Naomi also undulated on Branson's black cock. Her rhythm was slow because of the song but Branson appreciated the easygoing prelude to what she didn't know might be the fucking of her life. The next time she slid down his shaft, he gave a small upward jerk of his hips,

causing her to squeak and laugh throatily. She went up and came down again: he thrust his hips upward again, causing her to squeak yet again. He continued jerking upward in short and timed upward hip thrusts as she would come down. She was getting every millimeter of his meat and sweat burst from her pores as she continued riding his qualitydick. Quantitywasn't the true issue with women but could a nigga usethat with which God had blessed him? Could a man make a woman crywith his qualitydick? Could he make her scream like a cowgirl and pull her own hair in a show of consternation over the qualityof the dick? Naomi was on her way to this level, pulling at her hair as she slid up and down his power shaft.

"Ooooh, ooooh, ohshitohshitohshitohshit," panted Naomi in heat. I'm coming, baby. Baby, I'm coming. Ugh, I'm coming..."

And indeed, she came. Like a burst dam, Naomi's pussy nectar gushedforth, further lubricating Branson. She rocked back and forth on him; slowly, clenching and unclenching his dick with superior vagina muscles. He stood up and she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist as he made their way to the bedroom. Laying her down on the bed, he flung aside the blanket and allowed some of his body weight onto her smaller frame. She grunted but rubbed his back as he placed his hands under her butt. The pussy pile driving that followed was exquisite - Naomi had never been pounded so hard and yet so thoughtfully and carefully. It was as if, yes, he was killing the pussy but being polite about it all the same.

Iron fist, velvet glove.

Branson descended with controlledforce, seeking any route to go deeper, trying to put his balls and entire pelvis into that right space. He would then lift his ass high in the air and plungeback down into her tight, squirting and deliciously wet cavity. His hands were under her butt so that when he descended, he would clutch her butt cheeks and squeeze them upwardlike the well-oiled casing of a descending piston. He had started off with much of his weight on her but he distributed it to his arms when he saw her having difficulty breathing. The force of his declivity decimating descent along with the upward pull of her buttocks produced the wet sounds that had driven men crazy since

the beginning of the discovery of coitus. He fucked her like this until she almost fainted, out of breath, helpless to evade the downward hammering of his dick into a pussy being stretched out, a bit painfully but not too brutally.

The pain was even momentarily enjoyable, though for Naomi, not the slamming into her pussy until it disappeared part as much. And the pace was increasing, running away with her, so she held onto his oblique muscles, damp with perspiration, until she could no longer hold on to the spirit shaking, body quavering, mind wavering thrashing

Branson was attacking her vagina with. She closed her eyes and mentally flew away into the sensation of bliss and not that other tooth clenching jarringhis downward hammering was causing.

Branson, for his part, was concentrating only on stroking as powerfully and relentlessly as possible. He felt her tremble and again increased the tempo of his battering ram but shortened the height from which he descended. This was followed by engine revving shorter strokes, more pleasure and Naomi was now able to wrap her arms around his chest because he'd lowered a bit more of his weight atop her. For some reason, the way her breasts jiggled while he was clubbing his dick into new and, as yet, undiscovered depths in her pussy, caused his coming to quicken. Placing an areola into his mouth and sucking on that titty while one hand squeezed the other breast (this time, brutally) and having the other hand still cupping a buttcheek he would heave up to meet his

shortened descent in his tyrannical vaginal vaporization - his spirit seemed to open up as the earth shook and his balls tingled. The sperm leapedout of his dick in an eons long race repeated through time in castles, whorehouses, fields, palaces, backyards, hovels, mansions - anywhere humans were situated, this jizz jumping would occur, and with alacrity.

He continued sucking her tits as he clutched her pussy as far up against his midsection as it could go. His come had not yet finished frolicking towards her fallopian tubes when she too came again, roughly snatching his mouth off her breast in order to exchange loud, wet, passionate and breathless kisses. Their privates were still attached, grinding

up against each other. Her eyes were spinning as she dropped down full onto the bed, feeling Branson's monster cock slide out of her swollen and terrifyingly satisfied pussy.