XXX Underground Playgrounds: La La's Story (6 page)

“Yes, swallow those titties, Jerome encouraged as he massaged his dick through his pants. Jerome loved what he was seeing, made him wish he would have done it sooner.  It was something about making a bitch do something she would never do otherwise, that made his dick harder than it has ever been.  Jerome untied Ghost’s hands, whispering in her ear, “Behave now or pay for it later.” He told her. 

Ghost knew he was going to make her suck his dick and the glass dick all night if she did not engage in his sick twisted fantasy of his. She was fucked into lesbianism; no man was allowed to touch her they were just there to watch. Secretly, Jerome was taping her, just for extra insurance to ensure her obedience.  That night she knew she had to escape or stay his smoked out sex slave for as long as he wanted.  But, hell came before she was able too.

On one of the nights of his little lesbian shows, one of his friends slide his dick into her, while one of Jerome’s nasty ass whores was grinding on top of her. Despite Jerome’s protest, the man wouldn’t stop ramming into Ghost. Ghost could not get up she had the weight of two bodies on top of her. Without another warning, Jerome took his gun and shot the man in his head. His fun was over but her night had just begun.

He chained her to a stripper pole by her legs, in the basement for days after the incident. Apparently, Jerome felt it was her fault he had to kill his friend. Luckily for her Miss Emma became concerned when she kept asking her son where Ghost was, and he kept giving her different excuses.

Miss Emma took it upon herself to investigate; she used her spare key to go in her son’s house. When she reached the basement she was in shock to see her adopted daughter chained to a pole, looking like hell, she was skinny, and her once beautiful blue eyes were sunken in and her skin ashy. Miss Emma dropped to her knees in front of Ghost with tears of shame in her eyes.

Miss Emma rose up and pulled out her .360 and shot the chain off of her. She hated what her son did to her; she tried to stop it from happening, but Ghost was too hard headed to listen to her. She had raised this little girl for damn near ten years and under her care, this is what happened to her.

This is what she exposed her to, Miss Emma ran through the house like a mad woman, getting things together for Ghost. She dressed her, sat her in the car. Then Miss Emma went back in and threw gasoline everywhere and lit that motherfucker up with her Virginia Slim. 

In the car, Miss Emma confessed to making the call to have her parents killed, yes she could have saved them from Jerome, but she had wanted Ghost all to herself. She loved the little girl, and she thought she deserved better than two crackheads as parents. Ghost’s parents sold crack to the whites in their part of town. Money kept being off and Jerome wanted them dead.

Miss Emma told him she did not care do what he had to do, but leave the little girl alone and alive. The two goons he sent there that night did not see Ghost, so they followed through with Jerome’s plans. Her young son was running things in their small town, thanks to Miss Emma’s brother. Miss Emma had to check for herself, so she went to the house, and there she found a horrified, lonely and starved little girl.

She drove Ghost where she could get a car and gave her money for gas, and told her to get as far away from the state of Michigan as quick as she can. She then she broke ties with Miss Emma and went away to join Atterbury Job Corps. But she would never forget, what she told her in the car. Ghost might have been out of it, but she was coherent enough to understand that from the beginning Jerome was the Devil, who started her hell.

To Jerome’s knowledge Ghost died in that fire. He felt guilty, but not guilty enough to stop doing what the fuck he wanted to do to women.

Now, she was twenty-five, the nightmare of her parents being killed in front of her was still fresh in her mind and so was the hell Jerome took her through.  Her hell and her nightmare were connected, it was all associated, and she would seek her bittersweet revenge. The one thing she knew would probably never change about him is he loved paying for sex, she had her own plan.   And who better to help her orchestrate her plans than Black Panther, herself.

She was staying at a hotel in Indianapolis, where she was contacted to because evidently this Bone nigga (Pantha told her about) had beef with Jerome also and he knew how to get to him.

Spanish fly

“Dimly lit, less than up to par motel room. Grotesque ROOM!”  She yelled in her thick Spanish accent at the four walls, as she raised her gin bottle up to the ceiling of a dimly lit, less than up to par motel room.

“¿Cómo pueden ir Contra familia.  Mi Familia, mi culo. She spoke into her bottle of gin, MS 13 was tattooed on the inner part of her wrist it was a fatal signature inked into her skin, and this is the tattoo of the Mara Salvatrucha, one of Latin America’s largest street gangs. Death, blood, and Nihilist rebellion are their territory in her home of El Salvador.  

A decision that was made for her, a life she did not choose to live. A night of holy terror, she was unwillingly penetrated and branded at the same time. In result of this night, three things stayed with her, the memory, the tattoo, and her 3-month-old son.  Except for her son, because, “Los pendejos de mierda dejan ese fucker tomar mi bebé.” She muttered as she staggered to the little kitchen in the motel room, she lit her cigar and with a non-sober sway she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door.

She stared at her reflection; she pulled on the cigar to watch the exhaling of the smoke come from her nostrils.  She saw the devil in herself, adorned in all red, her lips red; her bra and panty set red, her heels red and her eyes were even bloodshot red.   Swaying from side to side she felt her milk come down like her son was crying for her. Crying for her to feed him as he always did. As the milk soaked her bra and dropped from her bosom, tears drowned her eyes in its wetness. The milk would not stop coming down; it was days of build up from not being able to feed her son.  “Mi niño Lo siento. Siento. Siento. “She cried.    

After being held down and raped, her family talked her into not going to the police. But on top of that, on top of that degrading act, her family let the man who raped her come and snatch her son away from her. All so they can get the funds to go to America.  It was not enough for her to be brutally raped, they destroyed the only thing that made her cope with her rape, they only good that came out of it, was her beloved son.

She remembers dropping to her knees, so she dropped while still holding on to the gin bottle, she remembered begging, screaming, crying for someone in her family to not let that Diablo take her child. She held onto Diablo’s leg, even though with each kick she became bloodier, with each stomp she became bruised she still did not dare let go of him.  She let him drag her across rocks and broken glass, hoping that this would show him the depths of which she would go through to keep her son.  If God’s acts didn’t mean shit to the devil, what made her think her actions meant shit to him.

Neighbors holding their hearts, the tears of the neighboring mothers sympathized with her as they prayed and did the cross sign while holding their Rosaries. You had people to look on in fear and disgust, cursing Diablo out under their breath; some not even brave enough to do that because the devil hears all. However, no one came to her and her son’s aide. No one intervened, not even the police officer’s that threw her into the back of a truck.

She rode away watching the tears of her family; they did not mean shit to her. She threw up her middle finger at them, at everyone she passed that was gawking and looking and not helping, all because the man who was doing this to her was the Diablo the head of Mara Salvatrucha. Diablo will not be seeing the last of her.

Her family did not see the last of her either; that was why she was drowning herself in gin, hoping the effects of it will numb her completely, erase her memories of why her bloody outfit was soaking in a tub full of bleach in an American city called Indianapolis.

ROC VEGA

"Check these bitches' houses and cars. If that shit is trifling, then their snatches are trifling. I'm not power washing none of these hoes' snatches with disinfectant and I'm not in the business of selling dirty cunts." Roc Vega disconnects his call, and glares at the group of naked women spread eagle before him and his men.

Walking strategically down the line, he inhales his Kush smoke while observing each female with gloves on. He examines them like he was their Gynecologist. He stops in his tracks as a smell overpowers the aroma of his Kush.

"Oh hell naw! Get this dirty pussy broad out of my presence. Smelling like Hoarders need be knocking on her fucking pussy lips." He hollered out in disgust. The men yanked the female in question up by her weave and escorted her out.

Roc Vega turns to Bone, "My Nig, you need to get some snatch sniffing dogs so we can smell these hoes before they even set foot in the building."

Bone couldn't do shit but laugh at his ass. He knew it was the right choice to bring him into the Underground Playground nobody knew pussy and Kush like Vega and with La La, who made pole dancing an art form, this was looking like a profitable revenge plot.

Outside, the undesired chick threw herself to her knees, forcefully and quickly undid the pants of the man who was escorting her out, pulling out his manhood, she had to get in on this and if she had to suck this wildebeest brains through his fucking dickhole, so be it. 

Vonda pulled her hair to the side and inch by inch; she inhaled this nigga’s sweaty putrid penis, now isn’t this about a bitch. She proceeded, back in the building as she thought her interactions were being recorded and watched. Vega watched in amusement, as he watched his boy’s reactions to her fellatio skills.

Roc Vega laughed, watching the screen with Jah, “She swallowed the whole package, no chestnuts or chin nuts.” Jah smirked at Vega to see what he was going to do.

“With skills like that, guess a nigga will have to do some power washing today.” Vega chuckled as he blew smoke from his mouth.     `

“Nigga, don’t act like your ass hasn't run into some bad pussy. Matter fact, nigga that one bitch from back in the day that lived in those apartments on 5th Ave.” Jah said trying to jog Vega’s memory.

“Bone, you got the wrong motherfucker. I don’t fuck with unexceptional hoes. Now, let’s get back to business.” Vega said trying to change the subject.

“Hell No, nigga did you just attempt to change the subject?” Jah followed Vega out of the surveillance room.

Vega was going to run Bone’s pussy resume to him except La La interrupted, “I need to talk to you, she said talking to Jah and she walked into his office.

“Damn, what you do to La? She about to whoop your ass like she used to when we were younger.” Vega laughed

“Shut up, with your brown ass,” Jah said walking back towards his office.

La La didn’t waste any time as soon as she heard the door open she had her hands on her thick hips, ”What’s up, with finding out what happened to Que?”

Jah had a bad feeling that his little sister was about to find out some shit she wasn’t ready to handle. That was why he was trying to keep her occupied with running the pole dance classes, the exercise classes, and the dance classes.  She was like the Den mother at a sorority house.

Jah took a minute to access carefully what to do first. Some of those men who was at the house looked like professionals, but he could be wrong. The best way to find out about a nigga is to go to his hometown and find out what he did in his past that he doesn’t want his future to know.  “We will head to Gary before the Grand revised opening.”

“You already know who to question, don’t you?” La La accused him with an attitude.

“Lose the attitude, Lalita. He told her as he walked past her to sit at his desk.  He opened up a drawer pulled out a cigar and lit it, dressed in a charcoal gray Kenzo T-shirt, charcoal gray Timbs, and True Religion gray tinted blue jeans.

“As far as I’m concern that nigga can stay right where he is, stinking or hiding. With that said you need to prepare yourself for the worst, and you need to go back to your house, so you can walk me through what happened that day.” He pointed to the door as if he was dismissing her; La La stuck up her middle finger at Jah. Jah laughed at his sister because he used to do that when they were younger to let her know she needed to leave. She hated it then being five years younger than him, and she despised it now.

La La kept her mouth shut Gary was a long ride to start an argument with a man who can hold a grudge for years. She went back to the living quarters of the house to pack her belongings. Ghost knocked on the door to the La La’s room from the adjoining bathroom they shared.

“Karen,” La answered the knock by calling Ghost by her government name.

“Lalita, Ghost sarcastically replied back stepping into her room.

Ghost sat on La’s Chaise Lounge sitting at the end of her marble four posted canopy bed. When La looked up, Ghost was dressed in a Vintage sheer champagne-colored 1920’s dress, finger waves with headband and feather. “Damn, girl! You sure you are not mixed with African American.” La always commented on that Ghost looked mulatto and not fully white.