Maximum Badonkadonk Ch 12

(RECAP)

"Fuck you, now tell me what's up with that shitty fuck boy Officer Johnson?"

"I guess he's got two main topflight bitches who rank way above you and Phoebe because he hooked them up, one got a bracelet and his number two, got a diamond ring Charity. So, I don't know, maybe he's got a list and you were naughty."

"What's so funny nigga?" I loved how she verbally went street when pissed.

"I'm just saying that I figured you might wanna start rolling that snowball down the hill, if you get my drift." Charity was quiet for a minute pondering the metaphorical handcuffs I'd just removed from her wrists.

"Restrictions?"

"If it gets back to me; you're going down with me and no Mandingo."

"You promised me Andre before I got involved in your shit."

"Okay you're right; so if you gotta burner phone I'll get right to work on delivering that dildo to you post haste Charity."

"I think I have one or two laying around; got my first because Jayson kept going through my iPhone after somebody snitched me out. How'd you know I had a burner phone?"

"Because you're a conniving bitch." I laughed as she mumbled something inaudible into the phone.

"Oh I wanna stick three fingers in your asshole and make you my puppet nigga." That was definitely not what I wanted to hear knowing she threatened me with a hand cupped over her mouth.

"Charity?"

"What?!"

"Can I have a titty pic?"

She hung up in my face as I continued laughing my ass off.

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MAXIMUM BADONKADONK Chapter 12

Featuring:

Charity Gilbert-38F-29-39 (19 years old)

Phoebe -34DD-26-38 (28 years old)

Tressie Fisher-44EE-44-48 (23years old)

Andre 13.5

Guest Star: Esther-46-38-62 1/2 (47 years old)

Carlie Kelly-36C-25-36 (20 years old)

Cameo: Shawnee Thompson a.k.a Ms. WTF?!! (34A-32-??)

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"Wow, I guess Charity's motivated."

Almost eight hours after I took the cuffs off my "partner in crime" was running wild online as evidenced by several social media pages. In short the lesson was reinforced that you never underestimate a scorned woman in any capacity. I myself had recently taken that class and was now getting a refresher course as an observer.

Charity Gilbert started contacting Officer Johnson's myriad hookups and side chicks sowing the seeds of dissension with a razor sharp edge. I was bearing witness to a real life butterfly effect I'd weaponized by forwarding pics of the luxury jewelry gifted to Carlie Kelly and Rashida Sikes, respectively. Memes disparaging black men started popping up across several pages along with negative testimonials about the good Officer Johnson.

"Oh shit, it's getting real out on these streets." One humiliating pic posted on one female's page revealed a pair of Officer Johnson's tighty whities with a skidmark up the middle of its interior. It got me wondering why some woman would take a pic of that let alone save it for prosperity.

Before I could finish that thought another pic appeared revealing the officers feet sticking out from under the covers of some young ladies bed. One sock had been removed revealing some gnarly looking fungus on his toenails. There was an accompanying second long clip of the woman who favored Phylicia Rashad removing the single black sock before looking at the camera disgusted.

"Damn bruh, you need to hit up that Dr. Scholl's my nigga." It was passive revenge but felt invigorating none the less as I found another interesting clip.

My laptop screen was completely filled up with some sister's big, bubbled butt in a pair of ill-fitting booty shorts with the now universal phrase "DIVEST" emblazoned across the ass in the OLD SPORT cheerleading font.

This was a clip that saw the weird Muppet looking woman with a head full of dreads pluck down glowering in front of the camera producing a large pair of scissors. This disturbed female presented the scissors to the camera leaning back suddenly producing a sneaker.

It was one of the BIG BALLER brand, a single shoe of a pair easily worth 495.00. This woman identified by the simple screen name of Funkadelic Poppy began methodically cutting the toe off the shoe.

"My only regret is that your foot isn't in this fucking shoe."

I was shocked at the authoritative sound of her voice as she cut through the shoe holding the severed piece up in front of the camera. I surfed around finding more disparaging comments posted to the officer's main page most focused on pics that contained his wife. I found a link left by some anonymous woman identified only by a shit emoji.

"Aw damn bruh; say it ain't so."

That link led to a homemade sex tape that seemed to be filmed without the officer's consent. This humongous black woman that looked like something akin to Jabba the Hut was basically engulfing Officer Johnson in an abomination of cowgirl styled sex as he screamed reaching several octaves.

"I'M CUMMING BIG MAMMA!! I'M CUMMING SO HARD FOR YOU!!" I could make out his head, and arm and one foot under the generous folds of flab draped across her mountainous body. Big Mamma had this incredulous look on her face mouthing "WTF" to the hidden camera.

"Nigga you just put it in." I gathered this female wanted the sex tape to prove that she'd actually slept with him.

I almost dialed up Charity to gloat but thought better of it. I decided to let her continue wrecking online havoc with that fucker's life. She was probably having the time of her life as I closed the page checking my emails. Luckily, I found a notification from my community college beckoning me downtown for a critical meet and greet for prospective film students.

I got cleaned up and hit an Uber downtown arriving on campus thirty minutes later. On my way to the campus, I checked my original page finding that my auntie Esther's dual video clips were racking up views and even more coin. The comments section was stuffed to the gills with encouragement and various offers including one from a very persistent sheik inviting Esther to Dubai.

"Tips open lips." I typed three words and received five hundred bucks on my cash app five minutes later. That caught me off guard, so I logged out instead of continuing the unintended catfishing episode.

The city college was a series of two buildings on opposite ends of one downtown block adjacent to the elevated track which snaked through the heart of the congested area which was pretty much wall to wall people during rush hour and most of the day.

I was headed to the main black six story building which was the site of the original campus before an uptick in student enrollment necessitated the purchasing of an additional building around the corner with other classes situated in some surrounding office buildings. My car took us past the newer building which had a large gathering of people loitering outside it even though the summer classes were sparse.

I found myself people watching noticing quite a few honeys strolling up the sidewalk. I couldn't help but wonder what each looked like in their birthday suits feeling inherently ashamed of those thoughts when one or two would catch me looking from the car window. There was the thought that my recent activities had corrupted me in some way.

Ever since I'd met Erica Walton that fateful evening, I'd been on a slippery slope that led right to the now infamous Ms. One, who I suppose was my mortal enemy at this point. I chaffed inside as I got out of the Uber feeling that she'd probably forgotten me. Nuking Vicky Stone was her parting shot which left me devastated.

Despite the emotion elicited by those memories, I fought to shove them to the back of my mind as I walked into the main building getting directions from the concierge desk just inside the door. My actual classes would be taking place around the corner in the newer building which was mostly earmarked for the performing arts and some administrative offices on the top floor, but today I was headed to a second floor classroom for an orientation of sorts.

My phone chimed in my pocket as I walked the moderately packed corridor to a set of elevators at the end of it. There was a garbage can with a rounded top between the lifts with some sort of flyer attached regarding the film workshop I was taking.

As I got closer, I noticed the floor leading up to these elevators was littered with these flyers. I snagged one of the lime green pieces of paper perusing it as a bell sounded signaling the arrival of the lift. I was unprepared for the rush of people going in opposite directions finding myself literally swept up into the nearest car. Getting used to the deluge of people surging in was somewhat disorienting. I got my phone out finding some emoji texts from Yoli.

"Checking out some classes downtown." I'd got into the habit of texting her as if we were actually talking. Yoli would only respond back with emojis and I respected that remembering her insistence on getting better before we met again.

Yoli responded with a thinking emoji, then followed up with kissy face and love emojis. I smiled to myself glancing up finding my gaze resting on this big chunky butt in some thin pinstriped pants with this ridiculous visible panty line. The owner was some doughy looking redhead with a buzzcut who noticed me looking and placed a binder over the middle part of her squarish, clunky backside.

"Sorry." I whispered.

Luckily, the elevator opened at that moment sweeping both of us into this narrow corridor with an inordinately high ceiling stuffed with students, visitors, and faculty. It felt like visiting an alien world of sorts leagues different from the completely black high school I'd graduated from a little over a year ago.

I hadn't intended to take a year off before pursuing higher education, but it just worked out that way other than the occasional attempt by my wayward father to get me to enlist in the military. I nudged and bumped my way through the corridor eventually getting inside this classroom after having to present an ID to some teacher's assistant.

"Oh hello, my name is Steven and I'll be one of the instructors running the workshop next month." He was some thin guy who reminded me of Richard Belzer with a duck dynasty beard.

The mood was casual as evidenced by his light blue denim shirt, skinny jeans, and canvas sneakers. I introduced myself briefly before finding a seat near the back of the classroom which had this oblong rectangular floorplan. My prospective peers were disparate, a melting pot of students mostly Caucasian with the rest an even spread, racially speaking.

Each desk had a cheap paper folder on it with a number of handouts inside. I filled out a form or two for the workshop and one elective one sheet which asked some multiple choice questions as part of a social exercise. One of the questions asked what fictional character I felt like. My answer later struck Steven amused and curious.

"James "Sonny" Crocket, from Miami Vice?" He questioned from the front of the class drawing attention to me along with some laughter and one or two jeers.

"Uhm, yeah I guess."

"Care to explain?" He put me on the spot in front of everyone making me a bit anxious, but I answered the only way I could.

"Iman, Melody Griffith and Helen Bonham Carter." The class laughed sporadically at my answer with a few jeers aside as he pondered my answer.

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"Serial Killer, Prostitute and Drug Addict." Half of the class responded to my answer in a loud verbal mixed bag of laughter and outraged peer commentary. I noticed a few girls in the class giving me the stink eye but it was an honest answer if nothing else as Steven quieted down the class with another question.

"Name a favorite movie, not Star Wars or any superhero stuff?"

"Easy, Conquest of the Planet of the Apes, not the remake, the seventies version with Roddy McDowell playing his own character's son, Caesar."

"Why?"

"Can't believe that movie got made; and by Fox Studios no less."

Some of the older people in the class got my answer while most of my peers age wise remained essentially clueless. Steven acknowledged my answer and fitting undertaking of the workshop which prompted other classmates to try mimicking my odd answers to little or no effect. My phone suddenly chimed really loud with a text message I thought was Yoli again, but I was wrong.

"Uhm, sorry." I apologized to the class as Steven question some befuddled looking female student.

Pleased with herself Charity Gilbert sent a number of updates on her progress completely doxing Officer Johnson. Her unchecked malevolence had grown in leaps and bounds apparently culminating in numerous dick pics and masturbation videos being posted on the same adult pay site I initially used.

She'd made a fake profile for the hapless officer under the moniker "Officer Dick" listing him as a gender fluid, totally bisexual public servant looking for the right fit "pussy or bussy" offering up his virgin butthole for the pronoun of his dreams. She'd gone as far as to make a logo at the top of the page depicting him sitting in a bathroom stall handling his soiled junk. A rainbow hovered above his head in a criminal use of filters.

"Alright it was nice meeting you all and we'll have you back first day of next month."

Steven ended the session with the masses predictably filing out like someone was pointing a weapon at them.

I remained seated chuckling to myself as people walked up the narrow aisle towards the door. There was some congestion in the aisle next to my seat and my phone was accidentally knocked out of my hands onto the grey carpet. I scrambled after it only to have it kicked one aisle over by exiting students. I ended up on my knees atop a desk chair stretching out to snag my android with the tips of my fingers.

"Oh I'll get that for you sir."

I was hanging off the seat looking up to find this woman sitting at the desk under which my phone sat. She appeared to be from the motherland, Ethiopian or maybe Somali. She had this big bushy afro under which sat a narrow attractive face with exquisite cheekbones devoid of unneeded makeup. Her eyes were round, striking, and prominent with a narrow nose and dark chocolate lips. She was wearing a black turtleneck, matching short jacket and some blue jeans. I nearly faceplanted but she pushed into my arm allowing me to right myself.

"Uh, thanks."

"Zoya Berhan, that is my name." She definitely had an accent as I told her my name while trying to scrape my phone off the floor. Zoya however beat me to it leaning over bent at the waist snapping up my phone with some considerable effort.

"Hey thanks uhm, Ms. Berhan." Instead of handing my phone back, she glanced at its face for a second too long making me fear the worst.

"OH, I AM GOING NOW!" Zoya got up moving faster than expected tossing my android onto the desktop like a thrown rock as she snatched up her bag. Officer Johnson was still depicted on the face of my phone handling his junk.

"IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!" Zoya wasn't having it scooting up the aisle like she was running from the plague.

I was given a backshot that made things even more tragic in hindsight as she was rocking a big heart shaped butt on par with the infamous Ms. One. Her VPL (Visible Panty Line) was just as razor sharp as the initial girl seen earlier in the lift. The glossy black jacket actually more of a swim shrug, accentuated the narrow wasp waist over a perfect inverted heart.

She wasn't more than five four in height and now I was probably a degenerate in her opinion. The pic of Officer Johnson was now an accidental screen shot created when my phone went underfoot of some unknown student. I quickly deleted the pic restoring my original wallpaper.

"Hey, do you have a minute?" Steven was leaning against the desk watching me the whole time.

"Uh yeah, I guess."

I was sure I was going to be kicked out of the workshop, but he actually wanted to give me the opportunity to work as a teacher's assistant for the program. Steven liked my quirky honest answers to his questions wanting to avoid the deluge of brown nosing and opportunistic females willing to up their grades in trade.

I was stoked.

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"Hey bitch you got my burner phone?"

"You don't even say hello? No good afternoon, no how're you doing today? You call me up at odd hours of the night demanding things with nothing in return and expect me to jump through hoops? And you had the audacity to ask me for a titty pic last night nigga."

"Stop using that word; it's unbecoming of a queen like yourself." I countered sitting in the back of an Uber traveling to my next destination.

"Don't blow smoke up my ass, you just want something else for nothing." Charity scoffed talking fairly loud.

"Dad's not home, huh?"

"How do you know that? ARE YOU OUTSIDE OF MY HOUSE?!!"

"Calm the fuck down; do I know where you live Charity?" There was a pause as she considered the question.

"Well, you're very resourceful." She hated admitting when she was wrong.

"Got my burner?"

"Yeah."

"Charity?"

"What?"

"Where's your daddy?"

"Why do you want to know that; you're not coming over here to fuck in my bed negro. I don't know what it is about you but you're so extra with it; stepping over boundaries and everything. Think I'm your sidekick or something, huh?"

"Where's your daddy Charity?" Another pause followed.

"SHOPPING!!" She answered through gritted teeth.

"Charity?"

"Daddy is out buying new sheets, drapes and intimates for me, fucking panties and other unmentionables with-!"

"Spit it out girl."

"HE'S OUT WITH THAT TRESSIE PERSON!!" I muted the phone busting up in the back of my Uber knowing she would hang up without me getting that burner phone.

"So, I'm not even asking, but are you free this afternoon?"

"Well, daddy didn't specifically tell me to stay here or anything; I was usually at work at this time. You know, I've still got the keys to that store at the mall? That place was a total rip-off fashion wise." I perked up in the backseat.

"Hey Charity; want your Mandingo today?" The driver raised an eyebrow, but I waved him off.

"HUH?!!

"But first we're gonna have to get you something nice to wear because that blue collar shit ain't making it babe. Want me to buy you an outfit Charity?"

"Is this a trick question?" She sounded truly apprehensive.

"So, where do you live?"

"You're not fucking in my bed."

"Charity."

"I mean it, you simply can't visit here because things aren't as simple as they might seem. Daddy is incorrigible when mismanaged and I've brought myself the slightest bit of breathable air from his draconian parenting. He doesn't care that I've graduated high school with honors, still maintain some workable connections in the academic community and absolutely bristles at the fact that I have to wait another year and a half to enter a decent college down state after my record is expunged."

Charity was rambling not realizing I had her on speaker the whole time.

"Charity?"

"Make no mistake about it, I'd love to teach you a lesson and fuck you unconscious; but it's just not feasible at this time. Oh, but you won't take no for an answer and I'll have my tits out in moments after your arrival. Even though you make love like an animal, I'll be left to fend for myself when daddy shows up to lay that razor strap across my butt. You'll abandon me to my fate and make some smart ass comment, won't you?"

"Charity, where the fuck do you live?"

"Uhm, promise me you won't come over and pin me down with your cock. I need assurances that you're not going to bend me over and pound my ass from the back; and definitely no anal sex today. I simply can't do that here in this house and uhm, well it's not feasible, for uhm, reasons."