âDamn it!â Cursed Brock. He was furious at the person over the telephone. âThe bitch is late! I donât care, the bitch is carrying over a grand worth of dope, and I donât want no one messing with my dope! The bitch is hurting my business, yo!â Brock slams the phone down on the lacquered table, breaking the phone.
Brock runs the dope deals in the Center District, otherwise known as the Happy District, because of all the dope going around. Many clubs lined the street, and even more hookers stood on them. It was a Friday night, and crowds of people partied like there was no tomorrow. And for some of them, there was no tomorrow. Death surrounded the area, people either died from a drug overdose or they were taken to a back alley and shot because they couldnât pay for the dope. Still, people came, wanting to experience the hottest place in town. And Brock owned it, at least most of it. There were other gangs competing for power and ownership of the district. To most people this place was the slums, but to others it was home. Even the police were afraid to patrol around here, or if they did, they were here for the action.
At the very moment Brock paced around his luxury hotel suite, waiting impatiently for his dope. The bitch he was referring to was Felecia, one of his many prostitutes he had working the streets. But she was special. She was young and tender, but willing to do anything. She had dark hair, long and silky. With high heels she stood at five-five, and only one hundred pounds. Despite her size, she had nice big tits and a round firm ass. Tonight she wore a black leather mini-skirt, fishnet stockings, and a see-through halter top. She stumbled in the front door, looking rather flushed.
âWhere the fuck were you?â
âI was getting your dope.â
âNo shit, bitch! I said where the fuck were you?â
âYour client, he wanted a blowjob. So thatâs why Iâm late.â
âDamn, you better had made it worth his time and my time.â
âI swallowed his cum, and he gave two hundred extra.â
âAnd the dope?â
âI have it right here.â
âGood, hand it over. Now go get Tyrone. We gotta get down to business.â
Meanwhile back at Club Deep:
Tyrone and Jamal stood over the exhausted young performer. Rosy felt nauseous from all the semen she swallowed, and her pussy was sore from the hard pounding. She was fading in and out of consciousness. All she knew was that it was over and she was too worn-out to do anything. Just then she hears the office door open. She hoped Tyrone and Jamal had left so that she could pull herself together. It was not what she hoped for. Turning her head she sees three black brawny hoodlums. They were the new band members who played for her performance. A look of fright painted her face. She could just visualize big black cocks stuffed deep down her throat, stretching out her pussy⊠fucking her up the ass! A rush of fear hit her as she knew she was going to take it up the ass. Rosy went pale. She didnât know how she would be able to withstand a big black cock penetrating her anal orifice, reaming her ass hole.
The three black men circled around her, with Tyrone and Jamal looking on. Rosy simply stood there, bent over the table, too scared to move. Pairs of rough hands fondled her entire body, squeezing her tits, kneading her butt. Her light skin shined in the darkly lit room, and even darker men. The black men towered over her, causing her to shudder with anxiety. All the black men were over six feet tall and at least two hundred pounds. They were all heavily-built. And so were their cocks. A rigid slab of black meat sprung toward Rosyâs face as they began pulling their cocks out. She just stared at it in awe.
âThat is a huge cock,â gasped Rosy.
âThatâs right, and you gonna take care of it.â