Stud Princess

by N'TYSE

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

N'TYSE returns with Stud Princess!

Chyna is on a murder-mission hunt for the crooked lawyer who double-crossed her uncle, and the latest addition to the family brings her one step closer to that sweet revenge. This ruthless queen-pin owns the day and the night. Mother Nature herself can't interrupt her cash flow. But when bad calls are made and her chief female "escort" goes missing, it's time to set things off.

Sand and Rene can admit that they haven't always been honest with one another, but are they ready to forgive and forget, or are the wounds too fresh? When each one finds herself being blackmailed into working for Chyna, it's no coincidence. They go against the grain to prove their love for one another, bearing in mind whose turf they're treading on. An unrelenting thirst for notorious revenge has Chyna, Sand, and Rene riding out, hanging low, and staking out their highest claims yet.

Release date: March 27, 2018

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

“Illusion! Ty know your ass in here taking a gotdamn nap while she out there working the room?”

Illusion pretended to be deaf. Before Fletch stormed in like a maniac, she was lying peacefully on her backside, peering up at the opulent decor. She’d been in hundreds of hotel rooms, motels, and Holiday Inns, but none of them compared to the luxuries of this one.

“Say, girl, I know you hear me talking to you,” Fletch hollered again.

“Nigga, mind ya own. Shit, I needed a fucking break. Them horny-ass old men ain’t going nowhere with they drunk asses,” Illusion snapped, whipping her head around to face him. “She can manage. Hell, she’s been wanting to prove herself this long. Now, here’s her chance.”

“Yeah, well, fuck all dat. While your ass in here meditating and shit, you know what I’m saying, you sitting on Chyna’s money. And I don’t think she’s gonna go for that,” Fletch said, posting up in an OG stance.

Illusion rolled her eyes at him. “You know what? Fuck Chyna and her money! I’m tired of you running ’round here like her gotdamn puppy scout. Patrolling and worrying ’bout what the fuck I’m doing,” she shot. “Needs to get you some bidness and stay the hell up outta all mine!” She gathered every strand of her fourteen-inch weave, and then let it all fall across her right shoulder. She cut her eyes coldly at Fletch. Just his being there was annoying the fuck out of her.

Fletch waved his arms and waited a full whole minute before he said anything else to piss her off. “You need to calm all that down. It’s ya boy,” he reminded Illusion, in case she’d forgotten who in the hell she was talking to. He extended his arms as if he was measuring something as wide as himself. “I’m just looking out and making sure you straight. That’s all.” Fletch could tell by the look on her face that he was talking for nothing. He tossed his head up at her. “Come on, ma,” he said as he poked out what he called “a real man’s chest.” “Don’t get all hostile on a brotha and shit.”

Illusion stared him up and down. White-on-white Jordans, Sta-Flo starched baggy big boy jeans, crisp white 4XL shirt with Sean John’s signature scribbled across it, jailhouse tattoos that covered every piece of skin belonging to his neck and arms, and eye-candy flash from wrist to ear.

“Kodak nigga,” Illusion mumbled, then frowned at the mere idea of him having bragging rights to say he fucked her. The dreadful memory alone left a sour taste dancing around her mouth. Telling herself that she’d slept with worse, Illusion let it go, equating Fletch with all the other johns that had to drop a big face on her. She closed her eyes, trying her hardest to shake off those plaguing memories. When she finally reopened them, Fletch was still standing there, smiling, desperate, and as pathetic as they came. Illusion didn’t have to say a word because the sickened look transfixed on her face spoke loud enough—so loud that his ass pretended like he couldn’t interpret what the fuck she was saying.

“Fletch, go have a drink, roll a joint, fuck some pussy, do something. Just get off my tip,” Illusion shot, turning her lips up once again until they were kissing her nose. He wasn’t even standing that close to her, and his bad breath was hitting her smack in the face. She shook her head and eyed the shine in his mouthpiece, wondering if a trip to the dentist to take care of that halitosis would be asking him for too much.

“Yeah, a’ight. I see how you gon’ be. Ha ha ha. You got jokes.” Fletch was able to steal himself an eye-quickie up Illusion’s backside as she crossed one leg over the other, exposing a double dose of the smoothest, thickest brown thighs he’d ever seen. He stood there imagining his tongue showering them, then spreading them farther and farther apart, making room for his face to go downtown. She was showing all skin tonight. The sexy red-hot number had peek-a-boo slits cut throughout the entire dress, and it stopped an accessible inch below the dip of her ass, revealing the ultrathin black lace of her G-string.

Fletch’s teeth grazed his lips. He could still taste the assortment of juices flowing from her chocolate sugarcane fresh on his tongue as if it were only yesterday that he was deep-sea fishing between her folds. He recalled her sun-kissed sienna legs and ass sprawled over him, taking the length of his wood to her maximum, slowly, then at full speed. She rode him long, hard, and deep in every position his overweight body allowed him to fuck in.

That night was programmed in Fletch’s memory to autoreplay, and every time he fantasized about it, his jimmy jumped upright. He could vouch that Illusion fucked better than she danced and gave brain so mean, she made Supahead look like a spokeswoman for Oscar Mayer wiener.

A few men often told Illusion she resembled the model Naomi Campbell. In fact, she favored her so much that women who shared work in her line of business often complained about losing money whenever she came on the scene. And although Illusion hated having her looks compared to another woman’s, other than the woman who birthed her, she rolled with it.

With her back to Fletch and no indication that she wanted him in the room with her, Illusion remained in a world of her own.

“With your mean fine ass,” Fletch quipped. He was practically fucking her with his eyes. He glided his hands across his genitals, feeling the rise in his pants as he toyed with the possibilities.

Even when Illusion was mad, she was sexy. Five feet ten without her heels, handpicked apple bottom, and round, firm, perky titties . . . Just the way he preferred them. He was damn near drooling and didn’t even know it. Illusion was a showstopper. She held it down and living up to her name, every guy that came in her direction wanted something that they couldn’t get anywhere else, something to keep coming back for—a sexual illusion.

Fletch knew that it was time to get the hell up out of there. Illusion was playing with his head—both of them. “I’ll be in the front, but you better not keep these folks waiting long. They paid for two-girl action, not one,” he stressed. There was bass in his voice that had not been there before.

Illusion just lay there. Fletch was fucking up her groove and invading the bit of privacy and quiet time she tried to enjoy before she went to work.

“If this shit gets back to Chyna, you already know,” he warned. While his job was to direct the traffic and play watchdog, he wasn’t about to be cramped up in a room with a bunch of no-pussy-getting old men who all looked like they just escaped from the nursing home. They couldn’t harm a flea. And Chyna said they had long money, but shit, you couldn’t tell from the looks of what they were throwing out to Ty tonight.

Fletch’s manhood was throbbing. His attention was still chasing those wonderful memories of his dick parked between Illusion’s Grade-A servicing factory. He couldn’t take it. He needed some pussy right now.

“Shit. Fuck it. I’ll be downstairs in the car for a minute. I gotta check something out,” he said, now more anxious than ever to pop in that new, uncirculated DVD his boy Slick bootlegged for him. Cherokee’s big booty ass could not be kept waiting a second longer.

Illusion fanned him off. “Bye, nigga. Poof. Be gone.” She didn’t want to hear shit about what nobody paid to see tonight. While that was only half the truth of why he busted up in there like a full-force police squad, Illusion knew the real deal. Fletch wanted a free show, but fuck that. He’d pay for the goodies just like she made him do the last time they got together. Today was no different. If H2O wasn’t free, there was no way in hell her pussy was going to be. She felt like her pudding was the grandest thing on the face of the earth, and for that reason, her rates weren’t negotiable. Just like the stock market, her prices could rise in the blink of an eye. Her pussy had value—black market value. There wasn’t anything mediocre or second best about it, so niggas had to pay up to lay up.

As Fletch’s footsteps faded, Illusion’s heart began to race. The adrenaline rush from the pill she’d swallowed minutes earlier was gradually taking her on a journey to her next euphoric high. If she had to go out there once again and grind on old tart-breath men who smelled like they’d been bathing in mothballs and Old Spice, then she’d make damn sure she was high enough to do it. And if the room was anything like she left it, there were at least six seniors in there, all gray-haired or balding, in suits and bow ties ready to get things jumping. The only thing that wasn’t quite a turnoff for Illusion was the fact they all were high-end clients of Chyna, meaning the scenery was greenery. But knowing Chyna, they’d already paid an upfront fee that included the gratuity because Chyna didn’t like certain customers placing that kind of money in her hoes’ hands. It’d give them a reason to leave her, maybe consider working for themselves. And Chyna couldn’t have her bitches thinking. At all. Because she did it for them. She simplified that part of the game. All that was needed from her hoes was to obey the orders they were given before going out on a sex date. And still after only ho’ing and showing for Chyna for two months, Illusion knew she wouldn’t be able to keep this up. She’d been better off working the streets alone, without a pimp “looking out for her” and “watching her back,” as she recalled all the crap Chyna sold her on.

Illusion waited a few minutes more while admiring the mosaic sculptures and art framings that embellished the room. Her focal point, a beautiful piece of hanging artwork and its array of rich, bold colors, softly blended with splashes of vibrant reds, emerald sea-greens, and indigo-blues. She found herself daydreaming about sweet nothings that included empty promises and dreams that never became realities. Then her thoughts drifted to someone else—her daughter. She wondered if her baby girl would remember her if she saw her now. No telling with all the hateful things she was sure her grandmother fed her. Last time she saw her baby, it was for her third birthday. Baby girl looked like a pretty little princess in all that pink and white, but that was over five years ago. Now her princess was eight, probably in the second or third grade.

Illusion hated everything her life had become and regretted all the bad decisions she’d ever made leading up to this very moment, starting with her daughter, a product of the streets that her mother still served. When Illusion gave birth to her daughter right in the breezeway of a vacant apartment building, instead of throwing her baby in the garbage can or leaving her in the backseat of a city bus for someone else to find, she gave her a better home, right on her mother’s doorstep.

Illusion wiped away the solo tear that snuck down her cheek. She had come to terms with herself a long time ago, so there was no need to sit and feel sorry all over again. That chapter in her life was closed—forever. But there wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t dwell on her past and wish that things had turned out differently. Unfortunately for her, that was life. It was shitty like that, to some. There was no Magic Marker or Incredible Crayon that could erase all the shit she’d done and been through. Everyone couldn’t be a doctor, lawyer, or teacher. Somebody had to be the pimp, ho, drug dealer, and homeless man on the corner with a “will work for food” sign. If not, the rich and famous, accomplished and privileged wouldn’t be so successful after all. Everyone would be common folk, average, and no better than the next.

That’s exactly how Illusion had come to view life. But she knew she could do better than turning tricks for money—much better. Illusion wanted and needed that change, but until change came, she had to do what a moneymaker had to do. Spin those tricks and get that money.

Illusion blinked back the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. The room was spinning. She recognized this. The X Fairy had come to visit, and the bitch was working her magic spell. As it came down on her, Illusion surprisingly found herself crawling under the 600-thread count Italian sheets, when normally, she’d be horny as hell and ready to fuck the first thing with a hard dick. She could faintly hear her theme music in the background and knew Ty was pulling in a double. As T-Pain remixed that he was in love with a stripper, Illusion visualized the men spanking Ty’s ass and yelling for her to take more clothes off, to give them their money’s worth.

Her eyelids gradually folded over the glossed whites of her eyes, then rose again. All she wanted was to dream—dream about the life she always wanted, the life she never had. She forced her eyes shut, and everything turned black. A sense of calmness comforted her. Sleep was the closest thing to death, and if death meant peace, then she’d pray to God that she would never wake up.

“I know this bitch ain’t finally show her face after I done did all the damn work!” Ty huffed loudly, straining the vessels in her skinny neck. “Uh-uh. Hell, naw. Fuck that! Take me to the house, Fletch, and leave this bitch here!” she ordered. “I ain’t playin’. This ho ain’t ridin’ with us.”

“Ty, calm all that shit down, girl!” Fletch yelled. “I got this.” He turned to face Illusion. “What happened, ma?”

Illusion rolled her eyes upward. “Shit, I fell asleep. Blacked out. Hell, I don’t know. And why didn’t your ass come back up and get me? Thought you were looking out,” she went off, mimicking his earlier remark. She felt a headache coming on. If it wasn’t for one of those drunk-ass men trying to slip in the bed with her, she would probably still be asleep, dead to the world. When the old man told Illusion the party was over and that her friends were leaving, she jumped up, knocking him to the floor, and hauled ass to the elevator, catching up to Fletch and Ty as they were getting into the Hummer.

“Remember, you the one told me to leave your ass alone,” Fletch hollered back, refreshing her memory. “I tried to tell you these people paid for a two-ho show tonight. Not one, but two,” he repeated, waving the peace sign directly in her face. “Besides, I was outside watching the door. Making sure y’all’s asses were safe,” he seethed.

Illusion wasn’t buying that. “Yeah, sure you were. Your ass was probably down here jackin’ off,” she huffed. “Everybody know what you do in there with them windows rolled up,” she blasted, putting him on front street. Her gold chandelier earrings dangled across her shoulders every time her head swayed from side to side. “You ain’t fooling no-damn-body. And so what? Y’all was just gonna leave me here?”

“Come on now. You know good and well I was—”

“You ain’t gotta explain shit to this bitch!” Ty shot, cutting Fletch off mid-sentence. “She knew what time it was when we got here. And now the bitch acting brand new all of a sudden,” she raved. Ty didn’t give a flying fuck that Illusion was standing right there in close enough range to hear every word she said. “Now she thinks she’s too good to work a call like this, leaving me in there all by my damned self.” Ty balled her hands and pumped her fists, then slammed the door. “Trifling bitch,” she spat under her breath while finding it hard as hell to believe that she got played.

Illusion was reading Ty’s lips. “Bitch? I ain’t gon’ be too many more of your bitches, I’ll tell you that much! Ya li’l young high-yella ass need to learn how to respect your fucking elders,” Illusion chastised, knowing she was probably only a few years older than Ty. “Better get your little Chocolate tie-a-shoe or tie-a-whateva you want somebody to tie-lookin’ ass on somewhere.” Illusion combed through her hair with her fingertips, then neatly tucked her mane into a tight knot, just in case something popped off. After a minute or two, she pulled the back door handle, attempting to get in, finding it locked.

Fletch instantly looked over at Ty. “Ty, quit playing. We ain’t got all fucking night for this shit. Unlock the damn door!”

“Hell, no! That bitch about to walk her ass to Midlothian. Hope them feet ready, bitch!” Ty sang. “Now, sleep on that,” she laughed.

“Ty, give me the keys,” Fletch said, holding his hand out to her.

Ty rocked her head from side to side. With her lips poked out like a bird’s, her eyes open wide, and her short, spiked hairdo, which was highlighted a royal blue and honey blond, she looked just like the peacock the girls in the house jokingly called her. But she thought the style was tight, and Chyna never said otherwise. She smacked her lips and popped her tongue. “Make that bitch walk some of the fat off her ass. Horse-built skank. Hell, she ain’t running a damn thing over here,” she said as she gripped Fletch’s keys tighter and relaxed back in the seat, unfazed. She rolled up all the windows in Illusion’s face, bringing her yapping down to a minimum.

Illusion tried the door again, but it was still locked. Her high in less effect, she began hitting on the windows for them to let her in. She couldn’t see through the illegal tint, but she knew, without a doubt, that Ty was getting a kick out of everything. Her patience had already run thin, plus, it was too damn cold to be standing there playing childish-ass games. Illusion was wishing like hell that she hadn’t showed up to work the party tonight. Chyna knew better than pairing them up because Illusion didn’t want or need a sidekick. She was good on her own. So all the extra Chyna sent along with her was a bunch of BS.

The smell of rain brushed across Illusion’s nose. Recalling the weatherman’s forecast about cool temperatures and scattered showers, Illusion became infuriated at the idea of getting her fresh hairdo wet. She shot Ty a murderous look through the glass. “Bitch, I’ma whoop your ass! Believe that. I betcha won’t jump your ass outta the car!” Illusion challenged, pointing her long French-tipped nail at Ty. Illusion held her hands in the air, calling Ty out. “Come on. Get ya ass outta the car, ho!”

Illusion’s angry expression and her cat-eyed look frightened Fletch. He thought he was watching a scene from the Exorcist as curse words flew like flaming darts from each of the women’s mouths.

“Get out? Bitch, I don’t have to! I’m not the one who gon’ be walking. So get a head start, trick ho!”

Ty was pissed off and felt like she had every valid reason to be because Illusion had left her alone to strip, dance, and do whatever else she was asked to do for six stank-breath, wheezing old men. All six of them had begged for her to go down on them for a little something extra, and like a true moneymaking ho, she adhered to their every request. She sucked their wrinkled sac dicks without hesitation until each of them came one by one, believing she’d prove to Chyna that she was a ride-or-die chick for the paper.

“Ha ha ha. Come on, y’all, stop. It’s too late for all this shit,” Fletch finally admitted, lowering his driver’s-side window some more so Illusion could see all of his face. Although he was tempted to video his own Ghetto Brawl catfight and sell the DVDs for ten dollars a pop, he was tired and ready to get home to some pussy. Enough was enough. “My girl at home waiting on a nigga, so y’all needs to chill the fuck out and kill that noise, mayne!” He looked down to check his cellular. Aggravated, he sighed loud and hard, then pressed his head back against the headrest. “It’s almost one in the fuckin’ morning, and y’all muhfuckas out here arguing over some dumb shit.” He turned his whole body back to his right. “Give me my damn keys, girl, before I make your skinny ass walk right along with her. That way, both of y’all asses can shut the fuck up and raise up outta my ear with all dat!”

Ty flinched and turned up her nose. His breath was kicking, and he was starting to sound just like both of them. “Fletch, if you let this bitch in this car, I promise you, I will push her ass out into moving traffic. Do . . . not . . . test . . . me,” she forewarned. She was getting madder by the minute.

“. . .