Читать книгу 'The River' Blood Brother Chronicles - Volume 1 - T. Beaulieu - Страница 12

Morning finds the troupe, Dames and Gentlemen. Arguing as usual.

Its a beautiful Sunday morning and church service is about to start in two hours. Benjamin still does not understands why he has to put himself in certain danger. Even if his partner in crime says that he has everything under control. There are somethings that need not be tested and Slick knows this first hand.

“Look. I still don’t see why I have ta’ turn myself in fucka’”

“Why don’t ya’ turn ya’ self in asshole,” Benjamin sneers.

Hearing the creole’s colorful language early on a Sunday morning, Kelly glares over from pouring her first cup of coffee. “You do realize its Sunday Benjamin ?”

“Can we curtail that filthy mouth of yours for Monday?,” she says.

Sally simply snickers with her hand over her mouth as usual.

Benjamin laughs. “Look-ahu’r woman, I’ll bite my got’damn tongue when God bring his ass down h’ur and explain ta’ this hu’r simple white devil eyed bast'ud why I got's ta’ turn myself in.”

“Until then, let tha’ fuck’a play hopscotch with tha’ devil. They cohorts any damn way,” Benjamin laughs.

Scoffing, Sally instantly makes the holy sacrament across her chest. Leaving the room quickly, as if expecting lightening to strike.

Kelly grins from her coffee cup. “Look at what you did you devil?”

“You scared poor Sally.”

Both look over to Slick, peacefully eating his two eggs over-easy, bacon, toast with butter and rhubarb marmalade. Another ritual before taking a job.

Kelly sips as Benjamin stares intently.

Slowly Slick looks up at them both, both cheeks stuffed with food.

“Kelly - yous can go ta’ hell,” the hustler deadpans.

“Take this hur’ mongrel nigga wit’cha. I’m bout’ sick’a look’in at him.”

“And as fo’ ya’ negro. I don told’cha several times ya’ have nuth'in to worry bout’. All is tak’in care of .”

“Naw, both of ya’s can kiss all of my white freckl’d ass. End of Discussion.”

Right as Slick finishes his comment, Kelly walks by her husband, slapping him in the back of the head. Hard.

Quickly, a piece of toast flies out of the killer’s mouth. Landing in front of Benjamin whom laughs loud.

“Dammit woman!!,” Slick roars, rising up quick and fast.

“Ya gon’ cause brain damage!,” he yells.

“You have to have a brain to get brain damage Slick,” she snarks as Benjamin laughing louder.

Quickly, the lady-of-the-house, wearing rollers, a fine pink housecoat and mink house slippers of the same color, glares over to Benjamin.

“Why you are laugh’in Benjamin ?”

Benjamin chuckles gently as he looks away.

“Don’t start wit’ me woman. I aint fuck’in ya’,” he snarks.

“Shut the hell up nasty ass!,” Kelly yells with a grin.

“Your only redeeming quality is that pretty face of yours and what rides between your legs.”

“The woman in town love to kiss and tell about your nasty self .”

“I’m ashamed you got your damn sticky mitts on my beautiful Sally. She deserves better. Indeed,” the young blonde snides.

Instantly Kelly sees a type of hurt in Benjamin sensitive eyes, regretting what has come from her lips. Even Slick looks up at his with overting eyes. Looking to his half brother, then to his breakfast.

The creole says nothing, only smiling gently. He understands.

Kelly looks to her own husband, a contract killer himself, truly the best man she has ever met.

“Sorry baby-boy,” she murmurs, lifting her coffee cup to her lips.

“What ?,” Benjamin snarks.

Kelly smiles. “ Sorry ..... “

The creole chuckles, pulling up his trousers, crossing his legs as he lounges back in his seat.

Still stuffing his mouth as if he has not eaten in twenty years, Slick glares at his half brother, then at Kelly.

“We gon’ talk bout’ what yo’ just said,” he smirks, eating another bite of toast. This piece stays in his mouth.

Looking to the men, chuckling as she decides what to wear to Sunday service, Kelly graces her husband’s stubbly cheek with a morning kiss.

“Now Slick, don’t leave the man in suspense,” she purrs with another kiss.

“You are putting his life on the line. Even though we have taken care of everything. Baby boy deserves peace of mind?”

Slick crunches down on bacon as he scoffs, chugging some orange juice.

“Fuck - he would have ta’ have god-damn mind ta’ have piece of fu’rst...,” he comments.

The statement sounded better in his head. Benjamin and Kelly smirking at the odd remark.

“Why yo’ marry him,” Benjamin asks Kelly with a grin.

“He’s ‘bout as dumb as a drunk damn mule pull’in a blade of straw.”

Sipping her second cup of coffee, Kelly walks around a small kitchen table tastefully laden with morning fair. The beauty has a seat.

The young blonde looks to her husband of almost ten years with a wink as the sexy thug. She sees the reason already why she feel in love with the killer to begin with. Slick’s eyes. Big and expressive, blue clear orbs of truth and compassion.

Slick looks from the love of his life, peering down to his food. Gently the lovable scoundrel glances back up at Kelly with a slight cock of his head with a cocky grin. Something that drives her crazy.

“I have a my reasons,” the blonde purrs.

Gently, Kelly reaches under the table, sliding her hand between her husbands muscular thighs. The beauty finds another reason why Slick is the love of her life.

Sitting back, admiring her man, as well as his half brother. Kelly smiles.

This is her family. As Slick eats and Benjamin continues to slick talk, the young flapper looks around her small kitchen.

She remembers sweet memories of when her own mother lived in the house.

Patti, her old maid when she was young, was always baking something sweet and delicious. Filling the intimate kitchen with love.

Sipping, the young woman glances to her left, behind a munching Benjamin, just handed a plate of scrambled eggs and toast.

There Kelly sees a whole open cabinet of preserves. To her right, behind Slick, eating greedily, is the corner where her mother and Pattie would mark the young woman’s growth as a child.

Kelly grins as she looks below the gentle reminder of her childhood, seeing old dirty small hand prints her mother had not the heart to paint over.

Suddenly, like a small stab in her heart, the young woman looks to one of the hand prints. Bringing the sting of tears, pain long not thought of, Kelly feels a lost childhood notion of innocence.

Next to little Kelly’s hand prints are the prints of a young girl whose name was Alice Dunnham. Alice was little Kelly’s friend most of her childhood, from as far back as the young woman can remember.

That is until the year 1899.

Memories are sketchy, no one talks about the tragedy. As if it had never happened. Especially older people, many of whom are dead.

Alice had disappeared one summer afternoon, never to be seen again. No body was ever found, not even a stray hair. It was as if the little six year old girl had floated back up to heaven with little notice from the Almighty.

Sipping, seeing the small hand print, Kelly thinks back to her friend as Slick starts another playful argument with Benjamin. The young woman smiles as she remembers the games she used to play with Alice as kids.

Instantly, like a ghostly whisper, Kelly recollects the child’s soft smile and wonderful laugh. It was not until later that she found out what many suspected. The young child was stanched by a murdering pedophile.

It was said that the man, his name never found out, was suspected for snatching another young child. It is also known the the small boy’s father took the law into his own hands. He killed the suspected child murder with a gun shot blast to the chest one moon filled night.

Ofcourse, this being the South, especially in rural south, there was no need for police or a judge and jury. Which in itself was the tragedy.

Years after the unknown man was killed, it was discovered that he had nothing to do with the child abductions. The drifter was just a hapless unemployed vagrant looking for work and food. Hoping for a warm bed to lay his head and a chance to start his life over again.

The man was innocent.

Hearing Slick chuckle as he stuffs his cheeks with eggs and bacon, his third helping, Kelly looks from the old barely legible hand print a few feet away. The socialite sips her coffee in a solitude the brothers know nothing about. Considering the fact that no one has ever been brought to justice for Alice’s murder.

Suddenly a pang of guilt comes across the young woman’s mind, considering another fact. No one even found out the poor man’s name.

Worse even still, the drifter was probably buried in a place long forgotten. Another ghost to haunt the Carolinas, joining legions of those without names and justice to give them eternal peace.

Letting the memory float from her mind, Kelly comes to a realization as she looks around. In the whole mansion, in all it splendor, the small kitchen is her favorite room. Not because the flapper uses it, but because it has so much history. Memories that have made whom she is in the present.

With her mind in the present, the young socialite winks playfully at Benjamin, watching him chomp through three slices of bacon.

Benjamin turns to the blue eyed hustler. “So --?”

Kelly grins, noticing Sally as she peeks around the corner.

“Speak husband. Explain to Benjamin why he has to turn himself in.”

Slick glares through a long chug of coffee. Sally pouring him more.

“Why ya’ instigat’in woman ?”

“I got a gu’d mind ta’ take ya’ upstairs and beat ya’ with wha’ makes ya’ ass moan.”

Kelly scoffs as she turns to a blushing Sally, the young maid grinning as she looks away quickly. Not before looking at Benjamin. The lady-of-the-house turns her attention from her stubborn mate for the moment, watching her best friend chuckle into a cup of coffee.

“Your one to snicker,” she laughs to Sally.

“I heard all kinds of moaning and cries all last night. I thought a cat was in heat.”

Again Sally blushes. Her wit just as quick as her friend’s. “Lies - how could’ga?”

“All what makes Mr. Slick a man stuffed down ya greedy gullet.”

“Chile. All I heard was gurgling and chock’in.”

“I was gonna call the police. Till’ I heard Slick cum,” the maid snarks.

Kelly laughs out loud, grabbing her friend’s by the waist. Both looking toward the men, each loved and adored. “Seems like we both had a good night,” she whispers.

“Imma fill ya’ in lat’a. Giiiirll-ya have no idea,” Sally grins, turning to a winking Benjamin.

Slick smiles, crunching on two pieces of bacon. “Ok, h’ur it goes. Ole man Jacks goes ta’ tha’ racetrack today.”

“Then he gon’ stop ov’a at ‘Freddys’ for his Sunday ribs and cornbread.”

“The fat fuc-....,” Slick starts to say, Kelly giving him a deadpan glare.

“That gentleman is’a creature of habit. Our job is ta’ get at his fu’rst son, Mick. But this can be put on hold is otha’ shit happen.”

“Ok ...? “ Benjamin remarks, sipping coffee.

“That young stupid bast- .....,” Slick says, cutting himself off, looking to his stern wife.

“That gentlem'un always goes ta’ collect rent in Spokane Heights, tha’ color’d section. My job is ta’ get ta’ him befo’ he gets back ta’ Rushmore. Somewhu’r in between.”

“He gon’ be by himself. Rememb’a .”

“His broth’as and half the sheriff look’in us ov’a like gu’d smell’in hook’as,” Slick says.

Hearing his partner’s plan, the creole smiles. Its a simple plan and it works. Benjamin has never liked plans that were too complicated. To many things to go wrong. “Simple enough...,” he says.

“So what’s all tha’ mystery bout’ ?,” he ask, curious.

So is Kelly.

Slick looks up from the last of his third helping of bacon and eggs.

“Cause’ thu’r is anoth’a reason. Ya’ gonna get lock’d up buddy.”

“Thu’r is a negro ya’ gon’ break out. He is a brutha’ of a fellow hustl’a and his papi is my cousin’s road dog. Well, our cousin.”

“Besides tha’ man aint did sh- .....,” Slick says, correcting himself as Kelly smiles proudly.

“Nuth’in ...... tha’ man aint did nuth’in,” he interjects, frustrated.

Benjamin nods as he continues to eat. Only to glare up at his buddy, then at Kelly. Smacking through tasty bacon and eggs, the creole grins sincerely.

“Is this fucka’ out his fuck’in scuttle brain mind?”

Quickly, Kelly glares at the handsome hustler, sucking her teeth as Sally makes the holy sacrament across her chest. “Its Sunday...., she remarks.

Benjamin cuts her off.

“And-I aint fuck’in ya’ so ya’ can’t tell me wha’ ta’ fuck’in damn do,” the creole smirks, looking to his partner.

Faster than a bolt of lightning, the slick talking creole yells out in pain as a crash is heard behind his chair.

Kelly just threw an empty coffee cup. Hitting Benjamin square across the head.

“What tha’ damn fuck woman!,” he yells, rubbing the growing lump on his temple.

“Ya’ cu’d have tak’in my damn eye out’cha my damn head!”

“Make me git up if ya’ won’t ta’,” he warns.

Kelly grins as Sally cleans up the broken teacup after she checks her lover’s temple. Its just bruised.

“You know I got my gun in the other room. Right?,” she laughs.

“Consider me doing God’s work. When he can’t smite you, its my job to do so.”

A few feet away, trying his best to not choke on toast, Slick laughs loudly. A rowdy outburst that only makes Benjamin’s attitude even worse.

“Negro ...... Fuck You,” Benjamin grins, rubbing the lump on his head.

The lady-of-the-house has had enough. The men watch as Kelly walks out the roomy country manor kitchen, scoffing with her third cup of coffee, sally in tow.

Slick looks behind, watching as his wife disappears out of sight. “Bout’ damn time. She don’t need ta’ hu’r tha’ rest.” “Sssshit - try’in ta’ get all involv’d.” he barely whispers.

Benjamin nods with a grin, still rubbing his head.

“Ya’ gotta’ tell hu’r ta’ get in a woman’s place,” the creole whispers.

“She hell’a bossy.”

Slick laughs at the comment, looking at Benjamin’s bruised brow. Now lumped up pretty good. “Why dont’cha tell hur’ ?,” he laughs.

The creole scoots his chair closer so the two men can talk in private without the huge kitchen echoing their every word. “So check it. Bout’ bust’in the oth’a black man out. That true?,” the creole asks.

“Yeah-but it will be easy as pie. Aint gon’ be a big deal.”

“I hav’a man tha’ will be out back. In tha’ woods behind the jail.”

“His pickup truck is already park’d thu’r already. Been th’ur fo’ two days. Cover’d with burlap.”

“Now, yo’ go’in. They aint gon’ fuck with ya’. Nan’ one hair on tha’ head of yours,” Slick whispers.

Benjamin cuts his brother off.

“Nigga-I aint worried bout’ tha’. Been ta’ hell and back so damn many times, tha’ devil charges me fuck’in rent.”

“I jus’ don’t want ta’ be no damn sit’in duck fo’ those hateful ass pecka’woods. Ya’ unda’stand na.”

“Hell-there’s only so much a nigga can do when ya’ corn’d in’a small fuck’in ass cell. And yo’ kno’ they gon’ take my guns.”

Looking to his side, out into a clear morning, the blue-eyed hustler wonders if he has made the right deals to assure his brother’s safety. Slick considers the palms he has greased. Hard cold cash given out here and there strategically.

The hustler gently smiles, remembering each face of every man he has bribed. Eyes of fear and dread always staring back, even as each man took money and thanks. Fear has a way of gaining allegiances.

The blonde slick mouth killer looks to his brother’s pant hem.

“Yeah - but not ya razor. Just in case,” he whispers.

Suddenly Kelly laughs off in the distance, meaning she is not eaves dropping. The men return back to there normal voices, though low.

With the sun shining on his brow, the sandy blonde hustler sits back in his chair, expecting to be cursed out once again, as well as a barrage of questions.

“Imma also nee’ga ya’ ta’ do sum'thin else playa,” Slick says.

“There’sa safe in tha’ sheriff's office. In tha’ safe is several deeds ta’ properties fru’m po’ families. I want these deeds.”

“They don’t fuck’in belong in thu’r. These families need they property back.”

Almost wincing with a grin, slick expects acidic words to be thrown his way.

Nothing.

The blue eyed hustler looks to Benjamin. The is creole grinning.

“Shiiiiiiiittt - I’m cool wit’ tha’,” Benjamin smiles.

Slick is shocked.

“Good - tha’ whole operation gonna take no mo’ than a day. I got everyth’in

plann’d,” Slick says.

Watching his half brother, seeing a familiar twinkle in the creole’s eyes. Slick is glad that Benjamin is somewhat more at ease.

The two have been in some very rough situations, scenarios where death was breathing on the back of their necks. Their genius has always seen a way out.

Its as if Slick have a sixth sense for seeing the bigger picture, especially when chaos reigns supreme. The killer always out smarts even the most experienced of criminal.

When danger is running amuck, the brothers eye’s always light up, quick and intelligent. Each knowing what to do and how.

Benjamin laughs, seeing the youthful enthusiasm in his kin’s mannerisms. As if a weight has been lifted off of Slick’s shoulders.

The creole picks his pearly white teeth. “So when is this gon’ happen. I ask again ?”

“Tomorrow. Ya’ turn’in ya’self in tha’ morn. Six am fuck’in sharp,” Slick says.

Benjamin deadpans his brother. “Why, ya’ work’d tha’ out too nigga?”

Slick face deadpans as well, about to laugh at his partner’s reaction.

“Cause anoth’a kill’a is aft’a ya’. Ya’ need ta’ be safe,” Slick answers.

“Bullshit and ya’ kno’ tha’ fuck it is.”

“Tha’ damn sheriff aint fall’in fo’ that nigga.”

“I’d end up dead playa’,” Benjamin says.

Slick shakes his head, eyes brighter than ever. “Not if he was paid ta’ keep ya’ safe,” he answers.

Benjamin eyes light up as he hears the good news, laughing suddenly as a sigh of relief leaving his lungs. Something he would only show his half brother. Quickly glaring over at his partner, Benjamin has another question.

“Why tha’ fuck didn’t ya’ tell me?

“Ya’ went forty-five miles to’a damn corn’a sto’, when ya’ simple ass could’ve taken a damn stroll nigga.”

“Tha’ was a long ass plan. All ta’ tell me ya’ paid the corrupt fat fucka’ ta’ take me in.”

Slick laughs hard at his partner’s reaction as he sips a new cup of coffee. Eyeing a sweet pecan danish.

“Shut tha’ fuck up ya’ slick haired mongrel.”

“I shu’d jus’ let ya’ ass get strung up tha’ nearest tree,” he laughs.

“I’m sick’o ya’ fuck’in mouf’. “

Quickly offended, though chuckling, Benjamin throws a bacon rind at the crude blue eyed hustler, hitting Slick square in his face. This makes his brother laugh out loud. “Bite me ya’ white trash muth’a-fuck’a,” the creole laughs.

As the men eat, both are quite as they quickly glance at each other. Slick should not have made the crude comment.

A lot in life can be laughed at, keeping one sane.

In this day and age, lynching a black man is nothing to be joked about. “I didn’t pay him,” Slick finally comments.

“One’o my buddies did. He’a memb’a of the Klux.”

“Ole man Jack think he be’in paid ta’ .....,” the hustler pauses.

He will have to pace his words carefully.

“...... Kill ya’ while in jail,” Slick says apprehensively.

He watches Benjamin’s reaction.

Nothing.

Calmly, the creole sits back, reaching down into his left sock garter. There the killer has a custom made holster for his favorite weapon. A five inch straight edge blade. The killer pulls the weapon out, admiring how it shines in the morning sun shine. A shimmer produced by a nightly spit shine.

“You aint worried boy ?,” Slick asks, admiring the blade. He has one of his own.

Chuckling quickly, the creole glares to his business partner.

“Done told’cha ‘bout call’in me a boy. This dick b’tween my legs say otha’

fuck’in wise muth'a’ - fuck’a.”

Looking to back to his weapon, a true companion in Benjamin’s line of work, more intimate to him than his own heart beat. The creole smiles eerily as the weapon shines in his eyes.

Something that would scare most law abiding civilians.

“Ya’ see this lil’ lady right hur’ my ole’ friend.”

“This sexy bitch aint neva’ let me down.”

“She tha’ only lady by my side three sixty-fuck’in five playa’.”

Benjamin smiles, kissing the long pearl handled blade, placing it back in its holster.

“Tha’ fat fuck’a come near me, I’mma gut him lik’a Sunday hog.”

“Trimmings and all.”

The creole looks over to his buddy. Breakfast is finished.

Time to also finish up a few loose ends before the plan takes place tomorrow.

His belly full and satisfied, Benjamin glances to the sunny window. Thinking back, the creole glances at his best friend for twenty-six years.

“Th’ur sum’thin ya’ aint tell’in me. I’ll find out wha’ it is boy.”

“No fuck’in doubt bout’ that playa’.”

Slick looks to the outside day, beaming with a new and pleasing way. Gently, the hustler’s gaze seems to study the kitchen he has been in every morning for the last twelve years. He already misses his home. “Actually thu'r’ is .....,” the young killer says softly.

“When we do this, we off ta’ New Orleans. Fo’ good.”

Benjamin glances to his buddy, then back out to the manicured grounds out front. He has been suspecting this for some time. He has noticed his brother checking for real estate in and around the famous southern city. The hustler has also been paying for information concerning the more colorful residents of New Orleans. The creole has been waiting for the final word for some time.

“Kelly kno’ bout this ?,” he asks.

“Yeah, hu’r folks gott’a big house down th’ur in tha’ French Quarter. Been in tha’ family since yur’ family was in chains. Pick’in cotton and eat’in dirt,” Slick grins.

Benjamin looks over at his brother with a glaring deadpan.

“Next time I bring my blade out’cha my sock fuck’a.”

“That bitch gon’ get a good red sip this morning, courtesy of your fuck’in neck negro,” he sneers playfully.

“Talk’in bout me like that .....”

Slick grins as he looks outside, then back to his kin. He means to say something else.

“Shut tha’ fuck up asshole. My peoples whu’r work’in them same fields. Right next ta’ yours nigga.”

“Proud po’ white trash fo’ decades. Aint no shame in my game.”

Benjamin nods. Slick and he have always had an unspoken communication, a camaraderie of goodwill and care that will never be said nor see the light of day. But its there, has to be. Murdering people can be an intimate affair into the darkest of oblivion.

Sharing that experience with another person that understands keeps one grounded in reality. From descending into darkness. Quietly the men look from each other, knowing the other would give his life for the next.

That fact been proven too many times.

Benjamin’s pick his teeth with a toothpick. “Nigga-yo’ say I love you, I’mma cut ya’ fuck’in throat,” he grins.

“Don't’ worry ya fuck’in yella’ mongrel.”

“I hat’cha ya’ guts like night hat’in day,” Slick grins.

Listening to the woman upstairs, Sally laughing with Kelly, the men consider their lives, as well as the women that love and adore them. Slick can not see his life without Kelly. Nor her money.

The two men sit in the kitchen for some time, silent. Respectful of each, both think hard and heavy. Planning and conniving is a part of a the men’s job. Plans upon plans, first second and third. Nothing is done without a backup and a backup for that.

Curious as he sits back in his chair, ready to hear the plan of a lifetime, benjamin thinks of other rumors he has heard. “So. What's in Nola' ?,” he finally asks.

Slick sits back, deeply sighing as the sun shines through the kitchen window on his handsome face. He peers over to Benjamin, a man as equally dashing as he. The white slickster instantly thinks back to a time where money was not so plentiful. Where life was rough and hard, brutal.

A time when friendship was a defense against death itself.

Atlanta was a harsh for the poor back in the 1900’s. Sharecroppers and the wealthy was all that existed, there was not much of a middle class.

Around April 6 1902, Henry Igasho, a sickly small blonde little boy with a strange Native American last name, met a mixed race black boy. A robust child of the same age, Benjamin Beaulieu.

The black boy’s family were always treated badly, a family of seven working in a large tobacco field. One hundred acres to be toiled over by broken backs and spirits.

There were other black families on the Stewart's’ plantation. Fifty to be exact, one family for every two acres. The patriarch of the plantation, David Stewart, was a reasonable men, though racist to his core. Which always confused little Benjamin. The man would call the little boy a nigger, then come back a few hours later with sweets for all the kids.

Little Henry’s family did not fair any better. One of two, the boy had a sister. The kids belong to a small family, one of twelve white families working on the fields.

When Stewart would ride around with one of his sons, young men just as crazy as him, the plantation owner would always eye Benjamin’s mama curiously.

Then eye the boy, always with a gentle smile.

Nothing was ever said, but Benjamin suspected the landowner was his daddy. A secret his mother carried to her early grave. Probably because she was raped.

Little Benjamin, always curious and hardworking, nose always to the ground when around the land owner and his arrogant sons. Even young, the boy was always taken aback at how Stewart would treat the white sharecroppers. He instinctually knew that the man was a bully.

It was as if Stewart hated them more than the blacks, always vindictive and petty.

His sons were even worse.

One day, the sun bright in the summer sky, one of Stewart’s sons, Daniel Stewart, decided he wanted blood sport. A cruel excuse for skin and spit, the young man pushed little Henry hard as he could.

A few feet away, Benjamin watched as the small white boy fell to the dirt, screaming out in pain as Daniel starting kicking the child.

Years later, Benjamin and Slick eventually found out that the evil young men hated young Slick because they suspected that old man Stewart was the child’s father. Being white, the hateful sons despised the fact that Slick could have a rightful claim to their fortunes.

Their evil daddy broke the cardinal rule when trolling for ‘midnight tail’. Never take it from a white woman.

Because what comes from her belly could take everything right back.

Benjamin's mother, Clara, a wise and honorable dark-skinned beauty, at that moment, fearing for her own child, grabbed Benjamin. Pushing the young boy down into her chest, the mother shielded both of their eyes.

As the young woman turned her head, she figured that there was nothing that could done.

There comes time when destiny stares a human being right in th eyes. Old and wise, the sage of time dares one to make a choice, a change, a chance.

This was Benjamin’s chance for change. He knew it, even as a boy in that moment huddled against his mother’s bosom.

From under his mother’s loving arms, Benjamin watched as the evil Daniel kicked little Henry over and over again. A child that weighed no more than seventy-five pounds soak and wet with rocks in his pockets.

Rage building in his small brow, his hazel eyes feeling as if on fire, the young creole was always formidable.

A powerful boy child that was big for his age, Benjamin had the will of a young warrior, even back then.

With all his might, quickly squeezing from his mother’s loving embrace, young Benjamin looked destiny right in her face and spat in it.

Rushing as fast as his bare feet could take him, the brave child sped in the direction of Slick’s bloody screams.

As the young warrior leaped through the air, blinded by fury with a sickle in hand, Little Benjamin made contact.

A sickening crunch was heard as shocked gasp were heard by everyone watching.

In front of several sharecroppers, blood trickled from his head, danial Stewart turned around with a shocked look on his face. The last thing the evil bastard saw was young Benjamin’s murderous grimace, a gleeful grin of pride and redemption.

“I’s send ya’ ass back ta’ damn hell naw .... say hello ta’ ya daddy fo’ me ....,” the young Benjamin hissed.

As his eyes slowly grew dim, the Stewart boy, the most infamous bully in several counties, finally glazed on into death, falling dead into the dirt from his favorite horse.

At the age of 18, the eldest son of the one of the most powerful landowners, Daniel Stewart, known to rape girls as young as six, was dead as a doorknob.

The evil young man was even suspected in lynching several black men and woman.

The blood thirsty maniac, cruel from sun up to sun down, every day. Died face down in the very dirt his father killed and maimed others for.

That fateful day everybody saw everything, but said nothing.

As young Benjamin and Henry looked on, the master’s boy was rolled up in burlap by a group of men. His horse was taken deep into the woods and killed.

All was taken care off. So they thought.

It took weeks, but the sheriff finally came around asking questions. A tough racist white man whom hated more than he loved, especially the weak, Sheriff Wilson made it his duty to bring fear everywhere he went.

Over a few days, the hateful lawman rounded the sharecroppers in groups of ten, never with their families. The lawman questioned and intimidated several groups forcefully. Loud and boisterous, the lawman promised death to each if the truth was not told.

Weeks of this took place, until the sheriff became even more brutal. Finally he lynched three innocent men, a white and two blacks that newly arrived on the farm. The corrupt officer then lied, saying each man confessed to killing Stewart’s son because of a robbery attempt gone wrong.

Clara knew then and there that she had to leave and leave fast. Eventually, for some reason unbeknownst to the young boys, little Henry left with the wise woman and her boy. After a few weeks on the road, from farm to farm, the trio eventually landed in Alabama.

Finally ending up in South Carolina, the young mother, always brave and courageous, lost her battle to live. Mama Clara died of tuberculosis, leaving the boys at the age of fourteen.

From there, destiny took hold once again. Henry, whom would later be known as ‘Blood Slick’ because of his razor skills, and Benjamin, fought the world to survive, literally. Both joined gangs, becoming head of those gangs. Each known for their brutality and skill in killing and fighting.

For Slick and Benjamin, it always seemed that fate threw her worst in their direction, only to have the men threw their worst right back. From moonshining, card sharking, hustling, even selling sex to wealthy woman whom were lonely, the young men grew into hardened criminals.

But somehow, through it all, both managed to hold on to their humanity. Or atleast a gentile delusion of such.

Benjamin grins as he pouring another cup of coffee. “You rememb’a why I start’d call’in ya’ ‘Slick’ ?”

“Yeah - the Murto Twins,” the blue eyed hustler laughs.

“I sliced both’em fuck’as up like steak at’a slaught’a house.”

“So much damn blood on tha’ flo’.... it was slick to our feet. Yo’ dumb ass start’d call’in me tha’ shit,” Slick grins.

“Badge of honor nigga. Badge of honor,” Benjamin grins.

Looking over to a picture, the creole thinks. The woman in the black and white fine framed picture is pretty in a plain way, barely smiling. As if hiding secrets like a southern Mona Lisa.

Slick looks to the portrait as well, noticing a quick look on Benjamin face. One of which he dismisses with a sip of coffee. “That’s Kelly’s mama,’ he says.

As the hustler’s intelligent blue eyes studying the portrait, slick instantly remembers a woman that hated him with an awful passion.

Slick first met Kelly at the Sunday horse tracks, a huge after church affair for wealthy socialites. Always dressed in his finest, accented with a gold pocket watch and brass tipped ivory cane, the lovable killer hs always been a sure catch. Though dressed casket sharp, Kelly’s mother would always had something snide and demeaning to say Slick each time she met him. Never fail.

At that time Kelly was in the young hoods sights. Slick loved the young woman dearly and had the money to support a family.

By working hard and smart, the young hoodlum was already a millionaire by the age of twenty through the bountiful dark fruits of the southern underworld.

Each Sunday the hood would leap out of bed, knowing he would see the girl of his dreams. Benjamin would simply sleep in, since coloreds were not allowed at the tracks. And sure enough, dressed in his best, the young man, always with flowers in hand, was treated like dirt by Mother Kelly.

One time the hateful wench even called Slick a ‘ high yellow mongrel nigger’ trying his best to pass for white. Slick guessed this was because it soon got out that Benjamin and he were actually blood brothers with the same father.

Each Sunday, called the worst of the worst by a woman whom had more money that God, Slick smiled brightly because none of it mattered.

Kelly was always behind the evil woman, smiling sweetly. It was as if Kelly’s simple smiles were a type of armor. As acidic words of hate and vitriol came his way, all Slick did was imagine Kelly’s sweet face while he was riding deep within her young thighs.

Turning from the old bats’s picture, the hoodlum thinks back to a woman whom was a lot kinder to him than the one in the portrait.

Instantly Mama Clara on her death bed comes to mind. In her last moments the loving woman was barely able to talk. Mucus in had gathered in her lungs. The woman was literally slowly drowned.

The last time Slick and Benjamin saw their mother, Clara was courageous, almost angelic, as if not effected at all by the fact that she was dying.

Heaven was calling the good woman home.

Peering over, enjoying his last cup of coffee, the young hustler is amazed. The creole resembles Mama Clara so much. The only woman of whom Slick will ever remember as his mother.

As if a slight gentle feather, light and ethereal, Mama Clara’s face flutters across Slick’s mind once again. Making the killer instantly melancholic.

“You miss mama .... ?,” he asks solemnly.

Benjamin turns with a grin. “Which one nigga?”

“You had two mama’s. One that aint want'cha’ and my mama.” The creole looks away, sadness in his handsome face as well.

“Every fuck’in day bro’ ...... every damn day,” he says gently.

Slick turns away, remembering the last time he saw birth mother.

Amitola Igasho was a woman to reckon with in her day. Dark haired and strong, the powerful woman was the product of a white gold mining father and a Tonkawa mother. An ancient Native American tribe out of Texas.

Always one to speak her mind, as well as use her fist, Amitola was a strong woman whose eyes blazed with the fire that was her home and long linage.

It was 1912, the broken woman was being carted off to a lunatic asylum. Too much drink and not enough hope.

Slick was at the stage when a boy turns into a young man. Watching as his mother was taken away, slobbering incoherently, eyes wild and crazy. His sister was sent to orphanage, the last the blue eyed hustler ever heard from both.

On a job in Alabama, the hired killer was in a local bar, around rowdy types like himself. He was watching as a blonde man played pool that looked very familiar. Slick stared at the man all night, off and on. The man looked just like Slick. Right down to the thick muscular build and light hair.

Finally, after enough drink, the man approached Slick, thinking he was queer.

A fight broke out and Slick remembers breaking the man’s wrist, beating the stranger badly.

Later, through contacts, Slick learned he had beaten a brother he had never known he had.

Turning to the sunny window, the hustler looks to the only brother he has ever known. A black man.

“Yo’ really kick ya’ brotha’s ass,” Benjamin asks, knowing the glazed look .

“If that fuck’a was my brotha’. That fuck’a got his ass handed to him on a platta’. Don’t play tha’ queer shit,” Slick sneers, looking back outside, wondering.

Benjamin looks away, nothing is said. Especially on that subject.

The creole shakes off such thinking, sipping his coffee. Quickly Benjamin reaches into his coat pocket to add something extra.

“Aright, tired of this bull shyt nigga’. Time to get ta’ step’in,” Slick suddenly says, looking back with a wink.

“But give me a few. Imma give the boss lady some'thin’ to think ‘bout.”

Benjamin laughs, watching his brother dissappear around the corner. The creole snickers as he sips his spiked caffeinated brew.

“Don’t hurt hur’. We need hur’ money,” the hustler whispers, smiling.

Upstairs, the blue eyed hustler slowly glides by Kelly’s sitting room, hearing the gentle conversation of care and friendship. Smiling, Slick is suddenly made glad that Sally is in their employment. Kelly has always been aloof, to herself. Not out of arrogance, but of a deep fear of being hurt.

Woman have never been kind to the beautiful young flapper. Or so Kelly has always felt.

With her guard always up, especially to her own kind, Slick has always felt that his wife lived a life half lived. That is until Sally was hired.

Bubbly and bright, courteous to a fault as well as deeply catholic, the young maid was treated with acidic disdain at first by Kelly. Snide comments, belittling off handed compulsions over Sally’s work ethic, were just small examples of Kelly’s tactics to disarm the young woman. The young maid almost quit.

That is until Kelly miscarried, a second try for Slick and herself.

Slick leans against a hall wall, suddenly hearing his little boy’s laugh, instant joy in his soul. The child is home for a few days, then back to his grandparents. The joy he hears in Kelly’s voice, this was not always the case.

When Kelly miscarried a few years back, there was nothing that Slick could do to make his wife happy, as much he tried. Alone, often crying, his young wife was in the worst of sorts. Slowly, through love and care, Sally natured the young mother back to her fearless self.

Kelly has always been grateful since then. Sally might as well be a blood sister.

Slick sighs, feeling emotional as his thick fingers gliding through his blonde hair. Peeking in, seeing a glimpse of Kelly, the scoundrel shakes the feeling off.

Sally has been a godsend in more ways than one.

“What yall do’in in hur’,” the thug smiles from around the corner.

Both woman look up from playing with a bubbling toddler, Sally and Kelly suddenly snickering as the hustler winks to the maid.

“Benjamin got someth'in’ ta’ tell ya’ down stairs.”

“Take tha’ baby fo’ a bit,” Slick grins, looking over to his wife.

Kelly scoffs, grabbing Sally’s hand as the housekeeper sits back down, starting to lotion her mistress’s hands. “ Don’t you go any where Sally.”

The lady-of-the-house watches as Sally lotions each finger, saving some for her own hands. “Here this roughen comes, wanting a lil lov’in.”

“On Sunday of all days,” the blonde snarks to her assistant.

Insistent as always, Slick raises his voice slightly. “Sally Mae, git yo’ sexy lil’ black ass down stairs. Unless yo’ want su’m’a this thick dick too,” Slick grins.

Faster than a bat out of hell, grabbing the baby, the young maid instantly leaves without a word, quickly. Making the holy sacrament across her chest as Kelly chuckles, the black woman rolls her eyes as she exits.

Hearing the door close, husband and wife left alone, one glares at the other. Turning to look at her own reflection, Kelly pays her husband no mind.

Slick makes himself comfortable, sitting on a powder pink settee, throwing a fluffy pillow to the side.

The hustler looks all around, scoffing at the feminine flare all around him. Out the whole house, this is the room he hates the most.

Every rich southern woman worth her salt has a ‘sitting room’, small or large, depending on wealth and prestige. Kelly’s vanity room is one of the largest. About the size of two rooms put together, pink and white is everywhere. Silks, satins and velvets of the same soft hue.

High above Slick’s disapproving eyes, hangs a pink crystal chandelier of the finest hand blown crystal, imported from Paris.

Below the hustler’s handmade shoes is wall to wall shag carpeting. Probably more expensive than anything else in the room. Except for the pink three carat diamonds on Kelly’s earlobes.

Staring at her husband through the vanities reflection, the lady-of-the-house looks to Slick crotch. Smiling, the beauty already sees a well developed outline.

“Get your horny ass up and lock the door,” she orders sweetly.

Slick smiles from ear to ear, reaching over to lock the door.

He knows there will not be a battle of wits for some sexual healing with morning breakfast. As he locks the door, the hustler hears.

“After you walk your crass ass out of it,” Kelly comments.

Still looking at her husband through her huge custom made white vanity.

Instantly Slick scowls, crossing his legs with a huff. Pouting as if a young spoiled child. “ So its gon’ be one of them then ?”

Moisturizing her hands and legs, Kelly continues to stare at her husband’s sensual bulge, turning quickly. “One of what ?,” she asks.

Watching his wives hungry darting eyes, slick smiles as he lounges back.

Letting his slacks rise between his well built thighs, the hustler eases open his legs even more. “Ya gon’ make me fuss and fight to git’ some pussy?”

“Damn woman. Shhiiiit. I’on feel like all tha’ naw’,” Slick drawls.

“Come sit on daddy’s lap.”

Kelly watches in her reflection as her husband tugs at his crotch. Its gotten bigger. Known for her salacious sexual appetite, Kelly has never been a prude about sex. A true flapper girl in fact loves her sexual flights of expressions.

But Slick plays games with his love. The hunky thug knows he is an excellent lover, probably the best in Kelly’s lifetime.

With each soul draining orgasm, Kelly always feels she is giving a little bit more of her power away as an independent southern woman.

Smiling to her own self, Kelly knows her husband adores her beyond all else. Though she knows the hustler makes it a habit of spreading his seed when he can. The young woman understands their type love well. Too well.

Slick smiles, as Kelly rises to walk out the room. “Come and git’ su’m milk baby girl. This hu’r bull dick back’d up,” he grins.

As the pretty blond walks by in one of her lounge nighties, frilly feathers and pink satin, the brazen hustler gently grabs his wives hand.

Looking up to a woman whom he loves more than life, adoration and primal lust radiates in the man’s eyes.

“Please baby girl ..... daddy miss ya’ so much,” Slick pleads, looking up into cold eyes that melt instantly.

Kelly feels her lover’s grasp, rough and callused. Hands that have beaten men to death, broken bones. Now needing a certain healing of their own.

The vixen sits back down in her settee as she looks back at her reflection, then to the reflection of her husband.

Slick’s crouch has grown bigger, thicker, clearly outlined. Another reason why Kelly could not let Slick out of her grasp, eventually marrying him.

Peering into her vanity, seeing Slick open his thighs wider as his thick fingers fall low, Kelly smiles to herself. She watches as the horny thug’s hand grabs what has made her so very happy.

The young woman grins to herself. As if understanding an inside joke.

Male endowments are a dreadfully male preoccupation. Little boys comparing themselves for the grandeur of ego. Something most woman are thought to care nothing about.

A bold lie indeed.

Even at the salon, woman always express to each other ‘the need to be completed in the most delicious ways’. All in the secret of unspoken sisterhood. At Kelly’s salon, her weekly visits are always punctuated by woman talking about sex .

Sex and lovemaking makes for good gossip under cold cream and pampering hands. How much, when and why, sometimes even whom. It all makes for wonderful giggles.

With each woman, often rich and affluent, the topic is often so heated, Kelly usually arrives back home with red blushing cheeks and juicy gossip to tell Sally over tea and more gasp. Many of the socialite’s ‘herd’ often whisper about their lover’s physical prowess. Its a given.

Under assorted mud mask and champagne laced orange juice, most woman are always frank about their men’s ways of lovemaking. Like men bragging about their wealth and toys.

A man whom understands how to give sexual pleasure is worth his weight in gold in southern high society. Slick is pure platinum.

While indulging herself with weekly beauty treatments, Kelly tells her girlfriends only so much. Just enough to raise eyebrows and wag sultry tongues. Unlike some in her company when being pampered, nothing has to be exaggerated.

No tall tales of mind numbing orgasms that are mere wishes nor white lies about make-believe girth and inches.

The man Kelly watches as he gently grinds his plush creamy bottom on pink raw silk while touching himself is the real deal .

Kelly spins around, pulling the hem of her fine silk gown high above her thighs, creeping above her waist. Slowly, as Slick watches with hungry eyes, the seductress tugs her panties aside. Exposing a silky pink version of heaven and glory, the vixen spreads her long legs wider as her husband’s eyes instantly blaze with fire.

Lounging lower, feeling his body throb harder, the hustler mindlessly nibbles his lower lip. As he watches Kelly’s fingers lower themselves deep within her panties Slick’s mind races almost as fast as his libido.

“Why don’t you get on your knees ?,” she purrs.

“Crawl over here and give mama what she married you for.”

“Cause it sure wasn’t your bank account. Nor your looks,” Kelly snides, snickering, opening her legs more.

“Jesus wept ....,” Slick murmurs, seeing what would drive most men insane. some even to their own deaths.

Milky white thighs raised, perfectly painted tiny feet resting on separate settees, Kelly’s open legs seem to beckon without words.

As the pink silk night gown slides back further, Slick watches as his wives sucks one her perfectly painted fingers.

As her eyes peel into Slick’s lustful soul, her fingers slide down. Past apple sized breast, perfect handfuls. Slowly the young beauty glides downward still, past a tight slim tummy. Sliding into what Kelly holds dear, feeling her own moisture and sensuality.

Unzipping his pants, slick smiles. “So yo’ gon’ make me beg fo’ it ?”

As Kelly watches, the handsome scoundrel reaches in his navy silk boxers, a birthday gift, tugging gently. As Kelly licks her heart shaped lips, her lover’s other hand unzips the fly of his fine tailored wool slacks.

As Slick gropes past dark navy silk, out comes the most perfect of manhoods. Veiny and proud, its head thick round and uncut.

The pretty blond watches as her husband glides his rough hands up and down his own length. Gently Slicks slacks are pushed past his ankles as his bare ass rest on Kelly’s precious imported silk settee.

As the sun shines into a large day window, highlighting Slick’s tousled hair, the young sex driven hustler looks as if he has been haloed by the goddess Aphrodite. His bright blue eyes half opened, lips wet with a cocky grin, the hunk strokes a thick long measured instance of pride and glory.

Slick would be the weakness of any woman who had even half a brain.

Grinning, his mouth dry from anticipation, the young man settles down further in the pink overstuffed cushions surrounding him. Slick needs his wife, loves her like always, but in this moment Kelly is nothing is a wanton whore.

In Slick’s eyes, in the moment, his beloved wife is a lust filled siren that has brought the downfall of many of men with her salacious corrupt ways. A sure delight in self destruction.

“Get on yo’ knees and crawl ta’ me bitch,” the hustler drawls, his voice in a low growl.

“Papa got wha’ ya’ need .”

“Cum slide down on this hu’r big dick.”

Slow and smooth, already feeling the silky glide of precum, Slick slides the uncut skin of his manhood over its huge pink head. Raising a drop of sexual honey to his lips, the beautiful thug smiles. “Its sweet. Perfect fo’ tha’ pretty face.”

Kelly, still seated defiantly, even as she watches her man toy with what she can never get enough of, only grins.

“Nope. You get over hear. You good-for-nothing bastard.

“I don’t get on my knees for white trash,” the socialite sneers.

Kelly grins at her acidic words, seeing the typical effect in her lover’s fierce eyes.

Sensually glaring to her young god, Kelly glides down below, fingering a pink delicate lotus of divine beauty. Purposely, the blonde flapper raises her thighs higher, two fingers exposing a freshly waxed vulva, gently parting the glistening wet lips as Kelly’s pink joy peeks out into the world.

Slick smiles at his wives hard words, pumping his heavy cock slowly. He times each sensation of bliss felt in his thighs and balls.

“I’mma fuck ya’ till ya’ scream e’very letta’ in my name.” “ Ya’ stuck up bitch,” he sneers.

Kelly laughs loud, almost breaking the spell as she feels her tight pussy quiver slightly. “Your such an ignoramus,” the flapper quips.

“I married you because your a good piece of stiff dick.”

“Nothing more than a wonderful supply of good sex.”

A few feet away, feeling his cock reach its peak hardness, warm steel ready to slice through the most delicate flesh. Slick smirks.

“Then get’cho ass on’em knees and put in ya’ mouf.” “Ya bossy cunt,” the thug smiles as he strokes.

Unbothered, Kelly opens her legs even wider, saying nothing. She allows her blond hair to gently fall back in a breeze swept array of cropped blonde curls, enjoying her own fixations.

“I’m the woman. Come to me. Bow down to my social rank. You street urchin,” she moans deeply.

Slick grins as he continues to stroke himself to a proud and robust nine inches.

“Naw, fuck. I wear tha’ pants in this fuck’in family.”

“Gi’t that sweet pussy on dis’ fat dick.”

“I can’t stand uppity sluts,” Slick growls with a grin.

Suddenly, as if unimpressed, or at least pretending to be, Kelly swings around to her vanity mirror. The beauty powders her bosom with fine pressed talcum, a lush gold handled muff dabbing at her moist cleavage.

The stunning vixen looks over to her husband and his impressive endowment, watching Slick glide up and down as the hustler’s blue eyes blaze with fire.

“When your finished. Leave.”

“And don’t get that sticky stuff on my rug or settee. Those chairs are worth more than your sorry ass,” Kelly leers at her husbands reflection.

Dejected, Slick grins.

The battle is not over.

This is why he married the ‘Ice Bitch of McClellanville’.

Lowering himself, finally arriving down to plush pink mohair carpet. Slick settles on his knees as he crawls forward. The sexy hunk is silently glad that Benjamin is not anywhere around. His half brother would have a hearty laugh.

Slowly, the hustler makes his way on his hands and knees as his hard cock and balls swing low, finally over to his misses.

Kelly smiles gently at the arrival of her only true love in life as she swings around with open legs and giggles. Gently, Slick grabs his wife by the waist, enjoying touch of silk along his rough fingertips.

Turning as her husband eyes her creamy thighs enviously, hungry, Kelly slides up her silk night gown. Imported from Paris, made of the rarest silk and satin, the delicate fabric slowly glides up over long legs.

As her husband watches, hearing him breath heavily, the seductress touches below, parting her delicate vulva. Plump and bare, the beauty exposes the most precious of pink in all the room.

As Slick mouth waters, he lowers his face close to his lovers inner thighs, smelling her trademark scent, Chanel No.5, hearing Kelly sigh deeply.

“Damn baby gal,” Slick murmurs.

Feeling her lover’s body heat, Kelly instantly inhales. A deeply felt spiritual and physical need making itself known as an exhaled whisper. She has wanted this precious moment since Slick left a month ago.

The killer has been away on ‘blood business’, leaving the young wife to her own self and useless lovers. Neglecting Kelly’s love in the way only Slick can make her feel.

Kelly has lovers of her own, Slick knows this. Any true flapper girl does, especially one that is rich and worldly.

Diego is her spanish lover, a broad shouldered hunk from Madrid. Kelly has never bothered to learn his last name, only his first. Of which she screams out loud as the young latin lover eats her pussy. The gigolo's specialty.

Harry is another lover, a brown Dominican macho sugar cane worker. Proud and dashingly gorgeous. Kelly loves the way the casanova dances, especially in- between the sheets. With a body that seems to be carved by God himself, the young Dominican's strokes are deep and replenishing.

He is a good lover, though speaks very little english and with even less staying power. Even with all of his machismo. Harry is no match for a tight well cared for wet muff.

No man, can compare to love. No matter how beautiful, talented or virile. Especially if the most loved is all of the above. And so much more.

Kelly watches as Slick lowers his hot mouth, his quivering lips already wet and hungry, smothering her most sacred intimate happiness. As the hunk sends gentle ripples up the beauty’s spine, Kelly sighs. Instantly feeling her husbands hot mouth directly on her clit, the young woman resounds with an inner completeness only the man between her legs can manifest.

Kelly sighs deeper, opening her legs wider as Slick’s head is surrounded by her soft thigh flesh. Bulls-eye. As his wet mouth needles in-between wet warm sensual folds of sex, pressed firmly into all the young blonde has become, Kelly sighs more, feeling the gates of heaven grow close.

Slick is not a ‘beat around the bush’ type of man. He zeroes in on what needs attention. Foreplay can come later.

Suddenly, feeling her husband gently maul her wet love, the young woman suddenly yanks the scoundrel by his shoulder length hair, another thing she loves about her man.

Slick looks up with innocence and care. “Wha -- wha’ baby gurl ... too rough?,” the hustler deeply growls, lips wet and shiny.

Kelly smiles, so happy to feel the presence of her husband. His robust strong body, well built biceps and powerful shoulders. The young woman is at peace.

“Foreplay daddy. “

“Its been sometime .... “

“I’m a lady remember ..... your wife,” the vixen purrs.

Gently reminded, his mouth full of delicate flesh once again, Slick gently glides his thick tongue all around his woman’s inner thighs. Suckling tender skin, gnawing softly, skilled in the art of culinary sex play.

As Kelly’s mind floats up and above, into a world custom made for every woman in creation, the stud ignites a fire deep in-between the woman’s silky ingenuity that will burn hot and fierce this morning.

Slurping as his thick tongues probes deeply, Slick lips press hard against all he loves and adores.

The roughen tries to be patient. But the killer has business this morning. Urgent matters that need his attention.

Quickly standing up, looking upon his angel on earth, Slick slides off his shoes. Off with tailored slacks and boxers, each creeping down and around hard creamy muscled steel calves. Kicked to the side.

With his custom silver clasp sock garters socks still on, a six inch pearl handle razor nestled against his left shin, Slick grins as he stops to simply gaze.

Looking up is a sex drunk Kelly, legs open exposing all a man could ask for.

With his white shirt and vest still on, Slick unbuttons the front to his mid chest as his skin grows dewy with sweat. The handsome loving husband stands above a gently sighing Kelly, proud and throbbing, only inches from heart shaped pink lips. The hustler looks upon the woman of his dreams, delicate and beautiful.

Slick looks down to his big veiny dick, unusually huge for his height, throbbing with a need only Kelly knows how to give.

“I got shit ta’ do this morn’in woman.”

“Get this seed outta’ me befo’ I go. Daddy will make it up to ya’ latr’. Promise a’ that.”

Kelly gives in, knowing what Benjamin and her husband have planned. Besides, she has her own plans with Sally and mass is in an hour.

As hot breath arrives, like a sullen hot summer day, Slick quickly exhales, his eyes leading up to the fine chandelier. Its gleam and sparkle are no match to the ignited desire he suddenly feels.

Warm and tight, familiar and loving. Kelly glides her lover’s thick cock down easily, deeply, one of her specialties.

As the young wife’s delicate hands grapple at her husband’s small minute hip grinds, with two hands, sliding up and down, the vixen instantly masters her man. Instantly hearing a job well, soft inner growls emanating from Slick’s dark soul, Kelly wraps her delicate mouth all she can, making the hustler moan deeply.

With a quick plop from her small mouth, the siren’s tongue flickers along the hunk’s thick shaft, making Slick moan. The first of many this morning.

Knowing Slick well, his wife slurps her way down and around. Taking all of her lover over and over again as slightly salty precum trails down her milking skilled throat.

His eyes feeling as if they are about to pop out of his head, Slick looks down, watching as his wives blonde head bobs back and forth, fast and steady, milking more and more. As the hunk’s mouth gapes in awe, the sex drenched hustler is quickly uplifted to a heaven only Kelly can allow.

“Damn bebe ....,” he sighs deeply.

As Kelly’s deep wet throat glides up and down, making her husband unsteady, Slick’s huge calves and thighs tighten with a sudden formidable notion boiling in his low hanging balls. The killer is about to meet his own sweet wet demise. Quickly the salacious scoundrel pulls his engorged fat cock from Kelly skilled throat with a slight plopping sound.

Slick standing back, grinning ear to ear.

“I said quick woman”

“shit, .... not that quick.”

“Imma get su’m’o tha’ pussy too,” the hustler grins.

“Close your foul mouth before you spoil the mood,” Kelly grins devilishly. Slowly, feeling her own sensual heat rise in her blood, Kelly arrives to her feet, raising her silk gown over her head.

“Naw baby - keep tha’ on,” Slick says.

His wife pays him no mind, tossing the precious unmentionable is thrown across a satin chair.

Laying back, Kelly opens her legs wide as Slick looks upon her majesty with an awe that is clearly seen in his eyes and gentle smile.

The view is beautiful, even inspiring. “I always thoug’t God aint like me. Then he bless’d me wit’ yo’,” Slick says softly.

“If I make it ta’ heaven fo’ tha’ lives I don’ sav’d. I’mma shake his hand.”

“Kelly Anne. Yo’ is all tha’ makes me gu’d,” the hustler says softly.

The moment is hugely sentimental as Kelly feels tears start to form. Emotions that have no place in the lust filled secret garden she wishes to cultivate. As two licked fingers glide down her silky stomach, past and beyond, the young wife opens her legs as wide as a sunny horizen.

Gently plying open her thick wet pussy, feeling its slick invention, the young flapper makes her own self moan. Delving into a hot smoldering furnace of redemption, the vixen looks up into kind sweet eyes that are enjoying her small show of self congratulation.

Kelly knows her man. The words that just fell from Slick’s lips, as wonderful as they are, the kind every woman needs and wants to hear everyday of her life, must not take root in her soul. The man above her, in all of his delicious glory, her god and savior, is a braggart and adulterer in the highest order.

Such words, notions of divine intervention and treasured love, are meant for other husbands. Men whom come home to their wives after a hard days work. Husbands whom share their love only with their wives, forsaking all others.

The adonis staring down at Kelly, his loving, innocent blue eyes radiating a playful soul of exploration and self righteousness, is not that type of husband.

Slick is not that type of man.

If Kelly ever let such words take root in her soul, it would be her undoing. A heartbreaking wrathful hell on earth, endless tears and gut wrenching angst for how ever long Slick walked the earth.

The young flapper smiles at this ultimate truth, sliding her glossy red nails in and out of her sweet wet pussy. Kelly is happy. If the vixen wanted a cuckolded monogamous simpleton, she would have married one.

“Your the father of lies ....,” the goddess sighs.

As the truthful words leave her lips, the salacious siren gently titillates her inner vulva, sending a thrill through her core.

“And a cheat ......,” she moans.

Opening her thighs even more, Kelly’s pussy splayed open as if a most wonderful feast yet to be had, the young blond smiles. As if one of her many warm baths she likes to take, the vixen feels a deep love in her soul for the man looking upon her glory.

“And I adore all of you for it ....,” she moans.

Even as Slick’s dick aches with need, his mind awash in the cleansing elixure of lust and sex, the words sting him to his core. Watching his wife, his rough thick fingers gliding over soft legs and tiny feet, the killer feels the slightest of guilt. Peering into soft half open orbs of the deepest love, the hustler wonders what he has created with his wayward ways and need for killing.

As time stands still, not even a slight breeze from the bay window, the hustler lets a series of ‘what if’s’ course through his heart.

What if he decided to forsake all woman?

What if he decided to give up the business of killing? Most of all, what if he decided to be a faithful husband?

The questions ring in Slick’s mind like church bells across a barren hostel landscape.

With a slight sorrow in his heart, Slick watches his hands glide along skin he suddenly realizes he has not God-given right to even touch. Instantly, as if guided by an inner light, the killer looks from his bruised knuckles and clumsy fingers, into eyes that love him for whom he is.

Kelly has seen this look before. Slick is her husband, a soul mate if there ever was one. She knows the man like the back of her hand. As her fingers lay lay bare all the hustler has taken from her, the loving wife smiles to all that Slick has given right back in earnest haste. Kindness and understanding. An undying love that sometimes seems to span from the earth to the moon and back.

Slick is not the perfect husband. But he has help create the perfect woman. Powerful and headstrong, Kelly is a force of nature in her own right. So powerful,

man look down at their shoes as she walks by. Not out of fear from Slick. They

fear the vixen’s razor sharp mind, how she can formulate the most conniving of plans, true machiavellian works of intrigue and manipulation.

Slick’s darkness, mixed with his undying love, this has been the forge that created the steel Kelly was made from. A power the flapper relishes.

Even more than the man gazing down to her with all his love and heart.

Kelly eyes her man, her blonde tussled bob cut curls splayed on the most exquisite of pink and silk. A powerful strength shines up to her husband, like a ray of sun beaming through the eye of an everlasting tempest.

Gently, slick smiles. he knows.

“Ther’s my bitch .....,” the killer growls.

Kelly grins sweetly. “Anymore of those sweet useless nothings-I’m putting my panties back on,” she laughs.

Instantly Slick grabs a hold of Kelly’s tiny ankles, roughly. “Naw .... ya’ gon’ git up when I let’ch’a. Ya’ stuck up cunt,” he smiles.

Kelly laughs, right as her probing fingers hit a sweet spot in her wet pussy. Slick should be there. “ Make me cum. Or I’m throwing you out on your ass ...,” she grins, sighing hard and profound.

Doing as he is told, the hunk’s grip tighten around his wives dainty ankle. Kelly looks down, eyeing her lover’s blood gorged member, already feeling its grand entree’ into her most sacred.

Gently, the vixen eases deeper into overstuffed silk and the stuff of sensual wet daydreams .

“Cum is hard to come out of silk,” she smiles, opening her milky white thighs.

“You know what to do.....”

Breathing deeply, almost sighing, as if the small innocent boy he never was, Slick takes in his wife’s beauty as he reaches down, grazing Kelly’s inner thighs with longing touches, letting his hands flow up and down the woman’s long legs.

“Sweet Jesus and Drunk Mary.....,” the killer sighs.

Fingering her wet vulva as a middle finger discovers more joy, Kelly smiles.

“Not today Slick,” she purrs.

“Don’t take the lord’s name in vain.”

Spellbound as he stands proud, the scoundrel just stares at his young wife, wondering how he managed to be blessed in such a way. Soft thighs parted even more, eyes half opened, red lips beckoning. Slick feels his manhood throb, wishing for the moment to never end.

As the hustler’s left hands slides along his thick dick, he thinks back a few years ago.

“Ya’ rememb'a when I fu’rst fuck’d ya’ ?,” he asks softly.

Kelly smiles, relaxing even more. She thinks back, grateful for the moment. “Yes....,” the young dame smiles.

Closing her legs slightly, looking up into eyes that could never love her more, Kelly considers there first meeting.

It was 1915, a private dinner party given by well known socialite Mable Hurst, known for her free-willing parties, especially those held behind closed doors. Slick was in a corner, sipping a rather old and well regarded scotch. The scoundrel had just made his first million, a newly rich man carving a niche for himself in the underworld. At that moment, the room could have been built of gold and diamonds. None of it would have mattered. He was eyeing a young brunette beauty he saw often at the racetracks.

The young hustler had heard many stories, rumors about the young woman. That she was cold hearted, a man eater in fine form, rich and brutal in her way.

The young contract killer, had even heard that the young woman was a murderess. It was said that her one of her uncles had molested her stepsister, then drove the young girl to suicide. Maybe one of the reasons the brute was found in his bath tub with his throat slit. His penis and balls located a few feet away. Ofcourse it had to be all lies. Scandal created by dark wagging tongues that dealt in the misery of lies and jealousy.

But it was these tales that intrigued Slick, beyond the young beauties elegant way, her devastatingly gorgeous body and face. Even this did not matter to the young killer building an empire of blood and whispers.

Truths or not, any woman as pretty as the frolicking beauty that could garner such a reputation was a woman for his arms.

At that moment, as a dark haired Kelly looked his way, Slick knew he would marry the mysterious socialite.

In the present, watching Kelly smile longingly on the lounge, her thighs parted, eyes gazing gently with love, Slick remembers the first time they kissed.

It was the same night a decade ago. He has never been the same since. Nor would he ever want to be. What ever the killer is, whom ever dark God he serves with his blade, the woman sensually grinding beneath his warm thighs is his creator, a dark muse that brings joy and kinmanship.

Slowly arriving at his wives perfect feet, toenails painted a bright red, oriental Passion, somehow this moment is sweeter than any other.

Slick watches as his hands rise to his lover’s delicate soft knees, slowly gliding along a happiness men for men such as himself. Virtuous men with their destinies in their own grasps.

Suddenly swept into a tense sweet emotion. Fear, maybe melancholy, the man that makes his living taking life, finds life as well as redemption in his lover’s eyes as he glances back to Kelly’s loveliness.

The young scoundrel peers into his wives loving sense of being, clear and brutally honest with a righteous divine self knowing.

Kelly clearly understands her own power and goodness. A rare gift.

Slick feels his eyes start to mist, tears in danger of falling. Its almost too much.

“Why this moment, is I gon’ die ?,” Slick thinks as Kelly moans beneath his hips.

The errant thought floats its way up from the murk of a dark soul, smelling foul and sinister, though pure in its truth and cause.

As Slick’s brutal hands lay gently upon whom would die for a million times, the killer feels a warmth that makes him whole. As always.

Relaxed, enjoying the warm presence of her husband, Kelly watches her lover’s clear eyes. Always mirrors of a soul bright in goodness and forthright. The thought makes the dame smile.

She has seen this look before as well. A man wondering how he got so lucky. Going over life events, mentally trying his best to discover the very moment the universe decided to smile his way. Slick looks to her in a wonderful mystified fashion. A precious gift indeed.

“How -- can ya’ love me...,” the scoundrel asks softly, feeling his question deep.

“I’mma fuck’in killa’......”

Smelling her husbands favorite after shave, feeling his hard warm thighs in- between hers, Kelly enjoys the strong and fierce man hovering over her. She never answers the question, no matter how many times it has been asked.

No need to. All that the heiress has in the world is divided with the man above her, his huge biceps on both sides of her small fine shoulders. Gently the killer leans in for a kiss. All the answer he needs.

That is the way it should be. Trust made simple and beautiful.

Honesty moved Kelly’s heart from the very moment they met.

It is Slick’s fervish need for truth that has moved her all these years.

“All you need to know is that I love you more than the very breathe I take into my lungs .... you silly imbecile,” the dame grins.

“Besides, I learned early on ..... good dick always rides in the trousers of bad men.”

Slick laughs, coffee and lust on his breathe. The innocent spell of love has been broken thankfully.

“I think I’mma make anoth’s baby today,” he grins.

Feeling her lovers sensual weight, Slick’s hairy thighs sliding along hers, Kelly coos softly. “You say that all the time”

Gently, looking his wife into her eyes, peering into an eternity that mystifies him, the young lover slides into a velvety wet love so warm, it makes him instantly nostalgic for a God-fearing heart he has never had.

Instantly, right as Kelly winces at her husband’s width, feeling Slick’s slow and patient inward thrust, the hunk sighs deeply as a low grumbling growl builds from deep.

Slick is ever so careful, understanding what he is packing in-between his legs. Through the smallest of glides, tiny centimeters into tight instances of depth and angst, the hunk closes his eyes for a few seconds. As if a randy teen experiencing a woman for the first time, the man simply losses himself in the moment. He always does.

Kelly’s wet vice grip has always been the killer’s weakness. Slick would walk the earth a million times barefoot on broken glass if her sweet pussy was at the finish line.

“Damn -- woman ......”

“What -- I do ta’ get’chu’..?” the hustler whispers, gliding deeper.

Opening her soft milky thighs wider, watching as her talented lover rises, taking control. Kelly looks down at Slick’s morning delight, feeling it glide in deeper.

“Easy big boy....,” she murmurs with baited breathe.

Tender and slow, feeling himself slide deeper and deeper, the scoundrel’s hips make way as he leans in and up, deeper. Above his lover, catching the smallest of delicate gasped breaths on his hungry lips, Slick sees Kelly’s eyes instantly glaze over. She is ready for more.

As patient as father time plotting a long fruitful life, the hustler spits on two fingers, reaching down in-between the snug sensual connection with his wife.

Gently, Slick titillates his wives soft clit, feeling the young woman quiver instantly around his heavy fat dick. Inwards, slowly, carefully, out just as patient, the hustler feels Kelly’s tight pussy suckle each stroke. The woman’s talented tightness milks the stud on to his wet creamy ruin.

“Little Miss Molly hung’y this morn’in mama ...” the lover sighs.

Half dazed already, feeling her body rise up into the warm arms of bliss, Kelly grins. She is barely aware even if she is breathing. “Sure is daddy ... feed her.”

Sliding out gently, Slick watches as his lover’s vulva extracts slightly with his thickness, stretched wide and deep as Kelly’s inner pink dream sees daylight.

The hustler pulls his fat cock halfway out as it glistens with sweetness, watching as a long drop of precum stretches into a web thin rope of instant regret.

“Is ya’ cum’in already?,” Slick smiles down to his throbbing cares.

“No .... that’s to help that monster get to the bottom of the lake,” Kelly smiles, sweetly.

Instantly, the beauty feels Slick slide in once again.

As trailing sighs lead into each other, colliding with moans and winces, as if in battle, Kelly feels her inner world crush onto itself.

Wincing as she gasps deeply, a dreamy state of ecstasy and care comes of the young woman as her love widens under her husband’s need.

Slick’s weight and grinding hips instantly send ripples through the young flapper’s body as the thug watches his wives apple size breast jiggle and heave.

Suddenly, Slick withdraws, quickly reaching down as the head of his cock glides into Kelly wet pussy just as quick, teasing the squealing lady.

Looking down, half dazed himself, the hustler watches through the eyes of a young virgin teen as his thick shaft plays and hide and go seek with his wives silky love.

Gently, Kelly’s fleshy clit swallows her man whole as Slick slides in completely. Timing his thrust, grunting gently after three, quick and powerful, the talented lover is careful. If his concentration is broken in the slightest. It will all be over.

Squeezing deeper and deeper, feeling another realm of his woman, one of which the squirming vixen knows all too well, Slick is even more careful.

The loving scoundrel has always understood only he can master these secret inner crevices. Sliding deeper and deeper, withdrawing just as quick, sloshing forth, squeezing onwards with gentle grinds. All to a woman’s comfort and pleasure under his massive design.

Faster and more profound, the moment of magic happens as Kelly’s pussy starts to yield, blossoming like a rare pink lotus in the basking rays of the sun. A moment her king has been waiting for.

Under her lover’s pistoning efforts, Kelly feels her body ignite in sexual heat, wincing in delicious angst.

Instantly the fine framed beauty pushes back at her husband’s demanding hips, Slick’s well defined ass flexing up and down. “Too deep .....,” the young woman pleads.

She always does. To no avail.

Breathing heavy, Slick thrust grow more an more powerful as his whole body feels as if it is submerged in love and care.

His hips timed, powerful thighs rubbing against delicate long legs, the hustler tweaks his wife’s clit as he impales her deeply, feeling his own creation slide in and out, fast and steady.

Quickly, Slick does what he is known for, grabbing his wives small ankles, he pins each behind his powerful shoulders. The master lover has Kelly completely under his power and stamina.

Instantly the young woman squirms, pushing at her husbands powerful thighs. Wincing, the young wife feels her husband slide home over and over again, so deep she can barely breath.

Sure enough, each thrust sends a delirious sensual pain that is pure heaven and hell, arching up the young blonde’s spine like fire and ice.

As Kelly pushes back at the thrusting hunk looking upon her, the dame sees only a mask of vacant pleasure.

Harder and harder, tight yet yielding, Slick pummels his way to his own bliss, Kelly’s young love opening with a hungry gape, making a sloshing sound, wet and pleased.

Suddenly, seeing discomfort in his woman’s sweet eyes, the young lover slows his efforts, finally stopping completely as he slides out into the mundane of reality, looking down at his wet handy work.

Almost still, throbbing at his wives glistening gates of sex, the thug smiles softly. “This ya’ sho’ baby girl. Direct me mama,” the hustler smiles, kissing his

beloved.

Kelly grins past her sexual haze, reaching down with both hands.

Feeling her world explode into a crescendo of colors and delirium, the young vixen pulls her husband back where she needs him most. Instantly feeling all she can. This time the young nymph experiences the wet natural ease all woman have felt since the beginning of humanity. Lovemaking that is timeless.

This time careful, sweat beading on his brow, slick looks down, past his powerful bare chest and damp tailored shirt. Only half of his long wide cock is home, the rest out in the cold.

“That’s how ya’ want it lil mama?,” he smiles sweetly.

Slowly, Shirley takes as much as she can as the hustler’s hips grow steady and sure.

In and out, sliding through tight slick sexual tension, warm and yielding, Slick’s grinds build more and more as he looks down, seeing Kelly’s pink pussy wrap around his cock. As his woman grips at each thrust, only to concave in on itself easily, swallowing more and more, the blue eyed hustler’s mind seems to turn into a mix of love, sex and thankfulness.

Gently thrusting, watching his woman’s most minute facial expressions, the loving scoundrel places his hands squarely on Kelly’s mid-thigh as his hips hit his own forearms over and over again.

A safe guard against what God has blessed the young man with.

From this point the lover will go no deeper. Slick smiles at his ingenuity, he learned when he was young.

Most good girls have a hard time taking what he has to offer. What is pleasure to some, can be down right torture for others.

Suddenly, the hustler feels his wife quiver around his thick shaft, about as robust as a toddler’s wrist, eyes rolling to the back of her head. Slick maintains his control, grinding only as deep as his straddled forearm allows, gently titillating Kelly perfectly.

“Tell me what ya’ want mama ....,” the hustler grins, wet from sweat.

Feeling her body burst into a zenith of lustful heavens, a slick fiery Jacob's Ladder meant only for her ascension, Kelly looks up with smeared red lips, trying to speak.

As quick powerful pummels knock the breath from the vixen, now in her own space of perfect eternity, the young goddess moans loudly. Feeling herself melt even more around her man.

Rising gently, his muscular hairless bottom flexing more and more, Slick suddenly mounts his woman hard and direct. Forearm safety still in place, the experienced lover pummeling his wife’s pussy till hearing a wet sloshing sounds.

Looking down, seeing his days work, white cream all around his reddish pubic hair, the scoundrel grins seeing Kelly’s pouty red clit. Stretched, prodded inward, only to be drawn out, milking every inch.

Looking up into eyes she loves dearly, feeling shearing thrills, Kelly gains control. She always does. Suddenly, without warning, the young flapper reaches around Slick’s white flexing bottom, grabbing a hard forceful hold as her finger finds its own tight need.

Instantly Slick is concerned, through he pummels harder.

“Naw-wait a minute naw’ I aint fo’ that nasty shit,” the hustler protest gently. Inch by inch, the young lover feels his shaft slice into his wife easily as her warm love starts to quiver even more.

“Hush daddy,” Kelly manages, almost squealing.

The salacious dame opens her legs wider, feeling her man make all of her complete and whole. His powerful arms hard and wet with sweat, warm and rigid columns of flesh and prowess.

Gently, her finger wet, Kelly reaches between her husband’s muscular globes of flesh, finding a tiny puckered pleasure point she loves to explore. Never going in, just massaging sweetly, lightly.

Squirming into her own final release, Kelly is ready for her husband to finish.

As the hunk pummels, Kelly starts to message Slick’s puckered backdoor, rubbing the tiny wonder ever so gently. Feeling it quiver just like herself.

“Look-a-hur’..... shit woman,” Slick yelps helplessly. The thug’s pace quickens, thrust growing harder, sporadic.

Opening her legs more, feeling her husband melt into her tiny pussy, Kelly keeps messaging the hustler’s sphincter, feeling Slick’s rosebud open ever so slightly as he goes deeper inside her quivering love.

Suddenly, with a series of fireworks both man and woman can feel, Kelly’s finger slides into Slick’s hot, tight male warmth, feeling her man’s internal forbidden fruit quiver even more.

With his body racked with pleasure and angst, Slick removes his forearms. there will be no more safety from the hunk’s pillaging pussy shattering plunges.

Slick has asked Kelly to not play with his asshole during sex. She persist.

Time to pay the piper.

With a devious wet smile, the scoundrel thrust brutally deeper into his wives warm slick love, this time to the hilt. He gleefully watches as his woman yelps in delicious agony, instantly squirming.

Though Kelly’s finger is still in place, now deeper as well.

Pounding harder, quickly feeling a curious sensation borrowing through his groin, Slick reaches back with force.

He roughly places a Kelly's hands behind her head as he thrust harder as he makes the devious dame squeal into her own liquid undoing.

The killer’s hips are powerful as his hands hold Kellys’ in a vice grip that causes a slight fear.

Slick slides deeply, in and out, hearing his wives body speak a language he knows all too well. A series of wet sloshes, then a gentle plop when withdrawn, only to be then shoved deeply.

Suddenly, his eyes closed, the hustler feels his world collide around him, gliding deeper with into the love of his life.

Kelly’s body is well utilized, open, agape as her man grinds harder and harder. Pleasure and bliss building as he thrust deeper and deeper.

Eyes squeezed shut, Slick’s pelvis arches forward, quickly loosing himself in a liquid sense of urgency. Thrusting harder and harder until suddenly feeling a familiar sensation.

Kelly’s exploring finger.

Arched deep within the hustler’s flexing bottom, lost in pleasure, slick is too gone to protest as he brutally pummels forward to the light of orgasmic ascension.

Suddenly, seeing stars in eyes squeezed tight, the blue eyed thug screams out loud, grunting like a wounded wolf fighting a good fight.

His body releasing all he is deeply, right as Kelly quivers around his throbbing authority over her, gushing forth her love as well.

As moments pass, the spent hustler regains his gumption. Hopelessly in love all over again.

For the exception of one thing.

Slick feels satisfied, rolling off of Kelly, glaring over to his lovely wife.

“I told'cha’ not to do that ......,” he groans.

The blond beauty says nothing, rising to wash her hands and inner thighs. A few feet away, her legs wobbly, the dazed breathless flapper looks back at her husband. Slick is a heap of satisfaction though a funny sight.

“Next time, please take of them damn socks,” she grins.

Slick is left to himself. Complete and happy.

Though still surrounded by pink.

The killer scoffs, feeling his tight asshole throb slightly.

“Should burn this bitch down,” he laughs.

The killer rises, reaching for his slacks.

“Ay -- ya’ sneaky bitch ..... bring me a fuck’in wet rag!”