The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(36)

He slid into the driver seat, started the powerful engine, dropped the top, and then raced out of the parking lot.

“You never answered my question,” Chyna reminded him as she flipped the visor shut.

Blake glanced over at her, displaying his idiosyncratic grin. “I know enough,” he replied. “I’m workin’ wit’ a monster, too. Don’t f*ck around and get hurt.”

Rolling her eyes doubtfully, she smiled. “Yeah right. That’s what they all say. The last nigga I f*cked with swore up and down—”

“I don’t wanna hear about the last nigga. And I don’t want you tellin’ the next nigga about me. You shouldn’t even have another nigga after me—unless it’s a muhf*cka wit’ my kind of bread—but that’s really up to you.”

“Boy, aren’t you about to get married?”

“Yup.”

Chyna hesitated, gazing intently at him, her hair flailing in the warm night air. “Well,” she finally said, “I’ll have to see how things work out. I’m not trying to break up anyone’s relationship.” She paused for a few long seconds. Then her hands were caressing the perfect musculature of his chest, unbuckling his diamond-encrusted Louis Vuitton belt buckle. “I hope you know that I f*ck the same way I dance,” she informed him.

“I hope so.”

She tugged out his eleven-inch-long phallus and gasped, squeezing it with on hand. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “What did you do, use a penis pump or something?”

Blake’s signature grin returned. He glanced down and watched as a glob of spit descended from between Chyna’s pink-glossed lips and landed on the tip of his hard dick. Then her mouth fell upon it, and she began fellating him, taking in only half of his length at a time, but sucking that portion thoroughly. Blake struggled to keep his eyes on the road as her gripping mouth fluctuated wildly on his pulsating erection.

It was a long, toe-curling blow job. He was pulling into the driveway of his twenty-million-dollar mansion when his scrotum started to tingle and tighten up. Alexus’ motorcade had not yet arrived, but black-suited members of her security team were situated all around the estate like Secret Service agents.

Leaning his seat back as far as it could go, Blake said, through clenched teeth, “Ay, don’t get that cum on my pants.”

Chyna continued sucking and slurping his dick as it spurted and gushed—and spurted and gushed—a thick dose of cum into her mouth. Somehow, she managed to keep the semen from cascading down his shaft. When his semen finally stopped flowing, she raised her head from his lap, gagging on the mouthful of cum, her expression twisted into a look of disgust. She swallowed it all down in three big gulps, fanning her stringent face as she did it.

“What was that, two months’ worth of cum?” She asked softly, thumbing a globule of semen from her lower lip and into her mouth. “Feels like I just drank a milkshake.”

Simultaneously, Blake chuckled and sighed, putting away his now flaccid penis. He looked past Chyna and saw that his guys and the five girls they’d acquired from King of Diamonds were disappearing around the side of the mansion, presumably on their way to the swimming pool. While Chyna applied a fresh coating of MAC lip gloss to her pillowy kissers, Blake grabbed his iPhone to call Alexus. But it was ringing before he reached her number. The call was from his music manager. He put his Bluetooth in his ear and answered.

“What it look like, old man?”

“Looking good,” Douglass said. “Everything’s set for your shows at the Bankers Life Field house in Indianapolis and the Genesis Center in Gary tomorrow. Then Thursday we have the Hot 97 Summer Jam at Meadowlands Sports Complex in East Rutherford, New Jersey and the MBM Meets YMCMB Showcase at the Nassau Veterans Memorial Coliseum in union  dale, New York. Friday you’ll have two more sold out shows, one at Madison Square Garden and another at the Best Buy Theater in Times Square. Two more shows Saturday at the Sleep Train Amphitheater in Wheatland, California and the Hollywood & Highland Center in Hollywood. Then we have the MTN Music Awards at the Shrine Auditorium in L.A. on Sunday.”

Blake rubbed his palms together in anticipation of the cash he’d make off the upcoming shows. “Now that’s the kind of news I like to hear. Racks on racks on mothaf*ckin’ racks.”

“Mocha’s show at the Regency Ballroom in San Francisco just ended about an hour ago,” Douglass continued. “Everyone else is at the Chicago studio recording. I’ll have your money from Mocha’s show deposited into your account by daybreak.”

“Did you go on that date wit’ Rita?” Blake inquired.

“Yes I did. I had no idea that woman was so beautiful. We had dinner at a fancy little black-owned soul food restaurant in downtown Chicago. Spent some time getting to know each other a little better. Then we came back here to my place, and we discussed Africa’s AIDS epidemic and why the World Health Organization injected over a hundred million Africans with an AIDS-laced smallpox vaccine in nineteen seventy-seven.”

“Damn they did?” This was new to Blake.

“Of course they did. They also injected an AIDS-laced hepatitis B vaccine into over two thousand white male homosexuals the next year through the Centers for Disease Control/New York Blood Center. The United States Defense Department received ten million dollars to create the AIDS virus in nineteen sixty-nine. World leaders were concerned that overpopulation might soon lead to the collapse of our species. So they decided to decimate the elements of society that they felt were undesirable to society as a whole—blacks and homosexuals. The entire black population of Africa was expected to be dead within fifteen years after they were infected.”