“You like this wet pussy, nigga? You like this pussy grabbin’ ya dick?”

“Uh…uh…Oh, fuck yeah! Oh, shit! Ride that dick, baby.”

I glanced over at the digital clock on the oak wood nightstand. It read 11:42. I had been fuckin’ dude for almost forty minutes and was determined to cum for the third time before I sealed his fate. Murder made me no never mind. I didn’t ask no questions, didn’t want no answers. The less I knew, the better. The only thing I needed to know was: when, where, and who.

Easy cum, easy go, I thought as I took in my target’s face. The nigga had the nerve to be fuckin’ fine. Deep, dark chocolate-coated, broad-shouldered nigga with waves that spun so deep a bitch could get seasick just starin’ at ’em. His eyes were slits of lust, his face slick with sweat as he thrust upward, matchin’ my rhythm stroke for stroke, stabbin’ my pussy, stokin’ the fire that ignited inside me. Damn! And the nigga had some good dick. Too bad that in another few minutes it’d be a wrap for his ass. I didn’t give a fuck. Wasn’t shit I could do about it, even if I wanted to. His time on this earth was limited. The mother-fucka was on borrowed time, and didn’t even know it. Oh, well.

The clock ticked in my head. His life meant nothing to me. I didn’t give a fuck whether or not he had a wife and kids, and I definitely didn’t give a fuck how his family’s world would be after tonight. The only thing I cared about was gettin’ my fuck on, bustin’ a nut, and puttin’ this snitch-ass nigga outta his misery. My pussy got hotter and wetter just thinkin’ about my next move. “You ready to nut for me, big daddy?” I asked, clampin’ my pussy around his throbbin’ dick.