Mad Fuckers: Robbed Of Her Dignity

Indica Monroe slips through a half-open window, boots soft on hardwood, room dark and cool. She opens drawers, rummages fast, growing restless until a wooden box under the bed catches her eye. Inside, earrings, a watch, diamonds flashing under the phone light. She smiles sharp, stuffs everything into her canvas bag, until her fingers freeze on the ring, white gold, green stone. She slides it over her knuckle, fumbles. The ring bounces, clinks, disappears beneath a heavy lowboy dresser. She drops to her belly, reaches, squeezes, shoulders wedged, hips pinned. Wriggle turns to panic; the furniture won’t give. Then the door swings open. Footsteps pause. Kendra James stands there, phone already out, texting. She listens to static, hears Indica’s mother snap, call it done, do whatever, don’t call again. Kendra ends the line, breath shaky. She strolls closer, spots the bulging bag of jewelry, and understanding clicks. Kneeling, voice velvet, she says nothing about the phone. Offers a deal instead: silence for services. Indica, cheeks hot, too scared to bargain, blurts out the bargain she thinks will save her ass. Kendra’s laugh is low, pleased. She grabs the waistband of Indica’s shorts and yanks hard like reins, leather popping against skin, spanking coming down fast, hot, loud. Shorts get peeled off next; bare cheeks glow pink under each slap. Kendra licks a stripe between them, then slides two slick fingers into Indica’s ass, slow push-pull. She strips fast, skin pale under moonlight, climbs behind Indica’s trapped body and scissors her, thighs slick, grinding hard. When the dresser finally budges, Indica tumbles free. Kendra strips her fully, lays her flat, sits on her mouth. Indica licks, desperate, nose filled with salt and heat. Kendra slides forward, grinds her cunt on Indica’s tongue, then sinks lower, face buried between spread legs. She eats hard, fingers curling, an open-hand slap stings the swollen clit now and then. Hands press Indica’s face to her tits, nipples rolling between lips, then a shove downward, thighs clamping, and Indica drinks straight from the source. Faces wet, they kiss, tongues slow, tasting each other. Kendra spins, settles into sixty-nine. Both mouths working, hips jerking, the room filling with wet sounds, quick breaths, thighs trembling together. They come shaking, loud, slick running down chins. Indica wipes her mouth, looks up, unsure if the trade closed or just started.