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
