Dirty Little Angel

“I’m on it, my nigga. This is gonna be fun.” Harlem was ready to lay his gun game down something serious.

Crown took another sip from his drink. “Yo, when you leave, send that new bitch in here. I wanna have a word with her.”

Harlem nodded and walked into the hallway. Denise, the new girl that they picked up from Broad Street last night was seated quietly. Harlem looked her up and down and admired her physique. She had on a short denim skirt that showed her meaty thighs and white and red Nikes. Her long hair was in braids and her skin was so light that she could pass for white. Her tight, black T-shirt highlighted her tits and read, in big, white, bold letters, RIP, For the Bitches Dying to Be Me.

Harlem liked the T-shirt. He knew she was going to bring in thousands of dollars for Crown and him.

“Yo, go see Crown right now,” Harlem instructed.

Denise nodded and stood. She was about 5’5” and was only seventeen. Crown knew that the younger the chicks were, the better.

Denise entered the room while Harlem smiled at her backside. He stroked his dick through his jeans and knew he wanted a piece of her light-skinned ass. But Crown would be the first to test the waters, and Harlem didn’t mind having sloppy seconds after him. However, he did mind being with a bitch after she done worked the track for a few weeks. By then, the pussy was no good for him—too many niggas had stretched their dicks into the pussy and he wasn’t down to fuck a bitch after a trick had hit it.

Harlem went to his truck while Denise moved toward Crown shyly. Crown stood by the bar, nursing his Rum and Coke and watched her approach.

Denise stood quietly in the center of the room. She was a runaway from Delaware, and like so many others, she didn’t have a place to stay. Crown promised her a home and a better lifestyle.

“Your name Denise, right?” Crown asked.

She nodded.

“I like you already. You’re fuckin’ quiet and already speak when you’re spoken to. Now if you can get this money for a nigga, we gonna be best friends,” Crown said.

Denise nodded again.

Crown continued to stare her down from head to toe. So far, he liked what he saw. She was petite, but firm in the right places. Her skin color was appealing; she definitely could be passed off as a white girl. He had one problem with her, though.

“You need to lose the braids,” he said.

She nodded a third time.

“And from now on, I’m gonna call you Casper,” he added.

Denise didn’t object to the sudden name change. She continued to stand still.

Crown poured himself another drink. “Take your fuckin’ clothes off, bitch.”

Denise looked up at him. Crown gave her such a hard stare that it let Denise know he was nothing to play with.

“I ain’t got all day, bitch. I need to see what you’re working with and what needs improving so strip, bitch.”

Denise pulled off her tight T-shirt and dropped it to the floor before she kicked off her sneakers and pulled down her skirt. Finally, she stood in front of Crown in her matching pink-and-white bra and panties. She crossed her arms across her chest in a protective gesture.

Crown nodded his head, definitely liking what he saw. She had a flat stomach, nice big breasts, and succulent, defined legs.

“Continue,” Crown uttered.

Denise/Casper reached behind her back and unsnapped her bra. She pushed the straps off her shoulders and let her bra fall onto her folded arms. She was shy at first, but hearing Crown say, “It’s only you and me. Go ahead, bitch.” encouraged her to open up.

Denise let her bra fall to the floor and Crown scrutinized her dark nipples. At last, she pulled down her panties and stood butt-naked.

Her body was something every nigga would crave. She had a thin waistline and big tits with nipples that could melt in a nigga’s mouth.

“Turn around,” Crown commanded.

Denise turned around slowly, giving Crown a nice, clear view of her nude backside.

“Nice, nice. You’ll definitely do for me.”