Chapter 2: A Ton of Bricks

Over the next few days, the two women grew closer. You must understand, everyone needs hope, everyone needs sympathetic acceptance by another human being of who they are. We all yearn for those brief moments of tender compassion, those exchanges with a person who isn’t looking for what they can take from you. There is this need, to be able to tell another person our deepest secrets, our desires, and expectations. We want to give someone an unvarnished version of ourselves and to hear them say to us, “Yeah, I understand, and it’s okay.” It just part of our nature to share some of what we are with another soul.

That is the relationship that developed between the two women. It sprang inside them, and a mutual need grew. A need for one another. For Shawanda Jones, a lifelong itch was scratched, but for her alter ego, Puma, a complication developed. Caring for another carry’s danger. If your enemies discover it, they can use it against you. But she did care, and the concern ran deep. Concern also, of whether her desire was for the infatuation to pass, or to develop into something more between them.

Perched on Shawanda’s lap, Lacey pushed the folder away from Shawanda, demanding her attention. Running her soft, white hands over Shawanda’s arms, the hard, ebony muscles felt so good to Lacey that a shiver ran through her. Moving her lips to Shawanda’s she kissed her, a long, sensuous caress. The duo clung together, each hesitant to release the other.

“Do you have to go work tonight?” she asked, her voice childlike, innocent and pleading.

“Yes, I do,” she told her, the stern reply disappointing the younger woman.

“I finished the article today,” Lacey said. “They will expect me to be working in the office now. I think you will like the article as it’s very complimentary to you.”

“Is it truthful?”

“I said you’re the greatest player of all time—”

“Then it isn’t truthful,” Shawanda replied, breaking in on the girl.

“I think you are, and your record supports my contention,” Lacey countered.

“Oh, it does, does it?” Shawanda replied. “Well then, I guess you can say it.”

“Do we ... I mean could we ... um,” she stumbled over her words until Shawanda pulled her tight. Standing, Shawanda Jones picked up the smaller woman and carried her to the bed. She tossed the girl on the mattress before pouncing on her, the Puma taking her prey.

The pair twisted on the bed, consuming each other, as their white-hot lust exploded at fever pitch. As the light faded in the window, darkness covered the room and Shawanda realized she was out time. Best to stop this before they got started again. With great reluctance, she let out a hushed, hissing profanity and pushed away from the girl.

Lacey pouted, letting out disgruntled moans while Shawanda stood and dressed. Her pleading went unanswered as she clawed at the bed, gazing at the older woman, begging her to stay with her. “Please don’t go.”

“I have to go to work, my dear,” Shawanda replied calmly, belying the need that was equally filling her.

“What is it that you do all night?” Lacey asked her. Rolling on her back, Lacey hung her head over the edge of bed and looked up at Shawanda, attempting to entice her with her most alluring look.

“Well, to be truthful, it isn’t investment banking,” she laughed, then grew serious. “I can’t explain it...” She didn’t like the way that sounded. “It would be ... quite difficult to explain.”

“So, what are you, like, the vigilante Puma?” Lacey asked, rolling over on her belly, putting her elbows on the mattress and resting her face in her hands. Fluttering her eyelids, once more she tried to tempt her lover.

“Of course, not,” Shawanda exclaimed, then closed the door without looking back at the girl. Leaving the girl proved to be more difficult with each progressive night. Moving across the hall to a large life-sized portrait of her father, she pulled open the concealed access and disappeared.

Pulling the bedspread around her Lacey ran after her. Opening the door, she looked down the hall, ran to the stairs and called out to Shawanda. Collins appeared at the base of the stairs. Turning his eyes on her, he announced, “Ms. Jones isn’t down here, ma’am.”

“That’s odd, she just left,” Lacey said. “I wanted to tell her something.”

“Perhaps she slipped by me. She’s quiet as a cat. Well, when she wants to be. How about you, do you desire anything, ma’am?” Collins asked her, returning to his dusting.

“No, Mr. Collins, I’m fine. Don’t you ever just sit down and relax?”

“On occasion. I find it boring,” he replied.

Surveying the hall, Lacey wondered if Shawanda had entered one of the other rooms off the hallway. Entering every room on that floor of the wing proved fruitless as each room turned up empty. Upon returning to the chamber, the eager reporter picked up a yellow pad and pen then wrote a series of questions on the pad.

Who is Black Puma? Why does she risk her life fighting crime? Where did she come from? Is it possible that Shawanda Jones is, in fact, Black Puma? What are your feelings for Shawanda? Why do you think she is Puma? What would it matter if she was?

“I saw those pictures of Puma online,” she said, speaking to a photograph of Shawanda. “That suit fits tight, and that body sure looks like you.” She looked at the picture of Shawanda hitting a tennis ball from her final match, then compared it to the mental image of the Puma striking a villain. The tight muscles of her arms and legs looked exactly like those concealed under the skin-tight cat costume that Puma wore.

The phone rang, Denton picked up his cell, seeing PUMA flashing across the ID. Answering, he didn’t wait for her to speak. “I see you’re wearing your gear. Heartbeat is normal, respiration fine, sats are in the high nineties. Looking good, Ms. Puma.”

“Yeah, why did you put this monitor system in place?” she asked.

“Just in case,” Steven said. “This system can tell me if you need me. If you do, I’ll be there.”

“All five feet one inch of you,” she chuckled, her tone dismissive and somewhat condescending before she changed the subject. “What do our sources say?”

“Nothing,” he told her, hearing her hiss on the line, “however, Palmer wants a meeting at the usual location.”

“What time?” she asked.

“Ten pm,” he said. “Look, I have a bad feeling about this one. Call me if anything goes sideways.”

“That’s very sweet,” Puma said while adjusting the cowl, “but there’s nothing you could do if that were to happen.”

“I can always come and find you,” Steven said. Hesitating, he stumbled over his next words. “If you need real help ... if you’re...” he didn’t want to say the word. He had grown fond of her despite never having been in the same room with her. “Hurt...” he finished, then added. “You know in a few days Deputy Chief Ragsdale will have his secret squad assembled to assist you.”

“Yeah, are you sure about that? I mean, I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me,” she replied, ill at ease at the thought of police aid when she herself stood outside the law.

“I’m sure,” Denton insisted.

The black motorcycle navigated through the near dark areas of Shabby Heights. The dim, widely spaced street lamps barely illuminated the worst parts of the rundown area. With an odd soft hum, rather than a loud clatter, the bike moved to the appointment location. Puma parked the machine behind a large dumpster, keeping it well out of sight.

“Kill motor, lock unit,” she said, and the engine fell silent. With stealth, she moved between two buildings, before entering one of them. Leaning against the wall in the long hallway, her informant smiled at her.

“Back here, Ms. Puma,” the tall man said. Nodding, Palmer stood up straight and pointed the way. Puma strode towards the man as he pushed open the door, holding it for her to enter. As she crossed the threshold, hairs on the back of her neck prickled as her fine-tuned instincts screamed danger. Twisting back, she glowered at the man, her hard stare leaving him no doubt that she knew.

“Why?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” he asked her, feigning innocence. Palmer closed the door behind him, locked it and pivoted back to face her. Puma’s hands dropped to her guns, snapped the restraining straps free and yanked her weapons from the holsters, pointing them chest high at the informant.

“Hey,” he started, but fell silent. The game was over, and he knew it.

“You betrayed me,” she said coldly as he raised his hands, backing up and pressing himself against the door. Shawanda heard the footfalls behind her, and twirling away from Palmer she scanned the room. A flash and accompanying report revealed the assailant’s position. Beside her head, the large bullet shattered a chunk of wall, spraying her with small concrete projectiles. Puma fired both guns, her aim dead on. The man jerked backward and crumpled to the floor. Another gun fired, but this time it found its mark, striking her in the hip in a hot flash of pain. Thrown against the wall, her pelvis flared in agony from the impact, yet even under that onslaught, the suit protected her. Without hesitation, the woman aimed and fired. The second man’s skull exploded, his body standing there for a few seconds before he toppled lifeless to the floor.

Wasting no time, Puma scanned the room and found the third man, but he was already running, having dropped his gun to flee through a back exit. Whirling back to Palmer, he stood gawking at her. He stood firm, unmoving, hands still raised, back shoved against the door. In resignation, he sighed, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“Shit,” he said, “I backed the wrong horse. They upped the ante on you to $40,000 and that would have wiped out my gambling debt. It wasn’t personal, I mean, I like you. I’ve been rooting for you,” he told her, Puma frowned at the man. “It wasn’t personal,” he reassured her. “I’m just underwater.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you need help?” she asked, her voice icy cold.

“Because of the deal. No more gambling,” he told her, “that was the deal. You said if I gamble again, you’re done with me. I broke our contract ... got in too goddamn deep to Griggs.” He shrugged, his fate in her hands. “And I don’t see you as the forgiving type.”

“Got a gun,” she asked, surprising him as he nodded. “Toss it,” she ordered. Dutifully, he pulled the gun out and tossed it aside. “Knife?” she asked, but he shook his head at that one. “If you’re lying it won’t go well for you.” He knew that for a fact, and reaching into his outside suit pocket, he pulled out a penknife then threw it next to the gun. Satisfied, Puma pushed the handguns in place and secured them. He barely had a moment to register relief that she wasn’t going to shoot him, before she reached down and removed the large knife from her boot and charged him.

When Shawanda arrived home, she presented Collins with a small bloodstained, leather bag. He gazed in at the shocking sight. His stony countenance broke as a smirk crossed his tight lips and the slightest chuckle arose from his throat.

“Big ones,” he said.

“Well what do you expect? Someone who would betray me would have to have brass balls.” she replied. Laughing quietly, she touched his arm, squeezed his bicep then hugged the elderly man.

“And now they will be,” he said with a chuckle.

Shawanda Jones left him, then made her way to the east wing. The pale, predawn light filtered through the window casting soft light on the bed. The shadowy illumination caught Lacey’s naked body covered only by the light, blue sheet as the girl tossed and turned in a restless sleep. Her eyes flung open and she stared into Shawanda’s face.

“You’re back,” she said, her voice husky and breathy. “I missed you. I had a terrible dream that someone tried to hurt you.” Without words, Shawanda proceeded to strip naked. Pulling the sheet from Lacey’s curvy body, she pressed Lacey’s legs apart and crept between them.

“Ssshhh, relax, just relax, and I’ll show you how much I missed you. Kissing the soft inner thighs. First one then other, Shawanda traced her tongue from one, across the labia, down the other thigh. Each time her tongue moved from one side to the other, Lacey moistened. Her legs trembled, her breathing became ragged, and she gnawed on her lower lip. Lacey toyed with her own breast, wanting to touch Shawanda so badly, but fearing to be aggressive. While Shawanda concentrated on the girl, Lacey pinched her own hard, fat nipples; squeezed her boobs and pressed them together. Butterflies roamed in her belly, while her tummy jolted.

Her tongue snaked out as she moved, concentrating on the girl’s well-formed legs, to the softer, wetter region. Tracing her tongue around the sweet folds of skin, Shawanda lapped up Lacey’s nectar, like a cat drinks milk. Flinging her head back, Lacey pulled her knees up, arching her back she lifted her ass from the sheets. She thrust her hips into Shawanda’s face. Her ragged breathing punctuated the quiet of the room as her proclamations of love were laced with lewd exclamations of enjoyment.

Shawanda explored the physical and emotional depth of Lacey body with a practiced technique. In a slow, deliberate way she moved the girl from pleasure to a deeper delight. Guiding the girl nearer and nearer the edge. Lacey’s body shuddered through several small orgasms, each one harder and more profound than the preceding. Undulating, Shawanda turned her body over Lacey’s to give the younger woman access to an equal interchange of each other’s most intimate parts.

Lacey revved up her courage and traced her tongue over Shawanda’s ass cheeks. Running her tongue nearer and nearer, never had she done anything like what she contemplated. Still, she believed she wanted to, as she had read about it. More important, she thought Shawanda wanted her to. At that moment, it didn’t seem dirty or nasty. Lacey wanted to please the woman so much. As her tongue neared the object of her curiosity Shawanda’s hand stopped her.

“Not there, not with your tongue,” she said. Lacey stopped, changed course, and moved lower to the larger opening. Touching and prodding, they tasted the essence of each other. Dark chocolate on pale alabaster, the contrast of the athlete’s hard body with the softer woman’s elegant curves. Sharing her strength with Lacey, Shawanda received the younger girl’s tender affections. Becoming one, if only for those brief, all too short moments, merging them into something greater than either alone.

Thoughts raced through Lacey’s mind as her body burned in desire. They touched for a few seconds, each other generating intense emotions. The heat exploded, and hips gyrated in unison. Lacey felt Shawanda’s tongue press past her lips, invading her pussy again. As the long slow thrust of Shawanda’s pink tongue slid deep inside Lacey’s wet tunnel, pleasure shattered through her entire body.

Warm feelings occupied her thoughts, deep burning desires for this dusky beauty consumed the younger woman. Lacey tried to match her, thrust for thrust, hips and mouths working together. Hands mashed on asses and tits. Hard erect nipples poked into belly’s. An amazement filled the young woman. Others had pleasured her, yet no one had done so to such an excruciating-pleasurable, passionate degree. Lacey had trouble breathing, the air almost refused to enter her lungs. She panted like a dog. Her hot breath blasting across the sensitive skin of Shawanda’s wet pussy. Shivers ran though Shawanda as she gushed over the girl’s face.

They built to a massive, mutual, bursting climax. Clinging to each other until the women fell apart, physically drained, ragged with emotion. Feelings flooded them, their raw, raspy breathing filled the room as their bodies sparkled from their exertions. As if on cue, the two women found each other, clutching together. The rage of passion fulfilled, their emotions turned into an amalgamation of gratification, sharing the warmth of emotion provided by their nirvanic afterglow. They fell asleep, as the now not-so-early morning rays of the sun flooded the bedroom. A new day blazed outside as the couple slumbered in serenity.

Lucinda sat listening to Karen the whore explain how Palmer had failed in his mission. Having been part of the trap the week before, Karen now lived in constant fear her life would end soon as she described how Black Puma had castrated him. How he lay in the hospital worried he would be killed by Griggs for his failure.

“Course, Jason’s not going to kill him. He’ll make him a pimp over the underage girls. Say’s he can trust him now not to dip his wick, since it don’t work no more,” Karen said, her nervous laughter attempting to cover her own fear.

“Sooner or later,” Lucinda told the girl, “he’ll hurt Palmer for his failure. Griggs never lets a failure go unpunished.”

“That’s what worries me,” Karen told her.

“Well, no one gets out of Shabby Heights alive,” Lucinda said. She looked at the woman putting on a brave, sad smile, “How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know, fifty,” she said, guessing but still trying to guess a little low.

“Thirty-six,” she said. “See what he did to me? Made me old with harsh use. You’ll fare no better.”

“I brought you the groceries like he wanted me to,” she told Lucinda. “He told me to give this to you.” She held out a small plastic bag of clear crystals. “Enough ice for a day or two.”

“I don’t want it,” Lucinda replied. “I’ve been clean for two months. I don’t want it, I tell you.”

“I’ll keep it then,” she told her. “I ain’t telling him you didn’t take it.” Standing, Karen put the meth back in her bag and moved to the door. Opening the door, she looked back at the once beautiful woman. “I meant forty, not fifty.”

Gazing up at the whore, her face drawn and worn she spat out at her, “Liar.”

As the days passed, Puma’s presence in the hell hole known as Shabby Heights changed everything. This lone masked avenger’s actions emboldened the police. Regular police patrols returned to that wild zone—but the unwelcome intrusion didn’t sit well with the bosses. The police presence was not good for business.

Less than fifteen days remained in Shawanda’s plan to destroy Jason Griggs. All that she now waited on was a means to draw his men away and allow her unfettered access to the rat in his most secret of places. That fortress within a fortress, his inner sanctum and holiest of holies, the place only he and God can go. Puma’s plan notwithstanding, Jason Griggs had his own plan and it certainly did not involve her invading his hiding place and assassinating him without compassion. It did, however, involve death.

As his new plan developed, becoming bolder and broader in scope, it evolved into more than just killing Black Puma. Eliminate Puma and drive the police away from the shit hole controlled by the mob became the new goal. To accomplish this feat, old enemies must become allies.

If you fly from The City to Chi-Town, it’s over 2,000 miles and takes nearly four hours in the air; but talking on the phone—that’s instantaneous. With a deep aversion, Griggs called an old ally, turned enemy, who Griggs now needed as an ally once more. Desperation forced him into the unenviable position of requesting help from a vanquished adversary. A man who once was the boss of bosses in The City of Angels himself. A man he had stripped of his position, his honor, his wife, and his very home. He knew the price would be high if this bastard ever agreed to join forces and assist.

“One moment, Griggs,” Hildegard said. Setting down his cell, picked up binoculars then peered from his hotel window to a luxury car in a nearby parking lot, focusing on the three people who approached it. The men looked around cautiously and with obvious trepidation the driver opened the door for the man and his female companion. A leggy blonde, sprayed into a slinky black dress that left nothing to the imagination slid in first, followed by the man. But by his demeanor, he was clearly ‘The Man.’ The driver closed the door, took his place behind the wheel and gunned the engine.

Vaporous exhaust belched from the tailpipe as the unsuspected trigger released. The brilliance of the flash was blinding; the roar of the explosion thunderous. The Cadillac jumped into the air twenty feet or more, riding atop a mushroom fireball. The limousine crashed hard onto the cracked, roasted pavement, now no more than a fiery ball of twisted metal. An instant before the car plummeted to the pavement the shock wave shook the hotel, rattling the windows of the assassin’s room. Bryson Hildegard felt rather than heard the windows on the lower floors shattering.

Putting down the field glasses he retrieved his phone. “I have to go to the Big Apple tomorrow, but I can be there in two days,” Hildegard said. He thought for a moment then added, “Two hundred grand, however, not sixty thousand.”

“That’s damned high Bry,” Jason Griggs protested.

“Take it or leave it, Jason,” he said.

“Okay, but for that price, I want her and at least a dozen cops’ dead, you understand me?”

“Jason, when haven’t I understood you? I have a plan. I used it in Europe last year,” he said.

“That deal in France, was you?” Jason asked. “The fifteen dead Surete was you?”

“My handiwork, yes. Though they’re called Police Nationale now,” he corrected, while thinking, Why the hell don’t you stay up to date.

“Yeah, that’s the kind of death toll I want,” Jason told him.

“Deposit fifty grand in my account as down payment, and I’ll be there in two days. Tell me about her, this Puma.”

“What’s to tell?” Jason said, then thought a moment and started telling him what he knew. “The bitch stands over six-feet tall and inspires both lust and fear in my men. A Nubian Goddess, who my pimps, drug dealers, thieves, con-artist, specialist of every nature and most of the whores avoid, fearing she’ll hurt them. In fact, that’s the bitch’s trade mark, especially the men. If she leaves you alive, she castrates you. She beat Max half to death before she neutered him.”

“Max? No way,” Bryson said.

“Yeah, I put him out of his misery,” Griggs told him. “Every fucking night she cruises the streets and treads the sidewalks of my turf looking for some way to hurt me. Shabby Heights atmosphere reeks of even more despair now. Then again, this place always stunk of hopelessness and misery for the yokels. But I’ve been suffering for months since she arrived. I need her gone.”

“She’s bad for business,” Hildegard nodded. “That I understand. I’ll fix it, so no one ever does this shit to you again.”

Pausing, Hildegard then sprang his final condition. “I want her returned to me. I want Lucinda back.”

To read this story you need a Registration + Premier Membership
If you have an account, then please Log In or Register (Why register?)

Buy this book at bookappy

Black Puma — Cat’s Claw

Millie Dynamite

$3.99

If you enjoyed this story, try The Case of the Rich Man's Wife

The Case of the Rich Man’s Wife

Millie Dynamite

$3.24