rapper imagines.

stretch you out|nle choppa. (MA)

"niggas be insecure,
claiming that you ain't doing enough,
claiming that they need more.
what you on your last breath, your last sweat, your last dime?
out of your fucking mind,
can't you see i'm fucking trying?
you want pussy six times a week
and you never wanna clean up
and you talk to me like shit
and you handle me too rough."
-

As I lay on the fresh white sheets, I look up at him, unimpressed. I watch as he thrusts into me, having the time of his life. His eyes were closed and the only time they opened was only to roll back. I watch as his facial expressions change in pleasure, while mine kept the same emotion it wore when I first got in between these white cotton sheets.

"Come go for a ride." He says calmly, preparing to lay on his back. This was something he usually did, when he was trying not to hit his climax so soon, especially considering it had been no more than 10 minutes.
For crying out loud, there were Tik Tok's that lasted longer than this man.
Of course, every man sweet talks females into thinking they last for hours. However, when it's time for the actual show, it's a different story. And that's if a Viagra, or the hood version they call a "perc", are not involved. I've never had a man last long with me. Especially not this one. Maybe it's the ocean deep within. Or maybe they're just not built like that.

I straddle up on the pony and start riding. Only his moans filled the room and I stayed quiet, observing every minute of it. It is  interesting that he never notices how much I never enjoy these "Sneaky Link-Ups" nearly as much as he did which spoke volumes itself. It seems like he was just working for his climax, to hell with mine.....  so mean it's my fault, I always come over thinking it's going to be different but get disappointed every time.

I gazed outside his window, thinking about how I should've stayed my ass home. The penetration was decent, but there was no sexual chemistry here. It was sad because we did have an emotional connection. Well, emotional connection is too heavy of words. He's too young and immature to have that with me. We were the same age physically, but mentally I was a grandma and he was just learning how to walk.. Let's just say: connection outside the bedroom. I mean we had to or I wouldn't be here and show up as many times in the first place.  Contrary to everyone's belief, Bryson was a sweet, polite young man; but only when he wanted to be. However, in the bed was not one of those times. He was often rough, and I was usually confused if I was in a WWE match or if we were having sex.

His grunting broke me out my daydream, and suddenly he pushed me off him, releasing his liquids all over the white sheets. This jogs my memory of the time he wanted to release himself all over my face. I quickly dismissed his thought, thinking my face was too fucking pretty to have a man that's not even my own, ruin it. Besides I knew it wasn't going to taste good. I mean I knew no semen was going to taste "magically delicious" but from all the drugs he took, it wasn't going come close to chef Boyardee.

Suddenly his phone rang, startling both of us. He had always put it on do not disturb, so we could get at least 20 minutes worth of our "link up" ... well today it was 10 but you get the idea.

"Aye, this my girl," he says looking at his phone, "Can you clean this up for me? Change the sheets."

"Nigga..." I trail off, but he quickly slides the bar, answering his phone. Yes, Bryson did have a girlfriend. No, I wasn't the side bitch. Well, I guess I was. Sheesh the more I talk about it, the more I realize I was getting the short end of the stick. Literally.

But we first started off as friends, hell I even met his girlfriend. Until one night we had one too many cups of Hennessy and hooked up. It was mistake that was never meant to happen, for I knew he was not a single man. He then mentioned how we should keep at it, mentioning that he wasn't getting "enough" from his girl. I suggested why doesn't he fuck all the other girls in the world, he's a rapper for crying out loud. He dismissed it, claiming all of them were passed around and I wasn't. Couldn't disagree with that.

Besides I was too focused on my career to even think about another guy, he was the only male friend I had. But I knew I did need some type of sex in my life. So, I thought, since that night was amazing, which I later realized from the Henny, I thought why we don't take a stab at it. Dick with no strings attached or drama involved? Definitely something I could get into.

But I realized it was only great for that night and that night only. And considering how bad our little "link ups" have been lately; I'm thinking about coming to his girl "as a woman".

I looked down at his semen on the bed and move the sheets to the side. Changing the sheets was always something wanted me to do, every time we finish. He was still too young to clean up after himself, literally.

It's going to be a cold day in hell, before I change any man's semen stained sheets.

I put my clothes back, grab my stuff and proceed to walk out this man's hotel.

"Hold on," I hear Bryson say faintly, "Aye, Y/N, wear you going?"

"What you mean, I got what I came here for," I reply. Lord knows I didn't.

"Yeah, but you can't just walk out the front like that. Someone could see you and it would be all over the blogs and shit." He holds the phone to the side of his shoulder, making sure his girlfriend couldn't hear him. "Go out the back. I'll have my chauffeur drop you home."

He hangs up on his girlfriend, without bothering to say bye, and scrolls to find his chauffer's number. I sit on one his stools, placing my bag on the marble countertop.

"Aye, you gotta start drinking more water, or some." He looks up at me from the couch.

"Why?" I question, my eyebrows come together.

"Cus, the kitty is kind of..."  he trails off, covering his nose.

I open my mouth ready to give him a piece of my mind, but he quickly recovers, throwing his head back in laughter.

"I'm playing with you, mane."

"Bryson, stop fucking playing with me." I snap. This boy was so freaking immature.

"Now, you can't take a joke." He smiles,

"I just fucked one." I say with a straight face.

"Nah, I fucked you." He says, looking back down at his phone and pressing his chauffer's contact.

"I fucked you, sweetie."

"You can't fuck me, that's not possible. Girls can't fuck guys." He holds the phone up to his ear while the line is ringing.

"If you the only one that came," I reply calmly, "I fucked you." This tugs on some type of string in his manhood, because it caused him to get a little tense.

"Technically you did come, you came here." He says, face now straight.

"Yeah, for no reason." I mumble loud enough for him to hear me.

"What's that supposed to me-"he says but suddenly his line connects,  "Hello, yeah you outside? Bet, I got some trash that needs taking out." He looks at me.

"Baby, the only thing trash is your dick game," I look at him directly in his eyes.

"Get out my house, bitch." He says to me slightly raising his voice. He gets up from his couch and heads toward the room I just made him cum in.

Unbothered, I make my way towards the door, but stop as something bright and shiny gets my attention. On the marble countertop sat a Babyface Rolex, glistening from the sun's light. I pick it up and drop it in my bag. It just so happens I didn't come for no reason.

"Didn't I tell you to change my sheets?" I hear him call from inside the room.

A simple, "Boy, fuck you," and slammed door was my response. I knew it was the last time I would be asked to change any sheets for a while, at least.
——

authors note: lmaoo this was fun to write. as you know this doesn't pertain to nle fr, because i don't know him. obviously.
thank you for 1k reads in 3 weeks i appreciate it greatly. 💚 i just wish everyone read it voted on it but to each it's own. 🥳

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