The Zeus Factor: Part I: Introducing Chandra Lynn

created and written and conceived by larry Wilson AKA Dapharoah305



I try to live my life right. I try my damn hardest to do the right thing. I'm always seeking growth, Mama think its bullshit, looking into things that lift the human spirit. Daddy think I'm just leading people on, trying to project an image I can't live up to. I love seeking that thing, I don't know what it is, that allows me to channel the woman in me. The woman living in me. The woman that is me. I'm a feminist!

I love being feminine. I love dresses and tight mini skirts and tight halter tops that squeeze my pretty titties together like this niggah named Jack did before I married my baby daddy; who's face was badly burned about three months ago, why he said he was being robbed and someone held a lighter to his face and an aerosol can and burned him and, stunned and disillusioned, I had to go to the hospital with him and discovered he also had remnants of hot glass embedded in his face. First came the rumors about him cheating on me, some ho named Claudette called my house phone and she had to be lying 'cause she told me, "He ate my pussy and pushed me out his ride naked with my clothes that were supposed to be on my back in my arms and..."

"Listen Claudette," I had interjected, like a real woman 'cause I was a real woman. "He couldn't have ate you out or put you out 'cause he was being robbed and he's in the hospital right now for burns on his face and arms and chest region. So make up another lie."

Click.

That was that.

And on top of that my TV in my living room was missing and I had to vacuum up glass and shit and burns were everywhere and shit was on my carpet and this was a very expensive carpet and I asked my husband and he told he me let his homeboy borrow my house while I was outta town and he was working to bring his lady friend over 'cause it was their anniversary and I said, "Damn baby you are so kind-hearted, you love your friends don't yo?" and he smiled like a Cheshire cat and was like, "Yea, baby, I do what I gotta do."

But he couldn't tell me what happened to my TV.

Jack used to push my titties together like his big, hairy hands were combined to make a bra and my breasts were the ones held captive. The way he licked all over 'em. The way he sucked the nipples. All of that good shit.

I love tasteful oils and perfumes and I ain't into that much make-up. Give me a little eye shadow and some lip-gloss and I was Kool in the Gang all day until I retired for the evening. I loved strength. I loved beauty. I loved a lot of people, places and things, from my family to my friends, my car to Paris, I been there for three days with my high school back in the days.

But lately I've been a day late and a dollar short. I been letting my mouth and my pussy write checks my ass can't cash! Sometimes I fell short because I can't seem to live up to no one's expectations. And I'm sick and tired of living for everyone else but myself. I sacrificed my needs, everything that's in me sometimes and at the end of the day I feel empty 'cause I kept nothing for myself. I sacrifice what I wanna do for my husband and he looked at me with those greenish, hellish eyes and that killer smile and them gorgeous black lips that matched his chocolate skin with the expression "sacrifice accepted" on his face and never asked me what I needed and wanted to do. I sacrifice for my children. My friends. My job. The goddamn dog. My mother. My father. My brothers, and I got two of them, horny fools. I didn't usually cuss all that much.

But today I'm a day late and a dollar short. For real. Even at church. My biggest sacrifices lie there like marble tombs with nothing resting in them 'cause church people are rallying over the money I give, the time I put into bake sales and bullshit-sales and all these goddamn funds, Sister Shirley McDaniel's, handicapped and a little slow, just opened the We Are the World Save the Kids Foundation and when this dizzy bitch came up in my face with her hand out and the other one inoperative (she had aneurysm); asking me, "Chandra Lynn will you...donate...to...the..." and she told me the organization that she claimed she started "...Just last night after I played nookie with thy lips on my husband's shaft while it comforted me into green pastures only the horny can decipher," I glared at her with my $60 suit on and small matching red hat that was shaped like an upside down heart I told her, "Look We Are the World didn't save a damn thang back in da '80's why in the living and breathing hell would you start that fiasco up now knowing Michael Jackson ain't black enough to make us no goddamn money," and she looked at me like I was the handicapped one with the inoperative arm and she rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth and pivoted on her heel and got somewhere and I looked after herm shaking my head, trying to figure the woman out and I said, "Hope you sucked thy husband's shaft better than you sucked your teeth sistah," and she flipped me the bird.

And that's church life, which I find hilarious. It's like I was trying to define my life and my very existence on church by wrapping my soul around church people. People I see once a week. For real.

And here came Artevia Renard. Fine ass niggah. 5 foot 8, just got back from Iraq, about 24 years old (I was 30) and looka here seeing him put fire in a woman's pussy so deep you thought you were Satan's boxers.

Hey there, Chan," he said smoothly, extending his hand to take mine and he kissed it and I smiled, wondering where my children were. I was by the bathrooms at church. Goulds Church of Christ on Allapattah, 112th Avenue, in Goulds, Florida (Miami). He always looked a woman deep in the eyes when he spoke. And he was making my little pussy quiver with pleasure, my panties seemed to dissolve into my pubic region instantly, like toilet paper in the toilet bowl.

"You're looking nice Tay," I said, smiling really big and he kissed my hand and was like, "No one called me by my nick name in a lil' minute Ma."

And just then my husband, who was fine all his own, popped up outta nowhere with the kids and said, "Baby gurl let's go inside, here take our daughter," and he put her in my arms, tongued me softly, making me moan and he left me in his dust.

Tay just smiled and looked at him, shaking his head.

I didn't like the look on his face. Or the way his eyes fell down and looked at my husband's ass, or maybe that was my imagination. Or maybe I'm just done sacrificing what I wanna do for my husband and people and church and family so with that I handed Sunarah, my three old daughter to Yolanda and told her, Take her to her daddy, I'll be right back," and Yolanda looked at me with a knowing look and then to Tay, and she came up to me, lips inches from my ear and said, "Rock that dick to sleep bitch," and we both smiled conspiratorially and I was out the door, my pussy already on the verge of melt down.

Written and conceived by larry Wilson AKA dapharoah305

Noah's Arc, some hot new wave gay series that I never watched and pratically hated, flashed from the TV screen as my new prospect niggah pounded my pretty asshole into oblivion. I was face down in the carpet and my ass was up and this thug from the Poke-N-Bean projects in Liberty City (Miami, Florida) gripped my ass like it was skin on his hands and dug that nine inch cut dick into me like life depended on it. We were so sweaty, looking like two chocolate-skinned ghosts from the light from the TV illuminating us.

Hard to believe I bought weed from this niggah two hours ago, driving in my Spree well-rims-clad Excursion cause I wanted to get high. I remember out of the eleven niggahs posted, under the glaring sun (such a beautiful day); like they were playing cards on the side walk, he ran up to my ride so fast the breath caught in my throat and I had pulled my piece and put it to his head and he raised his hands and was like, "Dayuum mah niggah you gon' shoot me, I know you wanna dime bag don't you," and I smiled, putting the gun on my lap and said, "Yeah, dawg. Sorry 'bout dat. I'm in da city in a $50,000 ride. So a niggah runnin' up on me had me bout to go to war."

He was relieved, as the remnants of the ghetto life in the city lay all about us like some nightmare. "I feel you playah. How many you want?"

"Give me about five bags. How much you charge?" And it better not be no more than $5. Gas prices shot up but it don't take gas to grow weed.

"For you, $20."

"Cool, cool." I had scoped the niggah out in like ten seconds. I just looked him over. Nice ass. Big dick print. Baggy FUBU sweat suit. Do-rag. About 6 feet 3, I was 5 feet 11. Looked like Nelly and T.I. combined into one. I was attracted to the niggah, I still had pussy on my breath, I ate out this ho named Claudette on the back seat about an hour ago and banged her in the asshole til she nutted out the pussy and I put the whore out my ride, clothes, her being naked, and all and drove off. She lived in West Palm Beach. I lived in the City. So she would never find me.

I dug in my pockets. All I felt was loose change. I pulled out my wallet. No cash. Opened the ash tray, where I kept spare money just in case I was low on cash and gas. Nothing.

"The ho robbed me."

He looked at me. "Who dawg, you want the weed or not. Don't need 5-0 rolling up on me playah playah." He eyed me suspiciously. "I ain't giving you the weed. You trying to run game soldier?"

"Nah, dawg. I ain't. I telly ou what. I need the weed. Come take a ride with me I'll pay $100 for five bags."

He was in my ride. Before I could pull off I got a back ache that hurt like a bitch. I asked him, "Do you know how to drive?"

He said, "Yeah, why."

"Got licence?"

"Yea." He didn't. Hardly no niggah in the city had a licence.

"Drive for me pimpin'. My back is killing me."

"How old are you," he asked.

"24 why?"

"And you got back problems already?"

Ha, ha. "Yea."

He drove me to the ATM; but before we got there, we were talking, real thug talk, he was Gangsta, been through some shit in his life, he was 26, lived with mom, hated his father, and all that typical black man shit. I felt sorry for him. We got close real fast. He looked at me, driving my ride without a hitch.

I couldn't resist. I leaned over to his zipper, undid it, pulled out his fat dick and gave him the best head of his life while he drove on I-95. He nutted down my throat twenty minutes later and said, lustfully, "Where's your crib 'cause I'm bout to get that asshole mah niggah like yesterday."

And here we were.

My body shivered as I threw that ass back on this good dick, I had an arch in my back that was permanent, I could barely handle the dick.

"Goddamn bitch take dis sick bitch take dis dick daddy loves this tight asshole mah niggah keep dat hair on that asshole I likes da way it glides and brushes my dick when I get this booty hole niggah."

Deep voiced. So gritty dawg. I mean damn nothing about this thug spelled bitch ass niggah. Nothing about me spelled bitch ass niggah.

He flipped me over, pulling out my hole and pushed my legs back, locking them behind his eighteen inch upper arms and he slid the dick back in me, no condom and he fucked the dog shit out of me, splacking and farty sounds echoing in the living room, I smelled the product of our session in the air with the strawberry incense and weed and opened liquor bottles and this niggah, dreads all in my face, made my asshole feel like a pussy.

"You like dis dick?"

I felt myself falling...falling...and then climbing, like some great wind lifted me up and cum built from my toes and made its way to my nuts and the up my dick and with this niggah pounding my hole like pistons for oil I couldn't hold it in, I couldn't contain myself I started crying cause the sensation was too much and his rhythm was so consistent, powerful thrusts, with a dick that filled my little asshole up accordingly and I screamed out, "I'm bout to nut mah niggah," and the beast erupted from him, he leaned back, glared deep into my eyes, fucked me harder and faster, to the point my head was hitting the couch and I burst all over his chest and my muscles in my ass sped up and I couldn't stop screaming...the TV exploded, hot glass seered into my skin, eyes and all over my face...semi-darkness wrapped its non-responsive arms around us.

And when my orgasm subsided, I just tried to look at the niggah in complete shock as his blood spurted across my face and he lay on top of me, dead to the world and someone aimed at my head and I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer...