Author Topic: Black Puma — Cat’s Claw Chapter Two — A Ton of Bricks by Millie Dynamite  (Read 747 times)

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January 12, 2019, 10:34:04 AM

Offline MillieDynamite

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Black Puma – Cat’s Claw

A superheroine story with an erotic flavor

by Millie Dynamite

Chapter Two — 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.”

“Look, you really don’t,” Griggs said. “When I got tired of her failures, I turned her out on the street, then recently used her for the Mexican drug gangs. It won’t be long, shit, man, her plumbing’s going to fall out between her legs.”

“I want her back,” Hildegard insisted. Griggs was not going to keep his wife any longer.

“She’s just a cunt, Bry,” Griggs told him.

“I get Lucinda back, or you get another guy for the job. Last time I lost and you won. But you want my help killing this Puma, that’s the deal. Two hundred grand and my ex-wife returned to me,” Bryson demanded.

“Okay, but I’m warning you, there isn’t much left to love. I’m hard on people who aren’t loyal to me. Don’t think I forgot you used her to get at me either,” Jason reminded him.

“That’s the past,” Hildegard said. “You won, you took her as the spoils, my business, my house, you got everything. Now, I want her back. And don’t think I’m going to love her.” Hildegard was not going to love her. Not for a moment. He was going to kill her.  But he had to get her away from that bastard, he owed her that. Bryson Hildegard wanted his money and wanted his ex-wife, but at this point he wasn’t sure if he would kill her or not.

January 12, 2019, 10:35:03 AM
Reply #1

Offline MillieDynamite


Tatyana lay on the silk sheets, basking in the calm hush of the darkened room. Her excitement at last subsided as the adrenaline rush faded, she felt content. The only sounds in that reverential hush were soft, supplicant, murmurings, “more please,” whispered between pained sobs. The aggrieved man lay in a pool of his own blood. Welts, bruises, and cuts covered his bare back as his shackled hands tried to reach the handle of the long whip curled up in front him. Try as he might, he hadn’t enough strength to reach the precious implement used by his most beloved tormentor. This forced him to worship both his mistress and her whip from afar. It had always been that way, worshiping her from a distance. Continually he longed for her harsh touch.

Tatyana grew weary of his pleadings and rolling over on her soft, silken bed she said, “Shut up and sleep. There is no more.”

“Please, mistress…I’ll do anything for more,” he begged her.

“No, you have a job to do in La La Land, you’ll need your strength,” she said. Standing she moved to the window, opening the blinds, and letting sunlight flood the room. Turning back, she looked at him, curled in his fetal position.

“What I want you to do now is fuck me till the sun sets. Can my little boy do that?” she asked him to disparage his manhood, “Such a pathetic little loser boy. Can he manage to satisfy me?”

“Yes, Mistress, I would like to do that,” Bryson said, reaching down to stroke himself.

“Not with that pitiful, little worm, with your tongue,” she said. “Even that disgusts me, but better it, than your tiny piss stick. Do you promise to bring me back that whore wife of yours?” Tatyana asked as she turned toward him.

Bryson nodded in agreement. “Don’t hurt her, please mistress. She had no choice,” Hildegard said.

She strutted to him, then squatted over his face. Removing the necklace from his neck which held the key, she unlocked the cuffs before returning the key to him. Standing, she moved to the bed, resting her hands on the foot board she bent over and looked back across her shoulder, gazing at him. Her hard glare, promising terrible, cold cruelty in her abuse, excited him.

“Bullshit,” Tatyana said, “she loved the attention that the bastard gave her. Now fuck me with your repulsive tongue,” she ordered. Removing the shackles, Bryson stood and moved toward her, the ecstasy of the pain arousing his passion.

“Crawl, you fucking maggot,” she snapped.

“Yes, Mistress. Your heart is cold Mistress, just like fresh, driven snow. You’re cold as ice,” he said, moving behind her.

“I warn you, use your mouth only. However, you may jerk off if you must,” Hildegard rose to his knees just behind her. “Save my asshole until the last, baby. I want you to clean it really good.”


“This exclusive footage of the Black Puma was shot by a bystander using his phone. Viewer discretion is advised,” the television announcer reported as grainy video of a dark figure played. “The night vigilante known as Black Puma appears to have prevented a would-be carjacker. Footage clearly shows the moment he drew his weapon and fired on her, however the bullets either did not hit her…or if you can believe the footage and eye witness account, simply bounced off her. We’ll let you be the judge of that,” the announcer intoned as the video ended with Puma overpowering the carjacker. Shawanda shut off the television and turned to Lacey.

“That’s enough of that young lady. I took off tonight to be with you,” she said.

“It’s after midnight. That’s not exactly a lot of time off this evening,” Lacey said. “You know, that Black Puma woman...her body looks like yours.”

“You think so? I didn’t see it like that at all.”

The two women made their way to a bedroom in the west wing of the mansion. It was an old worn room; Shawanda’s childhood room. Ballerinas danced on the pink wallpaper while stuffed toys adorned the bed. She hadn’t let a single thing be changed in all these years. Until now. Pushing the stuffed toys to the floor, she pulled the spread from the twin bed, then turned and held her hand out to Lacey.

“Kind of a small bed,” Lacey said before being grabbed around her waist and thrown to the bed. Stripping in front of the girl, Shawanda watched Lacey wriggle out of her own clothing before she pounced. The worn and faded purple drapes were dotted with pinholes that let small glimmers of light shine through from the security lamp outside the window. The pinpricks of light fell on the two bodies, thrashing together in a horizontal dance of lust. A fan blew the hot air around in the room moving the curtain, causing pinpoints of light to shine on the wallpaper ballerinas like a mirror ball. A myriad of colored dots of light pirouetted on the women’s shapely bodies while they pressed lips and hips together. Hands roamed over breasts, ass and belly, fingers buried in snatches, and tongues darted into each other’s mouths.

The smaller, rounder woman yielded control to the larger, tighter athlete. Lips pressed hard together, with a swift movement a change occurred. Subtle but deft signals sent by one were received with clarity by the other. A gentle nudge here, a slight poke there, or tender tug, and their heads move first to breast, followed by sensual kisses on the belly, then sizzling mouths explored lower. Tasting the nectar down below where the fiery passion burned out of control. Faces buried between legs, avaricious tongues explored every crevice, moving from hole to lips, to clit and back again as the smoldering, sticky, lust built towards a sweltering climax.

Pulling back, Shawanda drank in the view, Lacey was this gorgeous, sexy woman, her ringlet curls of long dishwater blonde hair splayed over the bed. Shawanda held the smaller woman’s luscious body captive under her. A wicked, evil smile sprang to her dark lips.

“You’re mine. I can do to you what I want,” she said in a threatening manner.

“Oh no, please don’t hurt me,” Lacey said in mock fear. She squirmed, trying, if only halfheartedly, to free herself. Shawanda pulled the younger woman’s arms above her body, taking her by both wrists with one of her hands. She bent her head down to the girl’s ample breast, testing them, ravaging her nipples, sucking, biting aggressively, and nibbling them. She rotated them between her fingers, squeezing them while she traced her tongue over the other tit.

Shawanda’s rough tongue, poked and prodded, sending waves from Lacey’s breast down between her legs. A velvety, silken, slickness grew inside her, leaking out spreading down over her hips and wetting the sheets.

“Oh, fuck,” she protested, “leave me alone.” It frustrated Lacey that she couldn’t reciprocate. She battled to gain control. Shawanda squeezed her wrists.

“Stop it. You’re no match for me,” she insisted.

“But I want to…”

“Shut up and enjoy it,” Shawanda hissed out like cat. Raising her head, she smiled. “I’m doing you and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Still Lacey struggled, wanting to taste the saltiness of Shawanda and explore her dark body. Twisting Lacey’s tit hard, Shawanda the dark beauty maintained the control.

“Are you enjoying this?”

“Oh, God in heaven, yes,” she screamed. Bucking her body against the ebony goddess, in a futile attempt to throw her off her. Her protest ceased as she resigned herself to being dominated. The force Shawanda exerted over her aroused Lacey. Her ragged breathing quickened, her heart raced, feeling Shawanda’s power engulf her.

She had tried so hard not to give into her. Lacey didn’t know whether Shawanda wanted her to give in or resist. She couldn’t compete with her, her power, her strength. Shawanda’s assault was relentless, non-stop and Lacey bucked, wriggled and squirmed underneath in a constant orgasm.

“Please, let me help, please just let me touch and feel you. I’ll do anything if you let me participate.”

Shawanda moved her mouth next to Lacey’s ear. Snaking her tongue out she licked her ear. Then kissed it, biting it, pulling the lobe with it clutched in her teeth. Pressing her lips against the ear she whispered to her.

“No, you belong to me, this time, I’m using you,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’m getting as much pleasure as you.” Emotions flooded through Lacey. This domination was in no way unpleasant. Still, she wanted to touch her lover. Pressing her mouth to Lacey’s succulent, smooth snatch. Moving up Shawanda kissed her, forcing her tongue inside the woman’s mouth as their tongues danced.

“Don’t touch my body,” Shawanda ordered as she let go the girls hand. Shawanda ran her hand down between the girl’s legs, then buried her fingers deep inside the now submissive pussy. Lacey put her hand on top of Shawanda’s and pushing the black woman’s fingers inside her deeper.

Yanking a pillowcase free, Shawanda spun Lacey over and tied her hands behind her back. Then they made love, their bodies undulated, writhing, and squirming as their hips bucked into each other’s faces. Warm wetness oozed, covering lips, chins, noses. Unavoidably, they soaked the sheets with their passion. The fragrance of their femininity hung heavy in the air. Gentle moans, the scraping of the small bed as it moved, the squeaking of the springs, mingled with the buzz of the overhead fan.

Their pace quickened, and the urges flared. Lacey’s melon sized breasts flattened against Shawanda’s taught belly. Soft white flesh pressed against hard ebony muscle, each body craving to join with the other. They played a melody of lust as the bed creaked, squeaked, and the headboard bashed into the wall with the hard, rhythmic music of desire. The moans and groans became impassioned screams as the tension inside their bodies built. Emotions—deep, hot, loving, and lustful—boiled, threatening to erupt. In a searing flash, the two women climaxed, as always, together. Falling apart, the women struggled to breathe.

Shawanda freed the girl’s hands before the couple touched one another with tender fingers and gentle, amorous kisses as the heat of passion faded into a warmth of ardor.

“Please don’t get upset with me,” Lacey said. “I’ve fallen head over heels in love with you. To the point where I’m out of balance…lost…any time we aren’t together.” She turned away from the black woman, “Every waking moment of every day, I want you…I want to be with you…touch you…feel you touching me…when we aren’t together…it’s all I can do to breathe. Once we are together, I want to be as close as the skin stretched over your beautiful muscles.”

“What do you want me to say?” Shawanda asked her.

“The truth,” Lacey answered, fearful of what that truth was.

“Since my parents died, nobody has ever told me they loved me…” Shawanda Jones replied, touched at the girl’s admission. “That’s not true, Collins has. He loves me as if I were his very own child. But he’s the only person to say those words,” she continued. “I guess I have heard it by would-be suitors. Still, it isn’t the same. Not one person has ever said that and meant it in the way you mean it.”

“I mean it,” she assured.

“I know you do. I have known it for a while,” Puma told her, guarded. With her secret, it was hard to trust, “Even so, I…don’t take this the wrong way. I can’t…I can’t get close to you…not like…But it isn’t because I don’t feel the same…it isn’t what you think.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Lacey whispered.

“My secret?” she asked.

“Yeah, soon as I saw that video, I knew it was you. I think I knew before that,” Lacey said, afraid of what Shawanda would say.

“I’m not Puma,” Shawanda asserted.

“The Puma is the mountain lion,” she said. “The animal ranges from Canada and Alaska, all the way to the tip of South America. The Black Puma is nearly a mythical creature, rare. So, uncommon that many scientists claim it doesn’t exist. All the same, it has been spotted for over four hundred years, in the same regions as the typical mountain lion. Rare as the black mountain lion is, it does exist. That brings us to you. I’ve studied how you moved when you played tennis. The woman who kicked the crook’s ass was you. The way you move, there was no mistaking it. There is only one person who moves that way. You are the Black Puma.”

“If you know,” Shawanda said, “I guess it’s pointless to deny it.”

“No point in denying that I love you either,” Lacey said, turning to Shawanda and the pair gazed in one another’s eyes. Once again, the passion flared.

Afterward, they lay in contentment, sleeping, unaware of what would come. A storm was brewing in Shabby Town. A storm that soon would explode.


Three sharp raps rattled Lucinda door. Staring at the entryway, she rose, placing the fingers of her left hand at her mouth. She crept toward the door, fearful of who was there. Closer she came, one step at a time, halting, then moving on again, her right hand reaching for the knob.

“Who’s there?” she whispered, soft and low. No one answered her. “Who’s there?” she repeated, a little louder. Still no one responded. Turning the knob, she pulled it open. Bryson stood just beyond the door.

Instinctively, she lunged to him, clutching him. “Oh, baby,” she said. “It’s so good to see you.”

Bryson shoved Lucinda Hildegard to the dirty, hard wood floor. She cautiously got up, hanging her head.

“This man,” he said, pointing to his assistant standing behind him, “will escort you back east. You’ll stay on the island with Tatyana.”

“She’ll punish me,” she said, her voice trembling.

“Yeah, she may flay your skin,” Bryson said, grabbing her arm he pulled her to him, feeling Lucinda’s heart racing against him. He ignored the hammering against his chest. “I hate you. I really hate you for what did to me. But…God help me, I love you too. You used to enjoy pain as much as me. I hope for your sake, you still do.”

“Aren’t you coming with me?” she asked, glancing at the man.

“No,” he answered, “I have a job here.” He turned to the man, “Chuck, take good care of her. Get whatever she wants. Tickets are booked.” He turned back to his ex-wife.

“You look horrid,” he said. “I have to go now.”

Despite what he was doing to her, still she warned him, “If you’re here for the Puma, don’t do it. She’ll kill you…or worse.”


“Steven Denton,” he said.

“Yes, Steve, why did you send me a new mask?” Puma asked him.

“New and improved, there’s also a communication device built into it. We can talk direct anytime you want. You just say the words ‘Computer Center’, and we’re connected,” he told her proudly.

“Why?” Puma asked.

“You don’t have to be in this alone,” he said.

“Oh, I don’t…” she didn’t finish her thoughts. Relationships were complicated things. They could cloud matters, and the fear of that gnawed at the back of her mind.

“I can contact you also,” he said before the line went dead. “Puma? Puma? Oh, that’s mature of you, hanging up on me.”

“Can you hear me?” Puma’s voice sprang into his ear.

“I thought you hung up,” he said, still holding the phone.

“I did,” she admitted, “Then I said, ‘computer center’. It seems to work.”

A loud ding came from the cellphone as a text came in. All you do to break the connection is say, ‘disconnect’.

“Okay, I’ll remember that,” Puma said. “So, I thought I would take off tonight.”

“Your call, of course, but you should be aware that the police have a raid on a drug deal in Shabby Heights tonight,” Steven told her, knowing she would not be able to turn that down.

“Address please,” she asked.


The bike sped towards its destination. Puma surveyed the streets, her senses on high alert. This would be the first police operation in Shabby Heights in years. As gunfire erupted, she parked her bike then sprinted toward the commotion. The police were in full tactical gear, engaged with the drug dealers.

Puma ran into the fray, drawing her own weapons, firing at the drug dealers and the buyers. Now being fired upon from two fronts, they hesitated, unsure who to shoot at. Perhaps feeling the hopelessness of their situation, retreat seemed the better option. They turned and ran, leaving their black Mercedes-Benz. A police lieutenant stood and waved to her.

“Thanks for the help,” he hollered. “The junks in the trunk.”

She moved to the car, looked it over and walked to the rear of the vehicle. The cop came beside her, turned to her, grinning.

“I’m one of your Cubbies,” he said, obviously pleased to be there with her.

His comment confused her for a moment, then the understanding dawned on her. He was one of the cops that Deputy Chief Ragsdale had solicited to work in secret, off duty, and anonymously with her. Cubbies. Cute. They were her cubs. Yet another of Stevens enhancements. The lieutenant stepped up to driver’s door, leaned in and hit the trunk release.

The trunk opened, revealing its contents. Puma’s eyes widened at the sight of C4 packed in tight.

“Run!” she screamed…too late. Turning as the first explosion ripped through the car, she was lifted off her feet, tossing her away from the car. The vehicle flew skyward before the second and third bombs exploded, shredding the metal, and tossing the shards in every direction. The lieutenant’s body was obliterated, ripped into several thousand pieces.

Puma stood and turned toward the blast just as the second shockwave hit her. Slivers of the metal ripped into her suit. The impact slammed Puma into the brick wall of a building, the blast sent the walls of the building tumbling down on top of her, entombing Puma under the rubble. Other buildings suffered the same fate as walls and roofs toppled, sending tons of bricks and rubble onto the men below, burying the fifteen policemen.

A ton of bricks pressed down on the suit containing Puma. There was too much weight, far too much weight for one person to survive. Too much weight to draw air into one’s lungs. Under the debris, Puma’s suit began to die. She tried to breathe. Tried desperately to move against the weight to get air into her lungs.

Meanwhile, at Steven Denton’s computer center, bells and alarms blared as a computer-generated voice announced the situation.

“Heartbeat, respiration and blood pressure erratic. External suit temperature has exceeded the range of the sensors. Suit integrity violated. Multiple breaches of suit surface in excess of twenty penetrations. Suit malfunction. No signal present, no life signs. The protective suit is dead.”

“What the hell happened?” he demanded, fear coursing through him.

“Insufficient data available. Police have dispatched units to Shabby Heights. EMS in route. Explosion reported. The protective suit is dead.” the computer repeated. “The suit is dead.”

“Stop saying that!” Denton ordered. “What about Puma?”

“Insufficient data to formulate a conclusion.”

“Turn on a news channel,” he snapped as the computer complied. The picture erupted over the flat screen, the chaotic scene of burning rubble and destroyed buildings.

“First reports are flooding in of a massive explosion that has rocked Shabby Heights.” The announcer said, “Unconfirmed reports of just how many, with some eye witnesses saying three separate explosions. Fatalities have been reported.” A shaky camera, obviously from a phone, panned over mutilated bodies before returning to the anchor.

“Obviously, there will be a large loss of life.” Shaken, he listened to his earpiece as more shots of the carnage came into view, this time from above. “These shots are provided by our Sky Eye Seven chopper. We’re hearing the plumes of flame from the explosions rose over two hundred feet into the night sky.”

As he spoke, emergency vehicles rushed to the scene, red and blue lights flashing as a large convoy sped toward the area. From the still standing buildings just behind the chaos, a new sound came as machine gun fire erupted. The blast from the guns cut emergency responders down where they stood and tore their vehicles apart. Denton watched in horror.

His cell phone rang, displaying PUMA on the I.D. Scarfing it up he pressed to answer the call.

“Puma, are you okay? What happened!” he yelled, eyes still on the screen.

“I’m not her, my name’s Lacey Barton. Puma told me to call you if anything ever happened. Do we know if she’s okay?” the terrified voice said, quaking as she spoke.

“No,” Denton said.

“No signal from the suit. The suit is dead,” the computer announced again.

Denton ducked his head, fearing the worst. “I’ll call back when I know something,” he told the terrified girl.

“What does that woman mean, the suit is dead?” Lacey asked, sobbing. That’s exactly what Denton needed to know.

“I’ll call you as soon I know anything,” he told her, terminating the call.

“No viable signal from the suit. The suit is dead,” the computer again elaborated.

“Shut the fuck up,” he yelled at the computer. He resisted the urge to throw his phone. “Is the GPS in the cowl still active?”

“Yes, the GPS functions. It appears to be the only thing still active on the suit,” the silky, smooth voice said.

“Redirect closest military satellite to a pass above Shabby Heights. Show me exactly where that signal is.”

And in Shabby Heights, right where the satellite focused on Puma’s GPS signal, all they could see was a ton of bricks.

And the story continues here You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login

January 13, 2019, 07:16:39 AM
Reply #2

Offline vile8r

Your Black Puma character is very intriguing to say the least. And I really like the dialogue in your stories, Millie.

January 13, 2019, 01:03:33 PM
Reply #3

Offline MillieDynamite