Maximum Badonkadonk Ch. 14

Charity let me look as much as I wanted before wrapping a towel around her figure leaving me there. I heard the young beauty messing around in the kitchen for a while before she returned with a full tumbler of some green concoction.

"Really Charity; you're gonna shit test me after what we just did?" I recalled her habit of making her lovers drink some liquid mess she stirred up before hooking up with them.

"It's fucking chilled yogurt with kiwi and mixed fruit."

"Oh." I enjoyed the mixture reclining in the bathroom while she sat on the toilet watching.

"Since you ain't gonna apologize, I feel like I'm entitled to a dick pic."

"Help yourself."

"Blowjob too, right?"

"You fiend!" I faux yelled covering my crotch in the lukewarm bath water while she chortled.

We made a night of things having some leftover deep dish pizza and other assorted odds and ends from Charity's fridge before cuddling together in her bed under her multitude of comforters.

She allowed me to pick an old movie from a few on her laptop finding it amusing that I would pick a double feature of Jerry Lewis movies. We laughed and deconstructed Cinderfella and debated whether or not I saw myself in the main character of his film, The Ladies Man. It was hard to argue with Charity, especially when she had her hand around my cock.

We made slow sensual love luxuriating in each other's embrace just taking our time for a while as my phone started ringing on her bedside table. We remained embraced as I picked it up finding an unknown number calling in. Charity exchanged glances with me nodding for me to answer it. I answered on speaker.

"Hello?"

"You thinking about me boy, huh? You up at night playing with your pecker wanting some of me again, ain't you?" Ms. Hate was undoubtedly making a booty call unaware of my situation.

"Wow, I'm purely shocked ma'am; you said we wouldn't uh, talk again; ain't that right?"

"Nigga, don't play with me; I know you thinking about me." Her serpentine delivery had Charity perked up resting her chin on her fist as she reclined beside me wholly amused under the covers. She prodded me to keep talking with a smile.

"Uh, how could I forget ma'am; you never told me your name and uh, we had to make up one for you, remember?" I really was surprised while Charity barely stifled a laugh.

"Chocolate Lavender."

"Huh?"

"That's my name nigga; Chocolate Lavender!" Charity burst into uproarious laughter before I could stop or muffle her voice. The cat was out of the bag so I just went with it.

"Uhm, nice to, meet you I guess." There was a long pause on the line, but I could hear this nigh-psychotic woman's breathing. In the darkness of the bedroom it felt like she could pounce from any corner and attack.

"You got yourself a little hood rat, huh boy? Well that don't matter none cause I can take you away from her with the snap of a finger. I can make you forget all about that funky little bitch and you won't look back or think about her ever again. We'll be laughing together while I'm showing you what a real woman is nigga. Just like that missy, snap of a finger and you're back at the kiddie table bitch."

Charity reached over snapping her fingers loudly before disconnecting the call in Chocolate Lavender's face. I looked away from her face in the darkness, eyes bucked at the situation. I had no idea what to say to my lover.

"You're fucking old ladies now?"

"She's not old."

"She sounds older than my mother; where you really that desperate?"

"If you don't believe me, we can look at the footage Charity; that loony female can break the internet, trust me on that."

"Oh, well it sounds like you're shitting on my A Game; is that what you're doing, huh negro?" Charity was in possession of my member, brow furrowed. It was only a ruse as we laughed and kissed a bit.

"I think I'm gonna keep calling her Ms. Hate."

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Sure you don't wanna hop up outta here and bust your jumpoff out of the old folks home?"

"That's brutal; she's really a nice girl."

"I don't think so."

"You guys should meet; as a matter of fact I happen to know where she's gonna be this weekend."

"Where?" Charity asked as we cuddled wrapped in each other's arms, legs intertwined.

The exhausted girl was asleep before I could answer softly snoring as my phone chimed again. I found some text message emoji's from Yoli which I stared at before switching off my phone letting them go unanswered. I stared at the girl lying against my chest taking it all in before drifting off looking at her face.

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"We're gonna have us a musical selection right here, right now and I know what some of the congregation are thinking. Our sweet homegrown Sister Fisher isn't with us this morning. Yes it's unfortunate because she sings with the voice of an angel; you all know that!! I suppose a few of you come solely for her voice and talent. Yes, we're at a loss this morning without her to guide us musically! But, sometimes you've gotta reach back into the past to uh, BUILD DAT BRIDGE TO THE FUTURE!!"

The pastor was starting to get into his sermon going more verbally intense as the choir behind him started humming the upcoming tune amidst some grumbling from the congregation. He soldiered on as my mother noticed my wide gregarious grin visibly concerned. She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, which I returned in kind.

"STAY WITH ME IN WORSHIP AND GOOD FAITH!! YOU KNOW I WOULDN'T LEAVE MY PEOPLE HANGING!! HALLELUYAH!! CAN I GET AN AMEN?!! COME ON NOW, HERE ME PEOPLE!! THE LORD TAKETH AWAY AND HE DOES PROVIDE!! EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A DIVINE REASON!! I TELL YOU WE GONNA HAVE A MUSICAL SELECTION THIS MORNING RIGHT NOW!! OH YEAH ITS GOING DOWN!! THE LORD DONE TOLD ME TO REACH ALL THE WAY BACK FOR A HELPING HAND THIS MORNING!! A REPENTANT HAND!! A DIVINE HAND!! CAN I GET A AMEN?!!"

My mother kept looking between me and the pulpit as I facepalmed enjoying the impassioned sermon. I noticed some of the female elders sitting there lining the bottom of the choir stand whispering amongst themselves, brows furrowed. There were a few "Amens" here and there mixed in with some decidedly dour peer chatter as the choir continued ramping up to the upcoming song.

Everything had been pre-choreographed for maximum effect as I got my camera out filming the sermon alarming my mother further. Something was in the water alerting my clueless mother while I could taste the blood.

"COME ON DOWN FROM ON HIGH, SISTER JACOBS!!" The pastor screamed so loud into his podium mic, there was a loud whiny audio screech akin to nails dragging across a chalk board. Every head in the church turned towards the double doors center aisle.

Sister Jacobs appeared shoving the doors open to some instant reaction from those long time members in the know. There were a few suddenly muted audible gasps of recognition as she proudly strode up the aisle in her Sunday finest, a white diaphanous dress that looked like something from the Victorian age with a noticeable difference in that it was ridiculously skin tight at her insanely cinched waist.

As she walked up the aisle a noticeable number of male parishioners heads dipped into the aisle at an angle along with a fair share of teenage boys. From the waist up, Sister Jacobs was pretty much your standard angry looking coal dark skinned elder with the old school wireframe glasses sitting on her prominent hook nose.

This evil looking woman gave off a strict, authoritarian vibe, like some malevolent librarian who'd take a paddle to your hide in a heartbeat. Her greasy, stringy looking hair done up in a bun capped with a tiny white yamaka. Her shifty, narrow eyes slid horizontally side to side scanning her peers and some unfamiliar faces while I filmed.

"Oh my god, I can't believe they let her come back in here." My mother commented to another parishioner at her far side.

From that very small defined waist below, Sister Jacobs was literally murdering damn near every man and boy in the building with her gigantic heart shaped ass that killed or matched a good number of the women I'd been with. It didn't help that the form fitting nature of the dress put her cartoonish well shaped and defined legs on full display.

She was blessed with a show stopping, building demolishing ass bigger than my torso, legs similar to fucking Jessica Rabbit enhanced by the gleaming white spike heels on her feet. Yes, Sister Jacobs returned to the church in grand fashion silently daring anyone to oppose her as she retook her seat at the grand piano.

"She ought to be ashamed of herself, damn near sixty coming up in here with a bobtail skirt on her butt!" Another woman from the aisle leaned in adding to the mounting gossip in hushed tones as Sister Jacobs began playing "Oh Happy Day" with flawless proficiency.

In many ways, she was the flipside to Tressie Fisher, probably a victim herself of the still "missing" Pastor Grey. Many had conspired to remove her from the church silently, but this old woman, still their junior age wise, would not be denied. She'd psychologically tortured a woman young enough to be her daughter even though she was partially responsible for that same woman's emotional meltdown and subsequent malfeasant behavior.

At that moment I was probably the only one in the building with enough faith to believe the Lord works in mysterious ways.

"Oh I don't know about this."

My mother gossiped back momentarily forgetting me as some teen rushed by catching a seat on the end of the first pew facing Sister Jacobs' back. She tickled the ivories with a talent and skill harkening back to the fact that she tutored Tressie Fisher on that very same piano when she was a small child.

Sister Jacobs a.k.a Chocolate Lavender was playing to her strengths sitting there rigid with a decadent arch in her lower back with her huge cheeks spilling over the back of the piano seat. I noticed a mother snatching her son's phone while a few others started to rise filming the sister's glorious back porch.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to find another church." I perked up looking away from my camera at the portly woman leaning over my mother's shoulder.

"Have faith ma'am."

My mother suddenly turned to me shocked at the interruption. I just smiled back motioning at her and the other concerned parishioners towards the very far end of the church, resuming filming. Everybody on my pew and the one behind turned in unison staring across the church to the far wall taking a good number of eyes with them.

Tressie Fisher was power walking up the last aisle hair wrapped tightly in a bandana; the ball knotted at the back of her skull. Her eyes were covered with some dark sunglasses, the face a mask of muted, suppressed rage about to explode in nuclear fashion.

Ironically or perhaps by design, Tressie was also wearing the same white dress from her earlier return performance, although now it signified an earthbound archangel.

Some of the attending deacons were a little slow on the draw with one snagged by a female parishioner and her husband, stopping him from intervening. Sister Jacobs was just ramping up the music getting into it as Tressie approached from her blind side.

I swear I could hear the air cutting as Tressie Fisher launched the greatest sucker punch I'd ever seen in my life.

The powerful right literally exploded against the right side of Sister Jacob's head with an audible thump as the little yamaka on her crown went flying. Her wet, greasy looking hair was a blur of motion as she tumbled over head first onto the floor at the bottom of the pulpit.

Tressie's left hand held a large thickened black belt doubled over her fist that I personally knew she was highly adept at using. Before Sister Jacobs could even gather her senses, Tressie was all over her whipping the woman like a literal slave. Blows from the belt were landing everywhere, but purposely focused on her head as the disgraced elder screamed in pain, humiliation, and outrage.

Chaos rang out in the church as the male elder scrambled down the short steps while the deacons surged forward through the congealing crowd. The other female elders and trustees surprisingly ran interference pushing and shoving their male counterparts as Tressie gagged Sister Jacobs from the back, that thick belt in her maw.

Both of her hands were at either side of the woman's head pulling back with all her might as one concerned guy yanked at her arm until he had one end of the belt. Some of the women in the audience were fed up with Sister Jacobs, the portly woman I'd been talking to in particular. This old sister grabbed the man from behind palming his face.

Stripped of her belt, Tressie went feral wildly ripping and tearing away Sister Jacobs's dress exposing her naked back and thin white brassiere. I was right there capturing everything suddenly finding Demon at my side running interference so that I could get a clear shot of divine justice.

Tressie Fisher was undoubtedly his sister in every way imaginable publicly demonstrating a shared vicious streak kept hidden in reserve. There was nothing Sister Jacobs could do with a much younger woman mounting her, knees in her lower back as her brassiere was torn away. The flimsy undergarment flew right by the camera as the men started to breach the crowd.

Tressie's wrist was roughly snagged while she was laying in numerous blows to the back of Sister Jacobs head prompting Demon to clock the witless guy. This caused more chaos as a few men were finally able to reach Tressie pulling on her bicep with a few women pulling her backwards off of Sister Jacobs who was lying face down.

Realizing there was a sudden window of opportunity, Sister Jacobs got up clutching her tattered dress to her body either not realizing or caring that her naked back was exposed.

A sea of camera phones appeared catching the view of her staggering heart shaped ass, high waisted equally white panties stretched to the point of near bursting across her rear. There were already a few visible tears in the rayon fabric as she clutched the dress to her front hunched over glaring at everyone literally growling like a wild beast.

A few people staggered back, horrified. Sister Jacobs' right eye was swollen like a heavyweight boxer struck her with blood running from her nose over a cut lip. Her injuries were probably worse but obscured by her coal darkened complexion.

Only I was aware that I was looking at Chocolate Lavender.

Tressie suddenly lunged through the wall of men only able to grab a handful of the elastic waist band of Sister Jacobs panties. Two large men stupidly yanked her backwards intending to separate the women accidentally stripping the villainess of the undergarment which came away from her body with an audible rip of fabric.

Everyone's eyes went saucer wide at the sight of Sister Jacobs in the buff from the rear. She screamed bloody murder running top speed through the crowd of people towards her only salvation, the fire exit adjacent to the piano. I got some amazing footage of those huge bare dueling cheeks jiggling as she made good her escape.

Someone in the crowd snatched away the remnants of the dress making her nude as the day she was born. I tried to follow through but got caught up in the surge of camera phones. No one seemed to acknowledge the blaring fire alarm as the ushers and female elders struggled to get things under control.

Things became intense as I relinquished trying to catch more footage of the fleeing villainess who'd nearly cost me my life by harassing Tressie via text. Ms. Fisher was surrounded by most of the women in the church along with a mob of kids and assorted adolescents rushing to her aid.

Everyone else was split down the middle with someone finally shutting off the alarm leaving a few teens outside still trying to find Sister Jacobs in the adjacent parking lot. Someone was on the pulpit mic yelling gibberish as I got a good shot of the pastor looking disheveled sitting in one of the elder's chairs being fanned from various loyal members of the congregation. He looked on the verge of a coronary.

Tressie locked eyes with her seething mother for an instant communicating a tonal shift in the future of their relationship going forward. I quickly dropped the camera when Mrs. Fisher glared at me, teeth gritted. None of them wanted Sister Jacobs back, but neither did any of the old guard want a public spectacle.

Knowing a bit of the villainess playbook, I suspected the good old pastor got a clandestine visit at some point and access to her unparalleled "assets" one way or the other. Things started to thin out below the pulpit as I noticed two of Tressie's students righting the piano bench.

In perhaps the cutest thing I'd seen in a while, a toddler tugged at Tressie's finger pointing at the piano. Flustered with several people yelling and wagging their fingers in her face, she allowed the little girl along with some of her other students to lead her to the grand piano.

The glasses on her face dropped to the carpet revealing running mascara streaking her cheeks. The emotion of openly confronting the woman responsible in part for a lot of her pain was wearing on her as her hands went to the piano keys.

Tressie Fisher began playing "Oh Happy Day" in melody surrounded by her students and some of the female members of the congregation.

I raised my camera knowing this performance was the real reason I was filming. Her niece Stacy plugged in the mic planting it on the piano top facing her auntie who was getting into the music. Some of the people were resuming their seats while others hovered near the grand piano. Half of the choir was already bumping and swaying side by side to the music. Phoebe and Bentley were already on their feet.

Then it happened.

"WHEN JESUS WALKED!! WHEN JESUS WALKED, HE WASHED MY SINS AWAY!!" Tressie Fisher let loose with a high note going right into the section of the gospel song without missing a beat.

The remainder of the choir were quickly returning to their places already singing in concert with her as the applause rang out. I stood in place filming the proceedings for prosperity noticing my mother watching with a big smile on her face. Just like that church was a place of jubilation again as Tressie glanced back over her shoulder.

Mr. Gilbert was within five feet of her clapping to the music, tears in his eyes. Tressie turned back to the piano rocking and bopping to the music shaking her head wildly until the bandana slid away almost magically. Her mane of brownish hair flowed free as she sang with the voice of an soulful angel.

Filming, I knew the old Tressie Fisher was long gone never to return; happy to have played a part in killing that version of her. Most of the church was giving Tressie a standing ovation as I noticed the pastor leaving the pulpit, hanging his head in shame.

I shed a tear or two as Mr. Gilbert joined her along with the children and her siblings. Demon hung back preferring his own space and I understood that.

It was a beautiful thing to see.

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"What is this sorry shit?"

My cousin's backyard was a cramped affair between the rectangular design of the home and the blocky, rarely used garage in the back which left a square space of actual yard to be used. My aunt had already used up a third of this space for her garden and some veggies she was growing which my cousin tended to in her absence.

A large tree had grown at one corner on sort of a diagonal angle dipping into the yard. The opposite sides of the yard was an enclosed private space with a very high picket fence well over six feet in height. "Mr. Loverman " by Shabba Ranks was softly wafting through the air as I got an unexpected surprise.