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Legacy

Book Two of the Chronicles of the Nubian Underworld

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A tale unlike anything else, this second episode in the Chronicles of the Nubian Underworld series continues the erotically charged journey inside Atlanta’s African-American Fetish/BDSM community.

“In order to be great, you have to leave your mark. Are you ready to leave your mark?”

After returning from Dubai, a power shift occurs within the Atlanta Fetish community as the “torch” is passed on from Amenhotep to Ramesses and Neferterri. The Palace is being transformed in Ramesses’s image, and the new “power couple” is adjusting to life in the spotlight and the benefits (and headaches) that come with it.

But as Ramesses puts the finishing touches on establishing the balance of power, Amenhotep has tasked him with a daunting task—one that will test his will and re-forge a bond that was once broken, cementing his legacy within the sacred “society.”

Exotic, decadent, and written by a true insider, Legacy takes you deeper into the Atlanta Fetish/BDSM community, twisting more surprises and revelations that are sure to take your breath away.

Legacy ONE SAJIRA
The headset I wore felt like it had become a chain, weighing me down against my will. Thanks to my Daddy, I hadn’t minded chains much anymore. What had begun as fun, sitting on the phone at home and talking dirty to anonymous men, knowing I was getting them off with a slutty voice and filthy language, had fallen into a mundane pattern.

The monotony started when I started spending most of my time screaming, “Oh yeah, baby, fuck me in my ass” to men whose wives or girlfriends refused to satisfy their fantasy of anal sex, and quite frankly, I didn’t get it. I absolutely enjoyed it, especially with my Daddy. Damn, I got chills thinking about it.

Oh, and let’s not forget the “hetero-flexible” men, either. All they ever wanted to talk about was fucking guys who looked like girls, so, on those calls, I pitched my voice deep and pretended to be a horny transvestite, and even with this variation, I still spent most of the time screaming, “Oh yeah, your cock is so big up my ass, baby.”

Yeah, right. At least I could take pride in the fact that I could manipulate my voice to be whatever they needed me to be. While it was a lot of fun doing that, it became its own problem to maintain the motivation.

Okay, before you go there and tell them I’ve been a bad girl, my Daddy and my Goddess know about the side gig. In fact, they encouraged it as part of my slut training. In their minds, it was a welcome contrast in style to my accounting career during the day. So, before you think about going to tell on me, I figured I needed to drop that bit of information on you. Besides, they’ll only look at you like you’re nuts for telling them what they already know.

Believe me, they…know…everything.

Anyway, there’s one caller, we’ll call him “George.” His calls were probably the only calls I actually dreaded, and he called at least once a night, sometimes it would be six or seven times a night, and it was sick and repetitive what he wanted to talk about. The funny thing was he always wanted to try and dominate me, be his little bitch.

Only one man had that power over me, and it’s not my husband.

It was easy to get him riled up whenever he tried that mess with me. Neferterri always told me guys like that usually had no power in their own lives, so they used a chat line or phone sex line to regain some sort of balance. It was pathetic, in my opinion, but sometimes you had to do what you had to do to get by. I was glad I didn’t have to do it.

I was daydreaming about Neferterri when the beep came over my line again. It was so vivid, I had trouble getting into character. “This is Tina, your sex goddess. Can I verify that you are over eighteen, please, before we continue this phone call?”

“Don’t worry, Tina,” the caller said. “I think I more than qualify.”

The caller had a deep voice, but it was soft also, possessing a hint of ruffneck around the edges. It seemed to travel over the phone line and almost invaded every one of my senses, like he was in the room with me. I didn’t pay it much attention, though. All I worried about was finishing this call as soon as possible, so I could get some rest before my husband came home from work.

“Hello, caller, may I have your name, please?” I asked.

“No, Tina, you may not.” The silky-smooth, masculine voice was so sexy it always had me wondering if there was a body to match every time he called. His answer still perturbed me, nearly pissing me off because he wouldn’t participate in the burgeoning fantasy playing out in my mind. I wanted to give him his money’s worth, but he was fucking up a wet dream in the making.

“So, what shall I call you, sir?” I asked again, sticking to the script when dealing with assholes that wanted to play a role. God, all he had to do was play along and we could both get off.

“I think you have figured it out,” he answered. The enigmatic tone in his voice intrigued me and repulsed me at the same time.

“You want me to call you ‘sir’?” I questioned. I tried to keep my wits about me, but this guy was turning me off by the second. I was going to have to pull an Academy Award-winning performance with this one.

“That’s right, Tina, I want you to call me ‘sir.’ How old are you, Tina, and tell me the truth; I will know if you don’t.” He was insistent, almost controlling, as he inquired.

In truth, I couldn’t call him a mystery, or even a stranger, for that matter. He had been calling for about the past month or so, and he always called me on the same days, but not often enough to where I could figure out when he was calling so that I could be prepared for his call. Sometimes the calls would be hot as hell, to the point to where I needed to masturbate again between calls. Other times, it would be a test of my patience before he finally got off. But it seemed as if he was doing enough to keep me interested and repulsed at the same time.

But, whatever, it’s not like this dude had a polygraph over the phone or something. “I’m nine…”

“The truth, Tina, you are never supposed to tell me anything but the truth,” he demanded. “I can hear the maturity in your voice; you’re older than nineteen.”

“I’m twenty-three, sir.” I lied anyway, this time a little more demurely to keep up the façade of my “submission” to him. I didn’t care who the person was, the one thing I never do, and what the company that I work for requires, is to give my real name, age, or location.

“And what is your real name, Tina?” he asked. I noticed more aggression in his voice this time. I swear this guy wouldn’t quit. I didn’t care how turned on I was with him in the past, I was two seconds shy of disconnecting the line, but not before I milked him for what he was worth.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Your real name, bitch…now!”

“It’s Melissa, sir,” I snapped as the fake name rolled off my tongue like it was my real name. Yeah, I was really going to tell him my real name; who the hell was he kidding? He had me mixed up with another clueless bitch or something. He wouldn’t know if I was lying or telling the truth anyway; I was on a secured line. Daddy made sure of it before I started working.

“Melissa, I understand, not exactly a sexy name. I’ll call you Calypso instead. Will you be my Calypso?” His voice deepened.

At last, I was relieved, some type fantasy, someone I could “be” for this jackass. “Certainly, sir, I’ll be your Calypso.”

“Do you live alone, Calypso? Remember, tell the truth.”

“No sir, I don’t.” I blew out air in frustration, muting my headset to keep him from hearing it. This dude was getting too personal. I should have hung up the phone then, but this was more of a power play now, and he was not about to get the best of me.

“Who do you live with, Calypso?”

“I live with my boyfriend, sir.”

“And is he good to you; does he take good care of you? Does he turn you on?”

“Sir?” I asked. I didn’t want to engage in unnecessary drivel, but I was gonna get my money out of him. Thank goodness it was almost time for me to get off work anyway, otherwise, I would have cut his ass a long time ago.

“This is my time, Calypso. Never give me anything but your full attention during my time.” The tone in his voice tried to give me the idea he wanted to get rough with me.

“Yes sir.” I couldn’t argue with him, nor did I want to. He was right after all, it was his time…and his dime. “I’m yours for as long as you like.”

“Calypso, does your boyfriend take care of you?”

“No sir, he…well, he can barely hold down a job.”

“And does he turn you on?”

“No sir, mostly he bores me.” I knew full well I was getting satisfied on a lot of levels, but he didn’t need to know all of that information. All I needed was another ten minutes with him and I would have gotten my c-note out of him for the night.

“What turns you on, Calypso?”

“Ummm…” The “shy girl” persona kicked in now; my eyes watching the clock the entire time.

“Does this job do it for you?” he asked with contempt.

“No sir, nothing really does anymore.” I was mentally done with him, now. My body didn’t even want to respond to anything he said. I wanted to say, “You don’t do it for me,” but I knew that wouldn’t help matters for getting the money out of him I wanted.

“Mmmmmm, I’m sure we can find something, Calypso.” I imagined the smirk on his face as he mumbled those words.

“Yes sir, I’m sure.” I was ad-libbing now, preparing to launch into my “fuck me up the ass” persona because this guy was boring me to tears.

“Don’t patronize me, Calypso. I want you, but I want you willing, and I want you mine, completely mine. I’m not interested in your professional self, your phone self. I want you, Calypso; do you understand that?”

“Yes sir.” I was surprised at my response. It felt almost like enthusiasm for a moment. I heard him getting excited, which meant I could milk him some more. That got me wet, releasing my inner slut.

“That’s better, pet. Now tell me what you look like for real. I want you to stand in front of a mirror and tell me what you see.”

I knew from his tone he was serious, but I was snug in my bed and horny. There wasn’t a force on earth that could get me out of bed…well, that’s not entirely accurate.

“Well, I’m about five feet seven inches, reddish-brown hair, light-green eyes…”

“What is your body like, my dear?”

“Well, it’s not perfect; I could lose about fifteen pounds, but it is not bad, either. I have forty-four-inch hips, a thirty-two-inch waist, and I measure 38C at the bust.”

It’s amazing what you could come up with when money was a motivating factor. I actually got wetter by the minute, feeding into the role play as the time ticked away. My body looked nothing like the way I described, but I went with what the customer might like, and it’s what seemed to work for him.

“Do you understand you are mine?”

Oh yeah, I understood. I was “his,” even if this was the one time I would speak to him tonight because he would never get a whiff of me…I was “his.”

Until he began having conversations with the dial tone after I hung up.

“Yes sir, I understand. I am yours.”

“Then put your hand down your pants and play with your pussy.”

I hesitated a moment and considered my options. By then, thoughts of Ramesses invaded my mind, and I heard his voice in my head, replacing the one in my ear. My legs slowly parted, and at my Daddy’s commands in my ear, I started playing with my clit. I got quiet for a minute, almost forgetting I was on the line with my wannabe domi-not.

“Calypso,” he growled softly. “you are mine, period. Now put your hands down your pants and play with your pretty pussy.”

I don’t think he understood what was going on, and I didn’t care. The only voice in my head was Daddy’s and my fingers worked their magic like they had other forces controlling them. My fingers felt the slick wetness as I slowly slipped into my own private mind fuck.

“I want you to rub it very slowly in a circular motion,” he told me. I still ignored him, giving out some moans for his benefit, but playing the tune only my Goddess could understand. I felt the softness of my Goddess’ hand caressing my skin. He could have called me everything but a child of God and I would have cared less.

I followed his “directions,” feeling the satin wetness of my now dripping lips. I let out a soft sigh. God, it felt so damn good.

“Calypso, does it feel good?”

“Mmmm-hmmm…”

“You will address me as SIR and speak with words and not sounds, Calypso. Does it feel good?”

“Yes sir, it feels incredible, sir.” I rushed through the response. It didn’t matter what he said to me anymore; he was a pending footnote in the story of my growing orgasm. I was on automatic, taking out a dildo to feel something inside me to get me over the edge. I needed my husband to come home at that exact moment, so I could fuck his brains out.

“That’s better, my dear. Do you think you can come for me, Calypso?”

“Yes sir, I think I can come for you.”

“Don’t, baby, enjoy it. Keep it on the edge.”

“But sir…I want to come so badly.”

“Calypso, we agreed you are mine, and as such, you will not come!!!!!!”

“Yes sir,” I told him over the phone, but I hovered over my clit, enjoying the sensations, the energy that pulsated from it.

“Calypso, what is your phone number?”

“757-215-7731, sir.” I may have been in orgasmic bliss, but I was not stupid. My Goddess taught me well.

“What city do you live in, Calypso?”

“Norfolk, sir, I live in Norfolk, Virginia.”

“Very good, now, stop.”

Hell no, I wasn’t going to stop. My hands were working at a feverish pace by then, and I was just about to come when…

“Calypso…”

“Sir?”

“I’ll be coming for you soon.” His tone chilled me. It wasn’t the “oh baby, I’m about to come” type of phrase, but something that stopped me in mid-stroke.

Before I could respond, the line went dead.
Credit: John Crooms Photography

Shakir Rashaan is the author of the bestselling Nubian Underworld series, as well as the Kink, P.I. series (Obsession, Deception, and Reckoning) and several anthology credits, including Zane Presents Z-Rated: Chocolate Flava 3. He currently resides in suburban Atlanta with his wife and two children. You can see more of Rashaan at ShakirRashaan.com.

  • Publisher: Strebor Books (June 10, 2014)
  • Length: 272 pages
  • ISBN13: 9781476748795

More books from this author: Shakir Rashaan

More books in this series: The Chronicles of the Nubian Underworld