Hmm. Fly is kind of extra. Solay didn’t need romantic music. All she wanted was a thick, juicy dick. Being polite, she accepted the iPod.
“I always do a performance. You know…to get your juices flowing.” He removed his jacket, draping it over a chair.
Strange foreplay. “What kind of performance?” Feeling a bit uncertain about Fly, she set the iPod on a docking station.
Shakira’s voice emerged from the speakers, singing “Hips Don’t Lie.”
Fly whipped off his shirt off and went into action. He flung his arms about as he swung his hips, shook his ass, belly danced, and even worked in some ballet twirls, all the while, licking his lips. One minute, he was working it like a stripper and the next moment, he was leaping and twirling. The routine was an embarrassment and hard to watch. Fly was over the top, and his dance style was way too sissified to get her juices flowing. No longer able to tolerate this shameful display of his true sexual orientation, Solay clicked off Shakira.
In mid-hip thrust, Fly froze. “Hey! Why’d you stop the music? Is something wrong?” he yelled, scowling in objection to the interruption.
“We’re not a good match, Fly. But thank you for your time.” If Solay were going out to a social event, Fly would have been fabulous arm candy. But he had too much sugar in his tank to fulfill her carnal needs.
“Are you serious?” he screeched in a high-pitched voice, totally releasing his inner girl. “I traveled all this way to spend time with you. I’m trying to give you a romantic evening, and just like that, you’re kicking me out?”
“Sorry, but I’m not feeling that dance.” She handed him the iPod, wondering if the agency would honor a last-minute request for Deon.
Fly snatched his iPod from her hand. “I was classically trained at Juilliard. But you’re not refined enough to appreciate—”
“Whatever!” she spat.
He pulled his shirt over his head and yanked his jacket off the chair. “You wasted my time, lady. I hope you realize that you still have to pay for my services.”
Solay shrugged, knowing that she was going to call the agency, demanding Deon—or a refund. She’d pitch a bitch and threaten to sue if they insisted on charging her credit card for Fly’s dancing ass.
Fly stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Punk-ass!
Lips curled in dissatisfaction, Solay picked up the phone. Those rent-a-dick shysters tried to play me. I requested a man that could put in some work in the bedroom, and they sent me a flaming ballerina!
Surprisingly, the agency was apologetic and accommodating. Only problem—Deon was booked up until the end of the week.
“Greek Thunder is available tonight; he’s a favorite,” said the pleasant voice on the other end of the phone. “Would you like us to send him over?”
Solay pondered briefly. “No, I’ll wait for Deon,” she said, deciding against taking any more chances with unknown dick. Deon was tried and true. She liked the way he put it down.
Alone with her thoughts, she wondered if it was healthy to substitute a real relationship with paid escorts. Hell yeah, she responded. Relationships were all-consuming—bad for business. Once again, she assured herself that renting dick had to be healthier than allowing herself to become entangled in an emotionally draining and romantic situation.
CHAPTER 11
Colden had summoned her, demanding her presence at a dinner party that one of his wealthy friends was hosting. Colden had always kept her behind closed doors. He’d never invited her to any of the exclusive parties that he attended. Melanee was honored, but had no idea what would be required of her. The suspense had her tingling all over—made her panties wet.
At quitting time, Melanee ripped off her apron and raced out of Scandalicious. It took three buses and a fifteen-minute walk to get to the Montgomery County address that Colden had sent in a text. She didn’t expect him to provide her with transportation. She’d gladly walk to the end of the earth to be with him.
By the time Melanee finally reached the lovely Tudor-style home, she was eager to become immersed in whatever sexual adventure Colden had planned.
Her pulse quickened with excitement as she lifted the heavy door knocker.
Colden answered the door. He looked dashing in a black suit and tie. “You’re late! You missed dinner, and our hostess is infuriated.”
“I’m sorry, Master. The buses were running late.”
“Inexcusable.” His whispered voice became a hiss.
Melanee felt heat prickling up the back of her neck. Fear as well as humiliation aroused her, causing her face to flush. “I’m really sorry. I tried to get—”
Colden held up his hand, silencing her. Melanee flinched.
His dark brown eyes bore into her. “Punctuality should never be an issue. You’re nothing but a novice. If you can’t manage time, then you’re obviously in over your head.”
“I’ll do better.”
“You’re not ready for the lifestyle.”
“I’m still learning.”
He glared at Melanee, which caused her small nipples to grow taut. Colden was even more desirable when he was enraged. His smoldering dark eyes, the visible veins jutting out at the sides of his neck, the thin sheen of perspiration that covered his forehead—it all added to his sexuality and attractiveness. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at his muscular thighs inside custom-tailored pants.
She closed her eyes for a quick blissful moment, imagining Colden’s strong limbs clamped securely around her head.
“If it were up to me, you wouldn’t cross this threshold. But I’ve promised the hostess an evening of decadent entertainment. Don’t fuck this up!” The controlled growl beneath Colden’s words warned that a thrashing would be too good for her. And being exiled again—being denied the privilege of sucking his dick was more than she could endure.
Nodding grimly, Melanee moved toward the open doorway.
Colden blocked her path. He looked her up and down sneeringly. “The servant’s entrance is in the rear.”
“Oh.” Having forgotten her place, she reversed her footsteps. She didn’t dare ask what she would be required to do. She’d find out soon enough. Feeling both anxious and excited, she turned and hurried to the back of the house.
A pebble walkway led to the servant’s entrance. Standing in the doorway was a large and imposing man, dressed in a butler’s uniform. He had an abundance of kinky, silvery-gray hair that hung to his shoulders. His brown skin was unlined, youthful and taut—a complete contradiction of hair color that suggested a much older man. Stone-faced, the butler held the door open for Melanee. Ushered into the vestibule, she followed him into the kitchen.
He pointed to a door that looked as if it might lead to a basement. “Madam wants you to undress in there.” The butler spoke in a pompous and affected manner, as if trying to sound British.
Who’s Madam? Melanee wondered, but she didn’t ask. Making inquiries of any type would imply that Melanee was untrained…wayward. And nothing was further from the truth. She was obedient and grateful for the opportunity to serve Colden and wouldn’t dream of offending the gracious hostess.
Madam was no doubt a prominent member of the private society that Colden belonged to—a group of well-to-do people that gathered together to indulge their darkest and most deviant sexual desires. The man dressed as a butler was most likely Madam’s sexual submissive. She figured that he was costumed as a servant specifically for this occasion.
Melanee was terrified of where the door might lead, but she’d do anything to please Colden. If he commanded her to descend into the bowels of a dark and torturous dungeon, then she had no choice—she had to do it.
She was relieved when the butler opened the door to a bright and well-organized pantry. Looking around at the stockpiles of food items, she wondered if she was expected to put on a maid’s uniform and serve during the dinner party.
She scanned the room but didn’t uncover a uniform or any other articles of
clothing. “Where’s my outfit? What does Madam want me to wear?”
“You won’t be wearing anything. You are required to go au natural.” The butler seemed insulted, as if he alone was worthy of donning a servant’s uniform. With his nose turned up, he left the pantry, closing the door behind him.
As Melanee disrobed, a thrilling mixture of dread and excitement caused her to shake. She looked around for somewhere to hang her clothes. Finding neither a closet nor hangers, her first thought was to fold and place her clothes on a shelf that held canned goods. She thought better of that idea; Colden might not approve.
In keeping with her humble position, she tucked her pile of clothing in a corner on the floor—behind a large storage bin—hidden from view. Colden’s friends had sensitive eyes, accustomed to the finer things in life, and Melanee didn’t want to offend the hostess or anyone else with her cheap and wrinkled attire.
She’d lost so much weight. Would her thin body be offensive? She hoped the group would overlook her current appearance and judge her on her willingness to provide pleasure. As long as she remained in Colden’s good graces, she’d have a healthy appetite. In no time at all, her weight would be back to normal.
Anxious, Melanee hugged herself as she waited for the adventure to begin.
The door pushed open, and a shudder rippled through Melanee’s body when the butler walked in. “Madam will see you, now. Follow me.”
He led her down the corridor; his back and shoulders were erect with self-assurance. He wore his butler gear with pride and confidence, as if he were wearing the decorated uniform of a four-star general. Padding along the corridor, Melanee’s bare skin prickled; her steps faltered as she grew nearer to the sound of chatter and tinkling laughter.
Sensing her hesitation, the butler turned around. “Come, come. You must not keep Madam and her guests waiting any longer.”
In a grand and spacious room, formally dressed men and women chatted and socialized while holding the end of a chained leash that bound their submissive mates to them.
Upon Melanee’s entrance, all conversations stopped. The butler cleared his throat. “Madam,” he said and then left the room.
“So this is the impudent little creature that belongs to Colden!” A snobbish voice of superiority emerged from the lips of a statuesque woman that Melanee presumed to be Madam. While all the other guests and their subs were scattered about the room, the woman, whose complexion was the color of molasses, stood in the center of the gathering—as if holding court.
High cheekbones complemented doe-shaped eyes. Her makeup was expertly applied, giving her dark complexion the look of silk. Her straightened dark hair was pulled back into a bun, and secured in a net of sparkling jewels. An off-shoulder, form-fitting, beaded white gown contrasted her skin and flaunted a toned and exquisite physique. She was regal, beautiful, and terrifying.
Tethered to Madam was a young man with a face that was almost as pretty as a girl’s. The hair on his head was a lustrous crown of spiral ringlets—an abundance of golden curls. His bare chest and arms were rippled with youthful muscles.
He kept his eyes downcast as he stood beside Madam. Melanee noticed that all the subs—both male and female—were covered at the bottom, though their upper bodies were exposed.
Being the only naked person in the room was more disturbing than she’d imagined. Melanee felt lower than a peasant. Why was she ordered to strip naked and stand before these strangers, while the other subs were at least partially dressed? It was a cruel punishment. The heat of embarrassment flushed her face and then traveled downward, settling in her center. Her juices were so hot, they bubbled and overflowed. She squeezed her thighs together, attempting to conceal the heat of her arousal. Under such extreme circumstances, Melanee was not surprised that her pussy had become a dripping, clenching hot pool of desire.
Searching the crowd, Melanee sought Colden’s face, hoping for guidance. Her questioning eyes found his, but were met with a glower.
Colden shifted his gaze to Madam. He motioned toward Melanee. “Tonight, she’s all yours. Use her in any manner that gives you sexual pleasure.”
Madam’s eyes darkened with interest. As she scrutinized Melanee, her eyes running over every inch of her body, a frown formed on Madam’s face. “She’s a scrawny little thing. Completely unappealing.”
“Madam Midnight,” Colden addressed the woman formally. “My apologies for the girl’s malnourished appearance. Unfortunately, she loses her appetite when she is denied my company. Should she pass tonight’s try-outs; I plan to spend more time with her, taking her through rigorous and unrelenting training. I can assure you that with more meat on her bones, this girl is a delight to the eyes.
Melanee had no idea if Madam Midnight was the woman’s true name or a moniker she used in the confines of this elite and secret society. She honestly didn’t care. She was overjoyed to hear Colden publicly announce that he was going to take time with her and give her serious training. Her task was to make him proud in front of his fellow members.
Though the subs kept their gazes cast downward, the other people—the dominants—openly appraised Melanee. Their downturned mouths conveyed their disapproval.
Nervous, Melanee chewed on her inner lip. She yearned to be accepted, and it was a struggle to remain calm. Mimicking the behavior of the better-trained subs, she lowered her head, fixing her eyes on the floor.
“Look at me, girl!” Madam spoke sharply. “I didn’t give you permission to turn your eyes away from me.”
Melanee’s head shot up obediently. She forced herself to gaze into Madam’s dark and contemptuous eyes. Melanee caught a whiff of her perfume; Madam not only looked like money, she even smelled expensive.
“What’s your specialty—fellatio or eating cunt,” Madam said bluntly.
“Both. I do both,” Melanee answered quickly, cutting a nervous eye at Colden.
“Which…is…your…specialty?” Madam spoke through gritted teeth, putting space between each word.
“Fellatio!” Melanee exclaimed. She could tell that Madam had a quick temper. The last thing she wanted was to be on the woman’s bad side.
Melanee hadn’t noticed the large vintage bell that sat atop a table until Madam extended a long and graceful arm to retrieve it. With a slight and mysterious smile on her lips, Madam rang the bell.
The butler appeared almost instantly. “Madam?” he said with a slight head bow.
“This girl is going to entertain us with a demonstration. We’re all eager to view her talent.”
“I understand, Madam.” The butler wore a somber expression. With a theatrical flourish, he began to unzip his pants. He palmed his flaccid penis, which he tenderly stroked until it swelled to an enormous size. The butler turned slowly, presenting each dominant guest with a showing of his massive erection.
When a great riot of applause erupted from dominant guests, a flattered smile formed on the butler’s face. The leashed and collared subs were appropriately still and silent, showing no sign of being impressed by the butler’s significantly enlarged penis.
At Colden’s command, Melanee had licked lots of pussy, but she’d never been ordered to administer a blow job to any man other than Colden. She glanced at Colden questioningly.
Colden waved his hand, gesturing his permission. Though his expression was stoic, a glimmer of warmth and pride was reflected in his eyes.
Encouraged by the promise of the reward she’d receive later, Melanee kneeled before the butler and drew his sizeable dick into her mouth, lathing it with her tongue, sucking as though it held the same sweetness as Colden’s magnificent dick.
CHAPTER 12
The way his salary had been hacked, he only made a fraction of what he used to earn. Chevonne headed the Department of Tourism for the City of Philadelphia, and her salary put Lincoln’s to shame. After his numerous pay cuts, she was responsible for the lion’s share of the household bills.
Though he could barely cover his portion of the f
amily’s living expenses, Lincoln had thought about it long and hard, and had come to a decision. He couldn’t stay under the same roof as Chevonne. Nor could he walk away from his children.
Sitting up in bed, her back pressed against the headboard, Chevonne stared at the monitor of her laptop and tapped the keys. As a department head, her responsibilities were tremendous. It wasn’t unusual for her to bring work home. But after the discovery of her adulterous affair, Lincoln wondered if she’d been using the pretext of work to exchange sex messages with her illicit lover. He didn’t put anything past her sneaky ass.
It incensed him that Chevonne had lain in bed beside him night after night, pretending to work, while possibly sending explicit pictures and emails to her secret paramour.
Lincoln recalled how badly he’d craved her body, forcing himself to try to focus on TV while waiting for her to finish whatever she was working on. But most nights, after she’d shut down her laptop, she would also shut her legs. Claiming to have cramps or a headache. Plenty of excuses and hardly any pleasure.
All too often, she’d turned her back toward Lincoln, denying him, leaving him no choice but to jack off as she lay sleeping beside him.
Every now and then, she doled out pity pussy. Lincoln cringed while recalling the occasions when he’d accepted pussy that was not given freely. Pussy that he was entitled to was reluctantly given with a frown and a long sigh of aggravation, as if Lincoln were a beggar or a hopeless charity case.
Bitter memories reinforced his animosity. “I’m leaving you, Chevonne.” His hostile voice cut through the silence inside the bedroom. “I’m looking for an apartment.”
Chevonne exhaled audibly. Before responding, she grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. “I don’t want the children to overhear us,” she explained, in a hushed tone of voice.
Lincoln gave a snickering sound of sarcastic laughter. “You seemed to be an expert at keeping up a façade, but do you actually believe that the volume from the TV will disguise the dissension in our household?”
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