Gimple cocked his head. “Huh?”
Olivia was nothing if not quick on her feet. She spoke louder. “I said I sure hope she’s getting by.”
He seemed satisfied and Olivia felt a rush of relief. It’s as if I have no filter these days!
“She’ll be fine,” he yelled. “Just a touch of stomach flu.”
“I’m awfully sorry to hear that, Mr. Gimple.”
“Oh, please, call me Jeffrey.” He looked around the room, his beady eyes, behind bottle-thick lenses, magnified and wide with wonder. They settled on the restrooms, which had a neon blue Adam sign for the guys and a pink Eve for the ladies. The door handles were in the shapes of serpents.
Olivia assumed he was casing the joint for toilets should one of his chronic digestive disorders rear its unseemly head.
“Looks like just about everyone in town showed up. What kind of show is it?”
Olivia thought. “I guess you’d call it a magic-show-striptease.”
His face pinched up and when he lowered his head, an alarming succession of wattles bulged over his collar. But despite his turtle-like appearance, bald shining head, and Humpty-Dumpty-Off-His-Diet physique, Olivia LeBlatte found her thoughts wandering into startling territory. I bet Nedra never gives it up to him. Poor guy is probably so full of built-up baby gravy he’d explode like a fire hose if I told him I’m not wearing panties. She suppressed a laugh and another unbidden thought, this one somewhat disturbing, came to her. I wonder if he’s good with his hands. And then, Wouldn’t that just chap old Nedra’s Christian hide … to find out her husband is sleeping with the enemy … this time, she did laugh.
“What’s so funny?” yelled the bespectacled little doughboy.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Olivia leaned closer to him. She’d never fucked a fatty before and now it sounded like just the thing she needed. Worst-case scenario, I’ll think of Anthony Robbins while he’s banging me. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the man - and his great big impossibly white choppers - had wandered into her fantasies. But she didn’t think she’d need Tony’s help getting off tonight. “I was just about to step outside for a cigarette. Would you care to join me? We can talk without yelling.”
“Oh, uh, well, I’m actually not supposed to be around cigarette smoke. Nedra has allerg-”
“I won’t crowd you.”
He blinked. “Was there something in particular you needed to talk about?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, there is.”
“All right.” He stood.
She thought, I’m really going to do it. I’m going to take him to my car and make every roll of fat on his body quiver with gelatinous bliss. As they headed to the exit, she recognized - with considerable distaste - that she was actually aroused. It’s not my fault, she reasoned. It’s Mr. Jones’ fault. He’d given her a taste of the forbidden, and now that she’d taken a bite, she wanted the whole enchilada. She thought of Nedra again - of the shock on her face if she ever found out. The warmth between Olivia’s legs turned moist. Why didn’t I think of doing this sooner?
As they left the building, the emcee’s voice began to boom again.
* * *
Rebecca McNair hadn’t seen Corson Lombardo since he’d sat in her styling chair, and she was getting impatient.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Take your seats and prepare to be dazzled! You’ve seen some of what the Belles of Hell can do and there are more of them to come, but for now, we’d like to shake things up for you. We like to keep things fresh around here at Club Mephistopheles - so fresh, that we guarantee that by the time this night is over, you’ll have the answer to that age-old question, ‘What fresh hell is this?’
Cheers and whistles rippled through the room.
“Fellas,” continued the deep-voiced emcee, “this one’s for the ladies, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t going to get an eye-popping show. So just stay where you are, keep your eyes on the stage, and give a loud round of applause for the LolliCops!”
The audience erupted in cheers as the room went black.
Then three spotlights shone on the stage, and Rebecca’s heart pounded when she recognized Corson. Though his long hair was tucked up into a gray policeman’s hat, there was no mistaking the strong jaw, cleft chin, intense blazing eyes, and the sensual fullness of his mouth.
The other two guys, also clad in form-fitting gray law-enforcement uniforms, were just as hot … but Rebecca saw only Corson. He was, as far as she was concerned, the only sight worth seeing.
* * *
The lights did a dizzying dance, a stuttering tattoo of brilliant greens, reds, and yellows that pulsed with the boom of the beat. When the men on the stage tossed their hats off, Dette recognized Astaroth.
“That’s him!” she shouted at Madison. “That’s the guy I hit in the Mustang!”
Maddy nodded and continued looking bored, despite the man candy on stage. She was being a real drag, but Dette ignored her and took another sip of her drink. She’d never had a “Devil’s Punchbowl” before and she liked it. A lot.
Astaroth and his pals - the Lollicops - had no use for poles, but after pulling their gray shirts open to expose plenty of smooth tanned muscle, they took full advantage of the other props, each straddling a chair and bucking his way toward the front of the stage.
Dette’s mouth went dry as she watched Astaroth’s hips pump. She took another long drink, remembering in pornographic detail her afternoon of passion with Astaroth and Tyranny. She felt a pleasant buzz in her core and squeezed her legs together, scratching that delectable itch. The memories rushed back: Astaroth’s smooth hard body, sheened in male sweat. The way he’d ravished her, filled her so full she thought she’d burst. It seemed like a dream and even now, she only half-believed it had happened. And I still haven’t told Maddy about it. Which was fine by Dette. She’d probably only give me a lecture on safe sex, anyway. She took another swallow and glanced at Madison and was shocked when she found herself thinking she probably would have had more fun tonight without her.
As one, the men stood and ripped their shirts from their bodies. A collective cheer resounded as the bouncing lights reflected off an array of bulging oiled muscles. The Lollicops held their arms out in front of them, stabbed the air with violent hip-thrusts, bucking their way in a slow circle to give the audience a full view. The cop pants were as tight as a coat of paint and when their asses flexed, Dette’s pulse took off at a run. She touched the silver crescent moon that hung between her breasts - it was warm. Smooth. It felt good. The alcoholic buzz didn’t hurt either.
The Lollicops dropped into one-handed push-ups and Dette was aware of Shawn Barzetti’s hand, stroking careful circles on her thigh. Without any thought, she widened her legs, wanting him to move inward - and upward. She wasn’t thinking of Shawn, though. She was thinking of Astaroth; she wanted him.
Again.
Tonight.
She took another gulp and felt the heat of the liquor burn its way to her stomach.
The dancers rose to their full heights - each was over the six-foot mark - then the hottie with long dark hair took center stage and began toying with his belt buckle, teasing them. Take it off! Dette thought - she almost screamed it.
Astaroth and the sandy-haired hunk flanked the Greek-looking, longhaired stallion, all three pumping their hips to the beat, all three slowly - way too slowly - undoing their belts.
As one, they unbuckled and slid the leather straps from their belt loops. They cracked them like whips and a cloud of smoke exploded. As it cleared, the crowd cheered, then gasped, realizing each of the men held not their belts, but living snakes - boa constrictors.
The Lollicops feigned dismay as the serpents slithered upward, their reptilian bodies glistening under the lights as they curled around corded forearms and slid over hard shining biceps toward the dancers’ bow-tied necks. Before the reptiles could curl themselves around any throats, the men yanked them away. The snakes were suddenly gone. The men displayed
their inanimate leather belts - and tossed them aside.
The crowed oohed.
The Lollicops did a jump-turn, giving the audience a view of their muscled backs. They doubled over and in a seamless rip, off came the pants. Each now only wore a black thong and black jackboots. They jump-turned again and shuddered their hips - a spasmodic sex simulation that set their genitals jouncing beneath the thin veil of fabric.
Dette wriggled in her seat and wished Shawn would act like a man and just grab her by the pussy. She took another long drink and looked for a waitress. She’d need a refill soon.
The faint smell of sulfur bit the air seconds before Dette saw the fire. It bloomed at the front of the of the stage, forming a great wall between the dancers and the crowd, then disappeared before the audience had a chance to ooh or ahh.
Now Astaroth held a flaming baton. He took center stage and his dance partners went perfectly still, their heads reverently bowed. The music slowed.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” said the emcee. “Behold! What you’re about to see will forever change your view of the world around you. Forget all you’ve been taught about cause and effect, black and white, right and wrong. Let the world as you know it crumble at your feet and watch as we break the laws of science before your very eyes!”
Astaroth twirled the flaming baton over his head in an easy spin, tipped the crowd a wink, then dragged a fiery end across his chest. An X burned for several seconds on his skin, but the attractive white smile never left his face. His partners remained limp and lifeless in a way that reminded Dette of discarded puppets as Astaroth dragged the fire up his legs and down his arms, drawing slow fiery designs on his skin.
Dette was vaguely aware that Shawn had finally reached his destination and was giving her a rough under-the-table rub, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Astaroth. His well-groomed hair stood in stiff white spikes that gave him a disciplined, militaristic appearance. His hands, which had roamed her entire body, were beautiful and powerful. His body, of course, was incredible - severe and almost frightening in its mass and power - but it was his eyes Dette couldn’t get past: twin sapphire blazes that turned the fire on his skin into an afterthought, an opening act. Those eyes lit on her now, and Dette felt the penetration of that gaze as surely as if he’d pushed her against the wall and plunged himself deep inside her.
Despite Shawn’s ham-handed attempt to bring her pleasure, she moaned. She finished her drink and glanced at Madison, whose eyes were wide and fixed on the stage. I knew she’d enjoy it once she got here.
Shawn’s hand moved in rough circles under the table. He was breathing hard; she could smell the liquor on his breath. Whatever he was doing down there didn’t feel good at all. Judging by his face, he was getting far more pleasure than she was - he had no idea how to handle the female body. She pushed him away.
He looked wounded.
“Later,” she said in his ear.
He frowned and slumped.
A waitress appeared with a fresh drink. Dette tipped her and swallowed half the glass at once.
Lights bloomed on stage and Dette winced as Astaroth touched the sandy-haired man - Sandy-Man - on the shoulder with his fire stick. The other man’s head snapped up and he moved to the front of the stage.
Despite undeniable good looks, there was something eerie about the guy - it probably had to do with the fact that his eyes, skin, and hair were all the same shade. He crouched, one leg extended, and brought his hands in front of his face.
There was a loud Boom! like a cannon going off, and Dette flinched and giggled as fire sparked at his fingertips and burned there like candles on a cake. He wiggled his fire-fingers, dragged them down both sides of his face, leaving streaks of fire that burned themselves out. He stood, turned around and slapped his bare backside. A flaming handprint blazed on his ass cheek. The other men joined him, setting fire to themselves and each other as they danced.
The women in the crowd whooped and hollered, rowdy with drink and excitement. Dette was pretty drunk, too.
She swallowed the last of her drink and, as if from nowhere, a waitress appeared with a new one.
The dancers turned their backs on the crowd, shaking their asses, then one by one, left the stage and jaunted down the stairs. First to take his leave was Sandy-Man, who made his way toward diner-owner Roxie Michaelson. He thrust his hips at her, pressing her hands against his chest as she giggled and tried to act modest. That’s a laugh.
Then the Greek left the stage and went straight for Rebecca McNair. Dette glowered, her jaw hard, as the stripper placed a silver moon necklace - just like her own - over Rebecca’s head. Then he pulled her chair - with her in it - away from the table. She squealed and buried her face in her hands, laughing. Her friends cheered him on with dollar bills as he straddled her legs, rolling his hips in her face.
Realizing Astaroth was heading straight toward her, Dette sat straighter and tried not to look as drunk as she felt. She ached to be close to him again and was delighted by the thought of being chosen.
But when he passed her without so much as a glance, it felt like someone had thrust a dagger straight into her heart. She spun in her seat, watching as he made his way to Lena Harding. Lena fucking Harding, the bleach-blond tramp who spent all her days perpetuating gossip at Vang’s Bangs. Fury burned deep as Astaroth humped and thrust at the middle-aged bimbo. He spun, his bare ass just a whisper from her big fat laughing mouth, then pulled a silver necklace from his thong and placed it over her head to hang between Lena’s trussed-up tits.
Dette wanted to yank her own necklace off, but when she touched it, its comforting warmth told her she had to keep it. But she was humiliated as Astaroth humped, thrust, and hip-pumped his way around the table of handsy women.
Dette looked at Madison, who stared at her phone - no doubt checking the time and counting down the minutes before she could get home to her precious new bestie, Alejandro. Dette rolled her eyes. If she was any kind of friend, she wouldn’t be staring at her phone while my heart’s getting stomped on.
Suddenly, it was clear to her that Madison was not a true friend - and never had been. Dette looked at Shawn, who was still sulking, then at Bobby, who’d gotten nowhere with the puritanical Madison.
Now Astaroth was shaking his considerable package in cunty old Rosemary Hess’ face - and goddamn if a wrinkled ugly smile wasn’t plastered on her wrinkled ugly mouth. Astaroth had a big white grin nailed to his face, too. That son of a bitch! And she hoped Rosemary Hess choked on her false teeth. Folding her arms, Dette chewed the inside of her cheek, biting hard enough it bled … but it didn’t distract her from Astaroth’s disregard for her. Or Maddy’s, for that matter.
Fed up, she leaned into Shawn. “It’s later,” she whispered.
“Huh?” He blinked at her.
“Remember when I said we’d finish playing later? It’s later.” Dette tipped her head toward the restrooms. “I’ll be in the ladies’ room. Wait until the show starts up again and people are back in their seats.”
Understanding slowly filtered into his glassy blank stare and a smile formed on his thin lips. “I’ll be there with bells on.”
“Good.” But it still didn’t take the sting out. “And bring Bobby, too.”
Shawn’s eyes glittered and his smile stuttered. “Really?”
“I need to use the restroom.” Dette spoke loud enough for Maddy to hear.
“Okay.” Maddy’s eyes stayed glued to her phone. “It’s almost time to go home.”
Dette’s jaw flexed. I’ll leave when I’m good and ready, you fucking prude. “Whatever.” She stalked toward the ladies’ room.
* * *
“I was wondering where all the hot women were.”
Before Madison could protest, her chair was dragged out. She grabbed for the table’s edge, but the stripper was too quick and before she knew it, she was bombarded by oiled skin, thrusting hips, and the smell of Stetson.
It was the one with the sandy hair
. His fingers, thankfully, were no longer flaming. “What’s your name?” He placed massive arms on either side of her chair, locking her in. From the stage, he looked like a soap-opera star. Up close, she saw an underlying edge that threw the balance: beyond the movie-star face and perfectly-coiffed hair, there was a mad tension in his gaze, a wired quality to his movements, as though he were in drug withdrawal.
“Uh, I’m Madison.” Heat flamed her cheeks and she felt it a great imposition that she had to make conversation with the guy as well as be dry-humped by him.
“Nice to meet you Madison. I’m Thorne.” He straddled her legs, his thick thighs greased and devoid of hair. He turned and shook his ass. Smooth and evenly tanned, it too was hairless.
Madison averted her eyes, wishing like hell she’d stayed home. To her horror, Shawn and Bobby began tossing dollars at the strippers booted feet, encouraging him. They laughed, having a wonderful time at her expense.
Thorne turned, and his manhood - crudely arranged and nearly bursting from its tiny black pouch - invaded her line of sight. Her cheeks were hot as irons. God, this is humiliating! Please, go bother someone else! It felt as if every eye was on her - and she might have been right. She turned her head - casually - somehow still not wanting to seem rude.
He bent to her ear again. “How would you like some steak with your sizzle?”
“Huh?”
“If you want to meet up after the show, a one-on-one arrangement can be made.”
Is he serious?
“No charge for the hot ones.” He flashed a smile. “And you’re as hot as hellfire in July.”
She blinked. “Um, no thanks.”
He looked stung - angry, even - then he shrugged and turned, rubbing his bare ass on her, probably as punishment.
From two tables down, she saw the blond dancer - the one Dette called Astaroth. He was grinding on motel manager Paulette Driscoll, but he was watching Thorne. Too closely. Madison wondered if he knew what his fellow LolliCop was up to. She thought she saw the blond man nod.
The Angel Alejandro Page 25
