Mistress No More

by Niobia Bryant

  No one could deny the excitement that flared up among the crowd.

  Jamie’s pussy was singing “hello” as she eyed him snaking his body down to the floor before doing a back flip that made all the ladies go ca-ray-zy.

  Through his entire set, Jaime waited anxiously for him to come to her, signal to her that he was ready for her. With every dollar bill shoved into his thong, her stomach clenched.

  When he finally slow ground his hips toward her, Jaime forgot everybody and everything. She inhaled deeply of the scent of him as Pleasure straddled her chair and began to pop his strong hips to make his long dick flicker up and down against her chin in his thong.

  Jaime leaned forward, causing the length of his dick to slide against the side of her face as she looked up into his eyes.

  “Get it, girl,” someone screamed above the music.

  Pleasure danced his way around her and Jaime shivered as he began to slow grind his dick against the back of her neck. She moaned in pleasure and released a breath filled with the heat rising in her.

  “You need some Pleasure, don’t you?”

  Her eyes opened at the feel of his breath suddenly against her cheek. She nodded desperately. She wanted to forget it all. Eric. Jessa. Her parents. She wanted him to fuck it all away. “Now or later?” he asked, the low intimacy of his voice a deep contrast to the noise surrounding them. It made what he said and how he said it all the more sexy to her. All the more alluring.

  Pleasure had her fucked up for real.

  “Now,” she begged, her voice shaky as her panties clung to her intimacy and her heart beat like she had been surged with pure adrenaline.

  Pleasure was her addiction and she didn’t want to get clean.

  He came around her again and Jaime eyed him as he did a handstand that caused every muscle in his arms, shoulders, and back to flex. Her pussy lips applauded him.

  Pleasure bent over backward, putting his strong muscled thighs on each of her shoulders and his dick in her face. She knew for a fact that it was the ideal position to suck him to a creamy ending.

  When he stayed like that she realized he was waiting for her to slide his fee inside his thong and wasn’t just giving her a preview of his ruler-length dick.

  She bit her bottom lip and clutched her purse tighter. Her father’s check was no good to her in that moment. She needed cash and she didn’t have it.

  He eased to his feet and then bent down close to her. “Now or later?” he asked again near her ear.

  Even as she shivered she knew: no dollars, no dick. “I’ll pay you later,” she breathed up to him.

  “And I’ll pleasure you later,” he said, before he turned and danced away.

  Jaime felt a deep disappointment, jealousy, and simmering anger as she watched a woman who looked as old as her mother slap Pleasure’s smooth brown ass before she reached in front of him to push a wad of money inside his thong before she stroked his dick.

  Jaime’s eyes squinted as she watched him during the rest of his set. He never looked her way again. Not even once his set was over and he led the older woman to one of the back rooms.

  She jumped to her feet and made her way out of the club. Man-Man the waiter stepped in her path with a huge grin on his face. Jaime wasn’t a violent person, but she felt like slapping the hell out of him.

  “Grandma Moses outbid you, huh?” he asked.

  Jaime flushed with embarrassment, pushing him hard to free her path out the door. She didn’t stop running until she was inside the car. She hated that images of Pleasure fucking the hell out of the older woman taunted her like a child being picked on in school. Was his dick even hard enough? Was he aroused by her? Did his dick have no preferences?

  “Shit, shit, shit,” she said, hammering her fists against the steering wheel.

  She stopped and eyed the door of the club. She wanted to fly right back in there, storm that back room, and . . . and . . .

  And what?

  Jaime released a heavy breath and shook her head. “And get the fuck over it,” she muttered, hating that she did exactly what she needed to do and left.

  As she drove home she sang along to Chrisette Michele’s “I’m Okay” on the satellite radio . . . but she was far from okay.

  She was broke.

  She was afraid.

  She was alone.

  She was lonely.

  She was tired.

  Her husband was fucking her friend. Her lover was fucking other women. She was just fucking alone.

  She ate up the miles to get back to her little town house, ever aware that she was rushing to an empty-ass house. She considered calling Renee and Aria for a ladies’ night out but decided against it. Renee was busy keeping an eye out for her teenage kids and Aria was busy being the only one still in her marriage.

  “No, I made this lonely-ass bed and now I’m going to lie up in it.”

  She turned the Honda onto her small driveway, sitting and looking at the stylish contemporary home that easily fit inside the home she’d left behind in Richmond Hills.

  “Life is all about choices,” she said to herself, knowing that if she had the cash on hand she would have made the choice to slide that money into Pleasure’s thong in a heartbeat.

  She’d only had two lovers. Eric had been warm enough and perfunctory. It had felt like nothing more than a wifely duty. And the days after he’d discovered her one-night stand the sex had been a tool of punishment.

  Everything with Pleasure had been different. Everything.

  He’d done more than sex her. He’d taught her, coached her, and made her enjoy sex. Made her want to have sex. Made her good at sex.

  She hummed the chorus to Pleasure’s favorite performance song, “Invented Sex,” thinking it was a fitting statement to his prowess. She pressed her back against the seat and arched her hips forward as she massaged her inner thigh with a deep moan.

  Long after Jaime had stopped her ritual trips to Pleasure and Eric began to torture her with sex, it was moments alone in her bedroom with nothing but a dildo and memories of that one steamy session on the dirty floor of that back room that had given her the only pleasure in her life. Once Pleasure had become her paramour she had discarded the fake dick, but she’d never regretted it as much as she did right then.

  She bit her bottom lip as she inched her prim and proper skirt higher and slightly jerked the moist seat of her panties to the side to strum her swollen and aching clit slightly. She gasped hotly at the feel of her own touch as she remembered Pleasure’s performance on stage. The slow and easy gyration of his hips or the hard thrust of his buttocks. The flicker of his tongue. The tightening of his rigid abdomen. The hard cylindrical length of his dick.

  Knowing just how he took all his skill into the bedroom made her nipples harden in a rush. She eased her legs open wider as she massaged circles against her slickly wet clit with her forefingers.

  “Pleasure,” she moaned, feeling a quickening in her heart and thrill race up the center of her pussy that was just the beginning of that familiar ride.

  She deepened the pressure, gyrating her hips in a slow wind that mirrored Pleasure’s motion when he was fucking her.

  She imagined the feel of his dick against her tongue.

  She yearned for his touch on her nipples, a mix of softness and steady pressure that was intoxicating.

  She badly wanted to feel his hand massaging oil on her soft buttocks before lubricating the length of him to help guide his inches deeply between her buttocks.

  Jaime cried out a bit, her face a mix of pleasure and pain. She wanted him. She knew she shouldn’t. Pleasure was no good for her, but she couldn’t leave him alone. Not now. Not yet.

  She gently guided her fingers inside her pussy, pretending, wishing, needing them to be Pleasure’s dick instead.

  “Pleasure,” she moaned.

  “Fuck me?” she begged with a tortured cry.

  Jaime turned her head as she found a slow and steady rhythm easing her fingers in and
out, up and down, around and around her core. A light sweat coated her brow and upper lip. Her heart hammered. Her pulse raced.

  “I need this,” she moaned, tears welling up in her eyes.

  She blinked them away, catching just a blurred outline outside her driver’s side window. Her heart stopped as she leaned away from the window and looked up at her neighbor, Lucas Neal, standing there transfixed with his dick hard and pressing against the zipper of his khakis like a fist trying to break free.

  She pulled her fingers from her pussy and lowered the power window.

  “I saw you sitting in the car and wanted to check on you—”

  “Get in the back,” Jaime told him, raising the window.

  Maybe it was the upcoming divorce. Her parents’ over-protectiveness. Her money troubles. Pleasure’s rejection. The sight of Lucas’s hardness. Ego. Or just plain loneliness and horniness. Whatever. She was seizing the moment.

  Lucas paused for just a second, his round face disbelieving before he hurried around the front of the car to climb inside. As soon as he closed the door, she threw the car in reverse and backed out into the street.

  What am I doing? she wondered to herself.

  Getting fucked for free, she answered.

  He hesitated. “Jaime—”

  Continuing her ride of impulsivity, Jaime whipped the Accord into the empty parking lot of a small strip mall. Parking in the dark area on the side of a shoe store, she turned and eyed him.

  “Do you have a condom?” she asked, reaching out to massage his dick in the dim interior. Not bad, she thought. Far from Pleasure but better than Eric.

  “In . . . in . . . my . . . my . . . wallet,” he stammered nervously.

  Truth?

  After Eric’s dominance and Pleasure’s total control, it felt good to be the boss. It kicked everything up a notch for her.

  “Put it on,” she said, avoiding looking in his eyes. His face was not Pleasure’s and she wasn’t interested in it anyway.

  Lucas hurriedly unzipped his dick before he raised up slightly to dig his wallet from his back pocket. He worked the condom packet free like his life depended on it.

  Jaime worked off her panties, kicking them away with her heels, as she lowered her bucket seat to lay flat against the rear seat. She turned and climbed across the seat to settle across his lap. The scent of her pussy was clean but heavy with her arousal. His khakis were down around his knees and his hard dick stood up between their bellies like a chaperone.

  She eyed his round belly and pale thighs briefly, her focus on the curving length of his dick. Again, no Pleasure but not bad.

  “Jaime, are you sure ’bout this?” Lucas asked nervously.

  She grabbed his dick and eased her pussy down onto it.

  At the feel of her, his head dropped back against the headrest and he bit his bottom lip with a deep, guttural moan. “Shit,” he swore.

  Jaime felt the difference between him and Pleasure, but Lucas’s dick was making a strong stand.

  She brought his hands up to her ass beneath her skirt as she began to ride him in a way that brought her clit against the hard base of his dick.

  “Shit,” he swore again.

  Jaime snatched off his glasses and then grabbed the back of his round head to guide his open and panting mouth to her titty.

  “Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit,” he hollered, his body going stiff.

  Jaime stopped riding him. “No.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said heavily, sweat soaking his hair and shirt as he panted like he’d just run a marathon.

  She felt his dick go limp inside her.

  Jaime lifted her hands and pulled the roots of her hair in frustration.

  “I’m sorry but it was—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said, meaning to cut him off, climbing off his lap to slump onto the driver’s seat.

  Feeling brash and hella spiteful, Jaime pressed her knees open wide. “Just for the record this is the last time you’ll see this pussy,” she told him, before she raised her seat back.

  “I never been freaked before—”

  Jaime whirled around to eye him. “Freaked?”

  Lucas nodded as he picked up his glasses from the floor and slid them onto his round, boyish face. “Damn right. Freaked,” he stressed. “Shit, a brotha was overexcited by your show in your driveway.”

  “I’m not a freak.”

  Lucas looked disbelieving. “Whatever.”

  Jaime reached up to turn on the interior light of the car. “You wanted this from the moment you came to my door to introduce yourself,” she told him, watching him as he left the condom on his dick and pulled his boxers and pants back up around his round waist.

  Lucas stopped working his zipper up to eye her through his glasses. “I wanted to take you out to dinner and get to know you better. I wanted to build on the attraction I had for you. My plan damn sure wasn’t to screw you in a parking lot, but I took what you offered.”

  Jaime looked away from his anger, turning off the light and speeding away from their parking spot with a squeal of her tires.

  He said nothing else to her.

  That was fine with Jaime. It was more than fine.

  As soon as she pulled into her driveway, he hopped out of the car and stalked away. She lowered her head into her hands. What the hell am I doing? She asked herself, ignoring the feel of the moist seat of her panties now stuck to her ankle.

  She looked up at the knock on the window. It felt like déjà vu to have Lucas standing there looking down at her. She lowered the window.

  “I apologize if you think I took advantage of you,” he said, before turning and quickly walking across his lawn and into his house.

  That only made her feel worse.

  She reached down and grabbed her panties to shove into her purse before she climbed out of the car. She ignored the stickiness between her thighs as she made her way to her front door. “I gots to get my shit together,” she said.

  As soon as she walked inside the door and locked it her cell phone vibrated. Pleasure?

  She reached inside her purse and pulled it out, flipping it open without a cursory check of the caller ID. “Yeah,” she said.

  “Busy day, Mrs. Hall?”

  Jaime froze at the sound of Eric’s voice. She frowned. “What concern is it of yours?” she asked coldly.

  “You’re pissed about the car and the money you stole from me?” he asked.

  The money you stole from me, she repeated in her head. It confirmed what she already figured. No one knew about that but Jessa. I really owe that bitch a major ass whipping.

  “Should a married woman be at strip clubs and riding around with their single male neighbors?” he asked.

  Jaime frowned, feeling the color drain from her face. She rushed to her front door and opened it wide. “Are you following me?” she asked, looking up and down the street.

  “You’re building quite a case for me for this divorce you keep harping on about,” he said in total satisfaction.

  Jaime stepped back and closed the door soundly before she put on all the locks. She felt violated.

  “Let’s put all this behind us. Come home, Jaime,” he said. “Come home or I’ll make you regret it. I promise you.”

  Click.

  As he ended the call, Jaime felt chilled to the bone.

  Chapter 9

  Aria sat huddled in a chair by the front window of her mother’s three-bedroom apartment in Newark. With dull eyes she watched nothing and everything about the street where she’d grown up too fast. The porches were filled with people trying to enjoy the cover of night and the little coolness it brought from the summer heat. A few kids still played under the streetlights in the street between parked cars. People arrived and left their homes in vehicles and cabs. The perimeter of Westside Park was empty, but Aria knew buff brothers were balling on the hardtops down by Eighteenth Avenue.

  Thankfully, unlike the days she was growing up, the sounds of gunfire and
the squeal of tires on stolen cars were much fewer. Less crime. Better-looking homes. Cleaner streets. More police presence. Not perfect, but definitely a better reflection of the good people who lived within the perimeters of the city. Kids had more of a chance of just being kids.

  Aria was home and whenever the white-picket fence lifestyle of Richmond Hills got to be too much or she just needed a reality check she headed to her mother. Blunt, brash, honest, loving.

  Where else could she turn after her husband walked away from their marriage?

  Kingston had never shown for the appointment at Dr. Matheson. He never answered her calls. He didn’t go in to his practice.

  She didn’t know whether to sit back and wait for him to make an appearance or call the police to report him missing. Kingston is wrong. What if he’s lying in a hospital hurt? How am I supposed to know?

  But she knew nothing kept Kingston from her but his own hurt and pain. That was the sole reason.

  “Aria, it’s going on ten,” her mother said, walking into the dimly lit living room to come and stand by her. “When are you getting on that road home?”

  Aria just shrugged and shifted in the chair to relieve the prickling pressure across her buttocks from sitting too long. She’d been in that chair since she first got to her mother’s hours ago.

  Aria sat, watched, thought, and alternated between calling Kingston and fighting not to call Jessa—something that could get her ass thrown in jail. “Punk bitch,” she muttered.

  “What’s going on, Aria?” Heather Goines asked, reaching out to turn on the slender lamp on the table beside her daughter.

  “How many times have I offered to move you, Mama?” Aria asked softly, instead of answering her mother’s concerned question.

  Heather pulled a chair from the small dining room off the living room. “Way too many times for you not to figure out I ain’t going nowhere.”

  “Why not?”

  “Newark is home.”

  Aria smiled. Her mother never minced words. “Good and bad, huh?”