by Kat Addams
A waiter came by to take our order, derailing whatever conversation she had planned to firehose me with.
“I’ll try the Bloody Mary, please. And I’ll need another minute on the food.” Betty searched the menu, nodding her head at the long list of entrees.
I’d checked out the menu online before arriving. Everything here was exactly how I’d imagined it—crafty spins on classic foods. Because that was along the same lines as The Pink Taco Truck’s menu, I thought Betty would like it.
Score points for me!
“If I may make a few suggestions, miss?” The waiter clasped his hands together and rocked back on his heels. His button-up looked stiffer than the starched shirts I wore while working at Scarlett Herb.
I shifted in my seat, brushing imaginary—or not so imaginary—crumbs off of my tight-fitting, plain white T-shirt.
“Sure,” Betty said. Her eyes lit up as the man rambled off today’s specials and their more popular menu items. She looked at me and smiled before returning her gaze to the still-blabbering waiter. “Yum! I think I’d like to try the duck confit and waffles. That sounds interesting.”
“And for you, sir?” The waiter looked at me for the first time since I’d been seated.
“The smoked barramundi brandade,” I said without any hint of hesitation. I might not have been dressed like I fit into a place like this, but working at Scarlett Herb had taught me all the fancy-schmancy stuff I needed to know about food to dine at this level.
“Wonderful. I’ll be right back with your Bloody Marys. Oh, and your hair is stunning.” He bowed to Betty before scurrying off.
The corners of her lips twitched, no doubt fighting back a don’t I know it smile.
“Stunning. Why couldn’t I have used that word?” I sighed, grabbing my napkin and setting it across my lap.
“You were awestruck,” she muttered.
“I was. You sat down and then I got flabbergasted and then you started talking and I—” My knee bobbed even faster underneath the table.
“And I was about to get down to business before the waiter came. I know; I know. I’m joking with you. Come on. I’m not that much of a hard-ass. Relax. This is just like we’re sitting at your bar, having drinks. Don’t make it all date-like.” She unfolded her napkin and fanned herself.
I wondered if she felt nervous too. If so, she wore a damn good poker face.
“But it is a date,” I said, tipping my chin at her in a move that I thought would come off as smooth, but nope. I looked like a douche bag. All I needed now was a pair of sunglasses to wear inside, a chinstrap goatee, and a backward baseball cap. Maybe even a Bluetooth hanging around my neck.
“Yep. Time for me to get to know the man outside of the bars and strip clubs. And why the rumor is that Tito is a playboy womanizer. Is it Tito or Terrance? That is where we left off, right? Do you think I’m that type of girl? To mess with your type?”
“Wow. Going straight in for the kill. I haven’t even had a drink yet.” I glanced toward the exit, wondering how fast I could make this date. I already felt stupid enough for thinking I could finally open up about my private life—and with her especially.
Hiding Maisy exhausted me. If everyone knew how hard I, as a single dad, really had it, then maybe I could catch a break.
I fought going down that road and explaining my situation to anyone. The judgment would start rolling in when I began telling my friends and coworkers I was a single dad who stripped and served alcohol. But that was the truth. The bills were easily being paid. I wouldn’t make the tips I made by sitting in a cubicle.
“What do you need a drink for? Tallying up those women in your head and wondering if I’m worth a notch on that bedpost? How do you know I’m not trying to make you a notch on my bedpost?” Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline.
I rubbed my eyes just as the waiter brought over our drinks.
I took a long sip before clearing my throat and digging my heels into the ground. I had to do this. If I could rip off my secret like a Band-Aid, I would feel much more relieved. Or at least, I thought that was how I would feel.
“Ahem.” I gulped. “Those women everyone gossips about, they’re my babysitters.”
“Like … you have to be watched? You got something wrong with you? A sponsor? Like AA? Why are you drinking, Terrance? What the fuck?” Betty reached over, grabbed my drink, and gulped it down.
“Wait! Damn. You’re chugging it! I don’t need a babysitter as an AA sponsor. That isn’t even close!” I frowned at my half-empty glass.
“Oh good. So, that means you just have one of those baby-diaper kinks. You like to wear diapers and pacifiers and all that? Are they your babysitter, like, in that way?” She handed me back my cocktail. Her nose crinkled up as if she were imagining me sitting across from her, wearing a diaper.
“Jeez, no! Look, I have boxers on. Want me to show you?” I lowered my voice, glancing around at the faces at the tables surrounding us.
Luckily, no one was paying attention to us.
“The babysitters are for my daughter. I have a daughter. Maisy. She’s six, and she’s my world.” I sat up straight and clenched my jaw, prepared for whatever she was about to dish out.
“You, huh? What?” She smacked her lips and downed her cocktail in one long swig before taking a deep breath and looking straight into my eyes.
“I said, I’m a dad. A single dad. Stripping, bartending single dad.”
“Mixologist. You’re too good to be a bartender, remember?” She squeezed an olive off of her cocktail stirrer and popped it in her mouth.
“Whatever. It’s a job. I work two jobs and bust my ass so that I can give Maisy what I didn’t have in life. I grew up with hardly anything, and I want to give her everything.”
The waiter came to the table with our food and asked if we wanted refills on our drinks.
“Yes!” Betty shouted before lowering her voice to a whisper. “Please.”
“Make mine a double, please. Since someone drank half of mine anyway.” My voice trailed off along with my gaze.
Yet again, I wanted to run to the exit and never look back. I could feel the heat between Betty and me. It was much like the chemistry we had on the nights she sat at my bar or the nights she came to watch me dance. I thought that was a good thing. Unless I was mistaking that heat for rage, which with women, I’d been known to do.
Hell, women weren’t easy to read. Take Maisy’s mom, for instance. She’d stuck around the entire pregnancy, seemingly excited about our new life together. But the second she was able to run off, she did. She’d said she couldn’t handle this type of life and she never wanted to be a mom. She had tried, but she was afraid she’d only scar our daughter. She wasn’t mother material. And to that, I had said, Good fucking riddance. I wasn’t father material either, but I learned—and quick. I’d never leave Maisy. Ever. And anyone who had a problem with that could also run out of my life.
“Tell me about Maisy. She sounds like a lucky girl to have a dad who works so hard for her,” Betty said.
I didn’t know if it was the booze talking or Betty, but that was not the reaction I’d expected.
“Really? You aren’t about to reach across the table and slap me? That’s a pretty big deal that I never disclosed.” I pushed my food around on my plate. My appetite disappeared as fast as my cocktail.
“I’m a little surprised that you haven’t told Jay or Aiden. They think all those women coming and going are hook-ups. How many babysitters do you need?” Betty cut into her waffles and let out a moan the second she took a bite. “Damn, this is good.”
“I’m surprised you reacted so … calmly. I haven’t told anyone. I just don’t feel like answering questions or facing the judgment that comes with being a single dad—much less a single dad who works as a stripper. I want to protect my daughter from all of that drama too. Both of us. I have a hard time finding a babysitter worthy enough for my little girl.” I shifted in my seat.
“Are you go
nna eat that?” She pointed her fork at my meal.
I shoved the plate toward her and watched her dig in.
“You know, Terrance, I’m DTF,” she said in between mouthfuls of my meal and hers. “We’re the most nonjudgmental bunch of besties I know. Nikki is a stripper. Rox has been through all sorts of crazy shit. And Layla, she’s just out there in left field somewhere. I don’t even know how to explain her.”
“And you?”
“Pfft. Child, I’m perfect.” She took another bite of my breakfast and washed it down with the rest of her Bloody Mary.
I grinned. “I told you my secret. Now, you tell me yours. Not that I don’t believe you aren’t perfect. But …”
“Go on. But what?” She tossed her napkin on the table and sat back.
I leaned forward, suddenly brave—or stupid—and looked her straight in the eyes. “But you’re hell on wheels. You look at me as if you’re ready to pounce on me and tear me up—and I like it. You’re a lioness, and I want to be your prey. You’re all woman, and someone like you doesn’t get by in life without any secrets.” I threw back the rest of my drink so that I could stare at the bottom of the glass and not at her anymore.
I didn’t know what had made me say that. It certainly wasn’t the alcohol. I wasn’t even buzzed. This restaurant’s mixologist didn’t heavy-hand shit. I guessed the sexual tension Betty and I had shared over the last few months became too much, and I was either a shit or get off the pot guy. And right now, I was shitting. Almost literally. I probably did need to wear those diapers she’d mentioned because my dumbass had just sexually harassed the feisty demon, who was sitting within arm’s reach of me. My butt clenched tight.
Betty shot her arm straight up into the air and motioned for the waiter. “Check, please!” she called.
“Wait. I’m sorry. Gosh, that was awful. I’m not sure where that came from. Don’t go. I apologize. I’ve got brunch. No worries.” I leaned my head back and stared up at the ceiling, cursing myself. My mouth had gotten me in trouble more times than I’d like to admit. This was one of those times.
“Terrance,” Betty said, snapping me back to her attention. She rested her elbows on the table and sneered, “You’ve been a bad, bad boy. I’m not going to tell you my secrets. I’m going to show you. Now, get this damn check dealt with, and let’s go back to my lioness’s den.”
I swallowed hard, took out my wallet, and got us out of there fast.
I drove Betty to her place in my car, as she had downed those Bloody Marys too fast for either of us to be comfortable with her driving. I didn’t mind playing chauffeur. I had a hot-ass, wild woman sitting beside me and barking directions while simultaneously reaching over to stroke my cock. The second we’d strapped our seat belts on, she’d commanded me to whip it out. I didn’t even hesitate. I’d pulled out every single inch of me. Even my balls, which she cupped in a grip that should have strangled the life out of my erection. It didn’t. If anything, her ballsy moves made me even harder.
“House at the end on the left. You’re going to pull in the driveway and tuck yourself back in. I don’t want to see your dick until I pull it out this time. Got it?” Betty ran her index finger over my shaft, scratching me with her nail. “Are you okay with me playing with you, Terrance? Will you be my toy for a little while? I’m all about consent, so if you ain’t ready for this”—she waved her hands across her body—“then that’s okay. You just tell me. Otherwise, I’m going to show you a side of Betty you won’t ever be able to forget. You have to trust me though.”
“Queen B—that’s who you’re showing me. It’s what I always like to call you in my head. Show Tito how it’s done, Queen B. I’ve known you long enough to trust you on this.” I breathed heavy, putting the car in park and tucking myself back into my pants.
“Quick learner,” she said, smirking a devilish grin. “I’ll start slow.”
“Please don’t,” I growled.
I noticed her nipples had hardened beneath her top. I’d dreamed of sliding my cock in between her big breasts dozens of times. At Scarlett Herb, whenever she proved a point, she performed a boob drop. It was much like a mic drop, but way more … Betty. Her friends always cheered her on when she pushed her boobs up and let them fall into place. Apparently, it was her signature move—and one I’d jerked off to plenty.
“Follow me then.”
I walked behind her, silently admiring her juicy ass. Finally, I’d get to see it. I’d never imagined I’d have brunch with a side of Betty today. I’d thought for sure she was going to run the other way at the mention of my daughter. But instead, here we were, walking into her house and straight to her bedroom. At least, I thought it was her bedroom until she opened the door.
“Welcome to my dungeon. In here, I’d usually tell you to call me master. But I can be your Queen B. I like that. Are you ready, Tito? I think Tito needs to be punished. Always up on that stage, tempting women with your goods,” she said, gripping my dick, “but never following through. Such a tease.” She pulled a whip from out of nowhere and smacked my ass before I realized what had happened.
“Where did that come from?”
“Hush.” She smacked me again, making me growl. “Go sit on that swing. I’ll be right back.”
I took a deep breath and walked over to the swing, passing shelves of contraptions that scared the living daylights out of me yet excited me, all at the same time. I wanted to ask her what the long string of big metal balls was for, but I was afraid to find out. I cringed, imagining where she’d stick them.
I completely undressed and settled into a surprisingly comfortable sex swing. Ready as ever for this wild ride, I took the liberty of buckling my ankles into the restraints that tied to the metal beams.
This must be how women feel at the gynecologist’s office, I thought while lying spread eagle, swinging in the air, completely vulnerable.
I hoped she didn’t have one of those stretcher things lying around to shove up there. I nervously glanced around, looking for any signs of torture devices. Nothing looked too scary, except for the huge dildos and I was pretty sure those were for her.
Pretty sure, I told myself as I sat, waiting on Betty to come out of the room she’d disappeared to. I assumed it was a bathroom or the gates of hell. It could go either way with her.
As if she could read my thoughts from the other side of the wall, she flung back the door and stepped out in a black vinyl catsuit, which fit her so tight that I had to do a double take to make sure it wasn’t a second skin. She sauntered over to me, passing by a row of whips and grabbing two of them. She picked a blindfold off the shelf, some black earbud-looking things, and a condom from a fishbowl jar.
“Safety first.” She cackled, throwing the sex toys on a side table before cracking her whip in the air. She swung that thing around like she’d been born to beat the living crap out of someone.
I gulped back my fear and manned up by puffing my chest and my chin out. She ran her fingertips over my naked body, walking around me and tying my hands to the other beams. My limbs were outstretched like a starfish. There was no escaping now.
“I see you’re ready.” She ran her fingertips along my naked body. “Let’s try some sensory deprivation. All but touch and taste. You’ve been a bad boy. Never even told me your last name.” She tightened the restraints around my wrists and kicked two stools out from under me.
“Carter. And yours?”
“Did you just ask Queen B a personal question? No questions. Speak when spoken to. That’s all you need to know right now. Enjoy.”
She reached to the earbuds sitting on the table and stuck them in my ears until the entire room went silent. The only sound I could hear was my rapid heartbeat beating against my eardrums, as if it were knocking them down to escape this torture chamber.
I opened my mouth to ask a question but closed it just as quickly, remembering she’d said no questions allowed. I didn’t want her to get those metal balls out on me. Not yet anyway.
&n
bsp; I watched her as she waved good-bye before slipping the blindfold over my eyes. Now, I was in trouble. I couldn’t see what was coming, and I couldn’t hear what was coming. But by the feel of vinyl straddling either side of my cheeks, I was about to taste what was coming.
I licked my lips, preparing myself as she lowered herself onto my face. She must have a slit in the crotch of her outfit because I received both a mouthful of Betty and vinyl.
She rocked her hips back and forth while I ran my tongue up her soft lips. She moved from side to side, but every few seconds, she’d put more of her weight down on my face, smothering me into her as if she were trying to stuff me back up in there—into the motherland.
I bucked against the restraints, ravenous to find out what she felt like already. By now, my mouth, cheeks, and jaw were wet with her. I had never tasted a woman who melted like slow-dripping honey down the back of my throat. The old saying was true: the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.
I’d never been with a Black woman before, and now, all I could think of was, Why the hell not?
I dived my tongue inside of her as far as it would go while she bounced on my lips. She sat down hard on my face, depriving me of yet something else—breath. I didn’t care. I didn’t need to breathe. What I needed was for her to touch my dick. The poor thing had been standing on end, wiggling around as if it were one of those snakes that danced to the tune of a flute. How I wished she’d play my flute. But I had a feeling that this charade was all about taking what she wanted. She’d admitted herself that she wanted to use me as her sex toy.
I began to get into this whole face-sitting thing when I felt her rise up and leave. I couldn’t hear or see what was coming next, but my asshole clenched anyway.
Touch my dick. Touch my dick. Please touch my dick.
She took out my earbuds, lifted my mask, and held a phone to my ear.
Is this part of the fun? Am I supposed to dirty-talk into this thing or something?
“Hello? Terrance?” my dad’s voice called from the other side.