Smoke and Mirrors

by Tiana Laveen

  “Yes.”

  The corner of her mouth lifted in a satisfied smile as they both relinquished their control, and poured into one another, their moans and sighs intermingling, intertwining, and embracing their erotic call.

  “Ahhhhh!” He caught her as she fell forward, limp and spent from her climaxes. Seconds later, his cock shot within her, bursting inside, leaving his copious cream behind as proof of his unquenchable desire for the woman.

  “Uhhhh… Damn it!” Sweat rained down his face and his body jerked, the muscles tightening and dancing beneath his skin. He flexed his fingers, feeling rather lethargic, as if he’d just worked out on his elliptical for two hours straight at maximum stride. Although he prided himself on his self-control, this woman surely compromised it. For her first time as a submissive, she’d done fairly well. He dropped to his knees and took the time to remove the leather and metal contraption from her body. He found it covered in her honey, so damn much of it…

  After setting it aside, he got to his feet.

  “Don’t move.”

  He marched over to another area where he’d placed the clear collar with a diamond studded lock and key pendant, picked it up and approached her.

  “Lift up your hair, baby.” He stood behind her and fastened it around her delicate, lovely neck.

  “This is yours. We will have to go over some do’s and don’ts and discuss this further, but for someone who didn’t know what the hell she was doing, you did some things fairly well.”

  She smiled proudly, clasped her hands together and rose on her tippy toes, clicking her shiny black heels together.

  “This is not just about my needs, it’s about yours, too. Some Doms don’t know what they’re doing. They think having a sub means doing whatever they want, treating her in a way that is demeaning. Everything I do to you and for you, in and out of our bedroom, I want you to enjoy, Paris.”

  She nodded in agreement and understanding.

  “Contrary to some peoples’ opinion, subs are not completely powerless. I am the one that is supposed to please you, never forget that…” He looked at the belt that had been wrapped around her zone. “I’ll be keeping this chastity belt for our private collection.” He chuckled as he grabbed it off the floor. “Remind me to order a new one for this room though before the end of the day.” He watched trails of her liquor stream down the leather. Unable to resist the temptation, he brought the belt to his lips and flicked his tongue against a couple rebellious drops, drawing a whimper from her while she stared at his brazen act of perversion.

  “Go over to the mirror, and take a glance at how you look in your new collar. Then come back to me and I’ll remove it.” He waved the key in the air.

  She nodded, happily falling into her role.

  As she did so, he began to clean up the place. Typically, this was a duty of a submissive. She’d be forced to tidy the area, wipe away the drops of semen, body fluids, and thoroughly clean any of the items used. However, he was all about baby steps with this woman as it pertained to this lifestyle. Fact was, he had to be cautious with Paris. She’d been hurt; he could see it on her face, even if she’d never uttered the stories she’d shared with him. He could feel it when they made love, the way she craved him and kept him close, afraid to ever let him go during her most vulnerable moments. There was a thin line between unconventional sexual play and dysfunction, and he refused to endanger her, to complicate her life any further. He enjoyed ruling her body, but it was essential to take his time and allow her to dictate the pace.

  As he finished cleaning up, he shot her a look. She looked like a little girl in his eyes as she pivoted around, admiring her collar, observing it from various angles. She undoubtedly knew the diamonds were real… To him, being a submissive was a precious, serious thing. He’d purchased the collar for her soon after they became official, for he had high hopes that one day he’d be able to present it to her. Until now, he’d kept it in his office on the premises, under lock and key. When she showed interest that evening in the lifestyle, he went to retrieve it, knowing the time to act had come…now…

  Later, when she relived their session in her mind, playing it over and over inside that ever working brain of hers, she’d look at her collar again and notice the tiny inscription on the inside of the lock that read:

  I will fuck you roughly, but love you tenderly.

  Your friend. Your lover. Your Dom.

  —Sir Smoke

  *

  Chapter Eleven

  Three weeks later…

  CARLA SAT INSIDE the shoe store, her long legs crossed, and placed the leopard print pair of thong flip-flops to the side. The smell of pleather and sweaty children mingled, making her slightly nauseous as a pending headache wormed its way in her throbbing skull. She ran her tongue across her upper teeth, bored out of her damn mind. She was under new management, and she fucking hated the bastard. He took most of the money, was verbally abusive too, but shit, she needed a place to stay until she got on her feet.

  Since she’d been let go from Paris’ stable, things had gone from average to downright ghastly. She had to admit to herself she didn’t know how well she had it until she got out there, fending for herself. Initially, she tried to go it alone, be a renegade, but she couldn’t muster the same business. Not only that, she didn’t have quite enough to keep a roof over her head and buy her weed, too. She nursed her red Slurpee from the nearby Seven-Eleven, the flavor now dull from the quickly melting ice. It matched her disimpassioned mood. She’d broken down a time or two and called Paris, begging the cold-hearted woman to allow her to return, but the bitch wouldn’t hear any of it.

  Paris would sit on the other end on the phone, going on and on about a lack of respect, how she should have gotten rid of her a long time earlier, and things of that nature. She could almost see the woman’s smug expression in her mind, that silly ass school marm bun on the top of her head and those big slanted alien eyes.

  Fucking cunt.

  She wanted Paris to pay, but couldn’t figure out how. She didn’t want to call the police on her, the main reason being, her best friend still worked there. No need to have Juniper suffer, too…

  She’d thought about getting someone to maybe beat that bitch the fuck up, but Paris kept a gun, and she sure as hell didn’t want anyone that went after her ass to die. Besides, that was far too messy, although the fantasy delighted her just the same. Slashing tires was always a good bet, but usually Art drove her snobbish butt around, despite her having two Mercedes, so that was pointless. Regardless, there had to be a way to exact retribution. Fact of the matter was, she never fucking liked Paris. She did admire her, though. Paris was hard to get close to and even harder to manipulate. She couldn’t sweet talk her, for the woman grew up the daughter of a pimp and prostitute and had been put out on the block at a tender age. Paris looked sweet and demure, but she was a damn rattlesnake hidden in long, camouflaging grass, and anyone who didn’t realize it would soon find out once the little bitch wrapped her scaly body around them and squeezed with all of her might. There was no point in trying to scam a scammer, play a player, or backstab a professional knife thrower. Paris seemed to always have her bases covered.

  Carla woke up in a fairly decent mood that morning, but now it was spoiled and soiled once she walked into the shoe store to get something flat for her throbbing feet. What had started it all—a pair of silver sling-back heels, just like ones Paris owned, though she was sure Ms. Name Brand Everything had the real deal, and not these bargain basement, plastic knock-offs. That reminded Carla of another ‘Paris perk’—she missed the gifts, too. Paris was rather generous and sometimes would purchase the ladies adorable shoes.

  All of her ladies would get things on top of their salaries and that was just how Paris rolled. She’d give jewelry, gift certificates, all sorts of pleasant things, and there never had to be a specific reason as to why. Best of all, she didn’t expect them to start doing more because she’d been so lavish. It really was just
a token of her appreciation. That was one good thing about the bitch, but the only damn thing.

  So what if I approached Smoke?! It didn’t mean she was a bad boss, damn! I just wanted a new opportunity. How is that fucking disrespectful?! These bitches fucking kill me.

  She worked inside of her head, running from her own responsibility in the matter. This was about business, about survival. Surely Paris could understand that?! A part of Carla however felt completely foolish. Only a few pimps actually could say that they had a damn waiting list. Most pimps had a certain number of women they wanted to monitor, and that number was different for each individual. Due to the fact Smoke and Paris had a reputation for being fair, screening johns properly, giving suitable medical care and legal help, they, too, had to begin to turn people down.

  Carla could only think of six other pimps as being sought after in the city, and they also were telling bitches, ‘No, try back in a few months’. A good pimp knew his limitations, and their need for control was oftentimes wrapped up not only in the almighty dollar, but in who they allowed under their damn roof. Nevertheless, when she’d pleaded her case, she’d expected Paris to be gentler, kinder. She was a woman after all. But when it came to business, and what she considered discourteous, Paris was just as brutal, if not worse than the pimps running their stables with a bloody fist. Carla sneered as she plucked her cellphone from her purse and called Juniper. Maybe Paris had slipped and broken her hip, which would be good news. She chuckled as she entertained the thought.

  “Hey girl, what’s going on?”

  “Heeeey, baby,” Juniper said sleepily, in her typical ‘just woke up’ voice. “Just getting ready for a date that’ll be here in about fifteen minutes. How are you holding up?”

  “Not too good, to be honest. How are you?”

  “Oh, Carla.” She yawned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be, it’ll work itself out. Anyway, back to you.”

  “I’m doing well. I take it you are still upset about not coming back? Look, did you talk to Paris again? Maybe she’ll reconsider. I can speak to her for you.”

  “No, don’t say shit else to her! She let me know exactly where she stands. Girl, I spoke to Paris already and she made it clear that she was not trying to hear anything I was saying.” She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “If it weren’t for you working for her, I’d want to drop a damn dime on her ass with the quickness.”

  “Ohhhh Carla, don’t be like that. Anyway, you know the police already know what Paris is doing. Hell, we’ve fucked half of the LAPD!” She chuckled. “They aren’t trying to get this shut down; they get discounts, too.”

  Unfortunately, Juniper was right…

  “You know that’s just how the game is, baby. You can’t go and choose another pimp or madam and they find out about it, Carla,” Juniper stated matter-of-factly, her tone rather singsong. “Even if she really does want you back, I suppose she may feel she had to set an example.”

  “Tasha and her big damn mouth! That’s one bitch that is definitely on my shit list!” Carla looked around, noticing a blotchy faced woman with a scowl beaming her tiny, cloudy gray eyes in her direction. “What chew lookin’ at, bitch?!” The woman quickly turned away, mumbling to herself.

  “Yeah, Tasha had it in for you. She is just catty and childish. You know I don’t even fuck with her. Let me tell you what she did. She had the nerve to double book and try to take over the Vegas room for my slotted appointment. No ma’am! I had this big time rich mothafucka coming in, and it was high stakes, baby!”

  “Vegas room?”

  “Ohhhh yeah, girl! Carla! You ought to see this shit! Smoke and Paris have put their resources together and they work as a team now. All I can say is money stacks is where it’s at! He must be layin’ that thang on her good, girl! Now that Paris is gettin’ laid again, and no doubt gettin’ laid good, we have more breathing room, too!” Juniper chuckled.

  Carla was seeing red now, but tried to curb her mounting hatred for all involved. Not only was Paris fine, alive and doing dandy, she’d sunk her talons into Smoke and dragged him along for some business venture that was undoubtedly raising her even further up the monetary and reputable ranks.

  “They have these theme rooms now, and they are a real riot!” Juniper continued, grinding the axe further into her heart. “We are so busy, way more than before, and the money is so good! That Lexus I’d been eyeballing, you know, the one I showed you a long time ago? I will finally be able to get in a few months. And I can pay for it in cash! Free and clear!”

  “So, they just got together and did all of this, huh? Two brothels?” She tried to not allow her jealousy and angst to bleed into her tone, but it was an internal fight she just may lose.

  “Yes, same as before but both places have different services, so it depends on what the john wants. Sometimes I go over to Smoke’s crib, and sometimes I stay put. We also took some classes by a real Dominatrix, Carla. It was unbelievable! I can’t wait to put my new skills to use! Security is also amped up, which is good. It makes me feel a hell of a lot safer. Not that Paris did a bad job or anything, but Smoke had some connections and it really helped. Paris still does the trick screening, and thus far, not one nut job has come through that damn door. She is on top of her shit now that Smoke is carrying some of the load.”

  Carla looked at the shoes around her and wanted to toss the damn cheaply made things all over the store, mess it up. Juniper sure as hell wasn’t shopping at a discount store; none of those whores were! Her heart rate accelerated as she bit down her own anxiety and disgust regarding Paris’ good fortune.

  “How do you know she isn’t cheating you?” Carla smirked. “I mean, are you really seeing all of this money? Since she took us… I mean, since she took far less cash collections, and the payments are done via credit card, you really have no idea.” She planted the seed of doubt, hoping it would grow and fester into something outlandishly wicked.

  “Actually, Paris has been completely upfront with us. She gives us weekly report of all of our earnings. It comes directly from her bank, and she does like an excel spreadsheet too…shows all the johns, the pricing, everything. Now, of course she could still be taking some money we don’t know about, who really knows, but what I do know is that I am paid well. On top of that, from what I understand, Smoke went through great efforts to ensure that she was safe, not wanting her to get caught up in some shit in case something happened. I must tell you, it is kind of funny to see them together.” The naïve girl laughed. “He does seem to really care about her though, Carla. He seems good for her, too. He is a funny guy, a real trip. We’ve had dinner with him a couple of times and everything. He is real cool people. I’ve never seen a pimp act like him before. Don’t get me wrong—he has put his foot in some peoples’ asses in front of us, but he’s personable, I guess you could say.”

  “…Yeah, real personable.” Carla frowned. “So how much money are we talking? She could afford to hire me back then,” Carla threw in, to make her question appear less invasive.

  “I’m not sure, because we only see our own reports, not the total expenses and all that jazz but we got a raise and we can practically get any props and lingerie we want, within reason of course. She don’t keep the money here, though. Possibly for security purposes. She made that clear, I guess in case any of us got any ideas, like trying to find and steal it.” Juniper rolled in a chuckle. “You know Paris is about that bottom dollar. She don’t trust a ho, despite how close she may be to any one of us.”

  “Well, she must have it all in the bank then.” Carla sucked her teeth, probing Juniper’s infantile mind.

  “Yeah, maybe, but she got a safe at home, too. They gotta cash out and then deposit the money in segments. I was living with her at her house when she first started up and she and Smoke got some sort of system, so she said we should be okay.”

  Yes, that’s right. Juniper was one of her first whores…loyal to the mothafuckin’ end.

 
“Back in the day, she always kept a little bit of money in there, for emergencies like if we needed something. With the way business is going now, I know that shit is stacked to the gods. The best part is, she is being real generous. We are all living much better…workin’ a bit harder, but it is well worth it.”

  “Yeah…well, I gotta go. I’ll hit you up later,” she said with a bite in her tone, and no matter how she tried to curb the shit, it wouldn’t go away. It was there to stay, to fester and cover in mold and grotesque bacteria, stinking up her wishes for a happily ever after for her own damn self.

  “Are you okay? Did I say something to upset you, Carla? I wasn’t bragging. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad… I shouldn’t have kept going on and on like that.”

  “No.” Carla shook her head. “It’s okay, Juniper. I mean, yeah, I wish I could get back on, but as of now, that just isn’t possible. The fucked up part is that if Tasha had only kept her mouth shut, I would have been working for Smoke, at least indirectly, any damn way! Everything would have worked out. Shit, maybe he knew they were going to do this deal, and that’s why he rejected me! Not because he didn’t want me, you know? But like he knew I would be on his team anyway.” She shook her head, making a mental note that the next time she saw Tasha she was going to beat the living dog shit out of her. “It’s not your fault though. I’m glad at least one of us is doing well. You deserve it,” she added along with a forced smile, hoping it would transmit into her pitch.

  “Awwww, thanks, sis! Well, I need to go anyway. Talk to you soon.”

  “Yeah, bye baby…and have fun in Vegas!” And she ended the phone call.

  She sat there on that bench, tapping her foot as anxiety manifested within her core. Swirling her tongue around, knocking it against her teeth, she plotted and schemed, once again embracing her thoughts of how to send a message to Paris loud and clear. And then, it hit her. A fiendish smile cracked her face as she got to her feet and went to the register, prepared to pay for her ten-dollar shoes. As the cash register cha-chinged, she thought about all the money she may get her hands on if she played her cards right.