He wondered if there was still time to get in on that real estate action in Chester. But then again, did he really want to part with twenty thousand dollars of such hard-to-come-by cash? He scratched his head in thought and decided he’d deal with that situation when he had more time. Right now, the go-go bars were screaming his name and he could not ignore the alluring call.
Reed pulled the ironing board out of the kitchen closet, set it up and plugged in the iron. He grabbed a couple rolls and began pressing the money, attempting to give the crinkly old bills a more presentable appearance.
After showering and dressing, he decided to remove the unsightly bandage that was plastered against his forehead. He couldn’t go out in public looking like he’d been victimized. In his car, he took a closer look at his injury. He pulled down the visor, looked in the mirror, and frowned at the ugly black sutures that zigzagged across his forehead. He looked like a fucking monster—like Frankenstein! Fuming, Reed closed the mirror with a heavy thud, which he emphasized with a twisted grimace that aggravated his injury and caused him tremendous pain.
At that moment, had Dayna been sitting in the passenger seat, he would have grabbed the back of her neck and banged her head into the dashboard repeatedly until he heard her brains rattle. Consumed by rage, Reed pushed hard on the gas pedal. He started to feel better and could feel his anger dissipate as he watched the odometer needle zip past one hundred.
Fifteen minutes later, he strolled into Lizzard’s like he owned the place.
“Corona, with a slice of lime.” He spoke to the bartender without bothering to look at his face. Reed’s eyes were fastened on the stage. An Asian chick he’d never seen before who had a blanket of black hair that touched the crack of her ass was swiveling her slender hips, slicing the air with sharp, hard thrusts.
Reed was intrigued; he’d never had any Asian nookie. He made a silent declaration that tonight he would.
Reed saw the grubby hand of the bartender set down the bottle of Corona. Refusing to look at the man, Reed tossed him a slightly coiled twenty-dollar bill.
“Still looking for Sensation?” the bartender asked with a snort, demanding Reed’s attention as he pushed Reed’s change forward.
Reed felt wealthy and magnanimous and had planned to give the man a tip but, irked by the bartender’s ignorant-ass comment, he sucked his teeth and snatched up his change like it was the last money in the world.
When the slant-eyed beauty came off stage, Reed beckoned her by waving a twenty. She floated toward him wearing a phony smile.
“Hello,” she said, standing before him, wiggling her waistline. She rubbed her tiny breasts, her fingers carefully avoiding the star-shaped rhinestone pasties that covered her nipples.
“Hey whassup, little lady?” Reed inquired, still clipping the twenty-dollar bill.
“My name’s Amy,” she said, her lips still smiling mechanically while annoyance flickered in her narrowed eyes.
“Can I get a couch dance, Amy?” He smiled wide, proud that he could finally afford to blow money on an expensive dry fuck at Lizzard’s.
She glanced over at the designated couch dancing area. “No, the room is full right now; maybe later.” Her words were tinged with irritation but, anticipating Reed’s money, she maintained a twitchy smile.
Though the rules of the game were not rigidly set in stone, Reed knew full well that he should pay Amy for her time. But suspecting Amy didn’t want to get it on with a black man, Reed put the twenty back in his pocket and exchanged it with a one.
“What the hell is this?” Amy exploded when Reed tried to hand her a crisp dollar bill. “We don’t accept dollars here!” Her eyes shot daggers at him as she recoiled in disgust. She twirled toward the bartender. “Bernie, call the manager.”
“Call the manager, Miss Ching Chong!” Reed hurled the slur with a sneer “What’s the manager gonna do—kick me out?” he scoffed.
“Hey, Bernie,” he said, now addressing the bartender. “Save yourself some trouble, man,” Reed rose from his seat. “I’m outta here!”
He took a healthy swig from the chilled bottle of Corona and slammed it down on the counter. Intent on provoking Amy further, he summoned his alter ego as he walked away, assuming the slow, impudent movements of a street hoodlum. With one shoulder hunched up while the other was dipped way down, Reed dragged his feet across the floor, exiting the premises with an arrogant thuggish glide.
It didn’t matter that Amy was a bitch; she was still a sexy little chink. He didn’t know if she was Chinese, Korean, or Vietnamese, but whatever her heritage, her spit-fire temperament had put him in the mood for some tight-eyed twat.
He swung his Lexus to the curb on Thirty-Eighth Street and parked illegally, trotted half a block to Spruce Street, and ran into the WaWa convenience store.
He picked up a copy of The City Paper, which was in a bin in the front of the store. Reed flipped to the back and perused the small block ads until he located the heading Massage Parlors. He ran a finger down the page until he spotted a photo of a young Asian woman holding an umbrella and smiling invitingly—at him!
The massage parlor was called The Song of the East, an establishment located on Bustleton Avenue, way up in the northeast section of the city.
He cut in front of a long line of WaWa customers. “Yo, buddy…you got a pen?” Reed asked the harried young cashier.
Sighing before he handed Reed the pen, the grungy-looking youth cautioned, “You gotta give it right back, man.”
Reed picked up a brown paper bag from the counter, ripped off a piece, and jotted down the address. Having no further use for the newspaper, he flung it across the counter along with the pen.
Driving to the far northeast was a hell of a hike, but the opportunity to sample some Chinese snatch made the trip well worth his while.
The Song of the East was in a strip mall. Reed pulled into a parking space in the lot. Before getting out of the car, he checked his reflection in the mirror and noticed that his stitches looked hard and dry and were jutting out every which way like jagged threads from a broken seam.
From his glove compartment, he retrieved a small container of medicated Vaseline and dabbed on a bit to soften and smooth down the stiff sutures. After snapping on the cap, satisfied that he looked more like his usual handsome self, Reed walked briskly to the place where he expected to receive some freaky sex…Chinese-style.
“You want massage?” inquired a plump Asian woman the moment Reed walked through the door.
“Yeah, how much?” He looked around, surveying the surroundings. The place was sterile, no character or personality, and no Asian ambiance.
“Fifty dolla,” the woman said, holding out her hand.
“What do I get for my fifty?”
“Very nice massage,” she said, smiling and nodding.
“What else do I get?” Reed asked, suspiciously.
“That up to girl. You tip her; not me.”
He briefly thought about what the woman had just said and concluded that if he gave a tip, there was no doubt that he would get more than a lousy massage. Reed felt a little better, but not much. He had hoped for an erotic Asian experience, had fantasized a scene with a hot little Chinese girl walking on his back, washing his feet, and then skillfully using a set of chopsticks to feed him something exotic before the main event. To get all that, he now realized, he’d have to go somewhere like Las Vegas…or, hell, with all his dough, he could go straight to Beijing!
“So where are the girls?” He looked around, wondering where they kept their sexy little China dolls.
“Pay fifty, I show you.”
It seemed like a scam; Reed was annoyed at being hustled. His first impulse was to tell the woman to fuck off, but he had driven too far for a piece of Chinese pussy to turn around and slam indignantly out the door. So he reluctantly dug in his pocket and pulled out the cash.
After he paid the woman, she led him down a narrow hallway past five or six closed doors and ushered h
im into an undistinguished waiting room equipped with a vending machine, a microwave, a table, and chairs. “Have seat; I come right back,” the chubby lady assured him and vanished.
The woman returned with three fairly average-looking young Asian women. “They all very nice,” she said, her eyes all atwinkle.
Reed felt his disappointment wrestling with frustration. None of the women had the looks of the smiling beauty that posed in the newspaper ad, or were even as pretty as Amy for that matter. But what the hell? He’d come this far, he might as well pick one of them so he could hurry up and get his fuck on.
The young women met Reed’s scrutiny with nervous smiles. They chattered anxiously amongst themselves in Chinese, Vietnamese, or whatever—gesturing and acting ill at ease. He got the distinct impression that none of the three homely broads wanted to service him.
“What’s the problem?” Ticked off, Reed arched an eyebrow.
“They wanna know why scar?” The woman pointed to Reed’s stitched forehead, which glistened with medicated petroleum jelly.
“Why scar?” He touched his forehead, chuckled, and said, “Oh, I had a little accident.” Why don’t you mind your business, bitch!
The older woman spoke to the Asian hookers in their language. Reed didn’t know what she was saying, but she was being long-winded and basically working his nerves. With all the cash he was carrying he could purchase some poontang anywhere. He didn’t have to deal with this shit.
Reed breathed out heavily and shifted his feet. He was about to demand his money back when the woman practically shoved one of the girls in his path. The girl was a scrawny little thing, possibly the youngest of the three and definitely the worst-looking in the bunch.
“Come with me,” the girl said sorrowfully and with a thick Asian accent. As she led Reed out of the waiting room, she cast a regretful last glance at her friends, and then bravely lifted her chin.
Chapter 29
The room was small and barren. No frills. There was just a massage table and a wicker shelf nailed to the wall, which was filled with numerous bottles of lotions and oils that emitted a pleasant citrus scent.
“Take off,” the girl said, then looked down.
“What?” Speak English, he wanted to implore.
With an unhappy upturned face, she repeated the two-word request.
Reed patted his shirt and then his pants. The girl nodded. “Right back,” she said sulkily, and promptly left the room.
In a flash, Reed was naked and lying on his back. He thought about the masseuse. The girl seemed so sad and unpleasant, he wondered if she was working there against her will. He’d read about the Asian mobsters who supplied a steady stream of women from China. They forced them to work for free in the network of Chinese brothels here in the States until they paid off the price of their airline ticket and the money spent for their room and board.
Yes, the girl was probably a sex slave, Reed thought, liking the idea. He reached down and stroked himself to hardness, wondering how much it cost to get his own personal Asian sex slave.
A few minutes later, the young woman returned with a towel folded across her arm. She took a look at Reed’s erect member and her face scrunched up into a frown. “Wrong way,” she said in a harsh voice, then gestured for him to turn over.
Reed reluctantly complied. “You got me lying on my kickstand,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m not comfortable lying on my stomach.” He sat up.
The masseuse didn’t understand a word he said. “Half-hour massage,” she replied. “Five dolla extra for hot oil,” she continued as if reading from a script.
“Massage this.” Reed pointed to his hardness. “No hot oil!”
The girl fled the room and returned with the matronly woman, who’d lost her twinkling smile. “What wrong?” she asked Reed, pretending not to notice his now semi-hard-on.
“How much extra for sex?”
“No sex!” the woman said sternly, and waved a finger for emphasis.
“What do you mean, no sex?” Reed asked in a calm but menacing voice. “You said if I tip the girl I could get something extra.”
“Hot oil massage…you tip girl. Warm towel rubdown…you tip girl, but no sex with girl,” she insisted, standing her ground.
“You said whatever happened in here was between me and the girl,” Reed said, beginning a slow seethe.
“Yes.” She nodded her head. “With experience girl. This new girl,” she pointed to the little waif. “We break her in.” The woman was now smiling but the young girl maintained a solemn expression with her head slightly bowed.
I’d like to break her in, he thought maliciously. “Well, I don’t want her if she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Send in another girl—and make sure she can speak English.”
The woman began fussing at the girl in Chinese and pinched her arm for good measure before they exited the room. The girl yelped and Reed was satisfied that she’d been sufficiently punished for causing him such aggravation.
He was also aroused, wishing the woman had allowed him the pleasure of inflicting a fair amount of pain upon the girl. He had to admit he had developed some sadistic tendencies and was finding it increasingly difficult to limit himself to ordinary sex.
A few minutes later, the door opened and the tallest of the three young women entered. “I’m Nancy,” she said, smiling.
It was a strange name for a Chinese woman, probably fake like Amy, but Reed really didn’t give a damn.
“No massage?” Nancy wanted to know.
“No massage,” he confirmed. Then added, “No hot oil, just sex.”
“Awww!” She covered her mouth and fell out laughing like Reed had cracked a big joke. “No sex! Topless massage for extra.”
A topless damn massage! “That’s all you’re offering?” he asked, still unconvinced that he couldn’t pay for sexual intercourse.
“Hot oil massage, five dolla. Topless massage, twenty dolla. You pay extra.” Nancy gave a weary smile.
Reed was tired, too. Tired of hearing the heavy accents, tired of arguing with women about sex. He jumped off the table. “I want a refund; go tell that woman to give me my money back.”
“No refund,” Nancy said sadly, shaking her head.
“Yes refund,” Reed said, clenching his fists menacingly.
“Okay, handjob fifty more dolla. How ’bout that?”
“Blowjob,” Reed suggested. “Now, how about that?”
“Too big!” She pointed at his penis and shook her head.
“You Chinese people with your broken English try to pretend like you’re so innocent. But I’m not stupid.” Reed paused, waiting for Nancy to protest. She didn’t, her expression was blank, and so he continued. “I realized something tonight. You people are nothing but bunch of scam artists, always trying to beat a brother out of his hard-earned cash,” Reed fumed as he went to his pants to extract an additional fifty dollars.
Nancy tucked the money away fast and quietly reached for one of the bottles on the wicker shelf. “Relax,” she told Reed as she shook a generous amount of oil into her cupped palm.
Lightly squeezing his member, she slowly moved her hand up and down his shaft. “Ah. This is very big; very nice,” she murmured. Her voice, no longer annoying, was now soothing. She increased the speed and the pressure, murmuring softly.
It was a real turn on—the foreign language and the squishy sounds made by the friction and oil. Reed’s sexual tension mounted as Nancy whispered to him in Chinese. Breathing hard, Reed pumped hard into her oil-lubricated fist.
Past the point of rational restraint, he clamped his hand around the back of her neck and held it in a powerful grip.
“Suck it!” Reed insisted, applying more pressure and tightening the stranglehold on her thin neck. Under his fingers, he could feel her pulse quicken; her fear and vulnerability inciting him to cross the line that separates man from beast.
He was motivated now by the single-minded quest to find a warm moist place to deposi
t his sperm. He dug his nails into the Asian woman’s neck and growled through clenched teeth, “Open your fuckin’ mouth!”
With her throat constricted, the poor woman was unable to scream. Her fear-filled eyes bulged and wept. Unwilling to completely submit, she fought silently, twisting and thrashing, arms flailing as she tried to claw her assailant.
But when Reed’s raging knuckles crashed against the side of her face, Nancy could no longer oppose the unrelenting force of the dark rigid flesh. She gagged and choked to no avail; the rock-hard shaft determinedly pushed past her lips and invaded her mouth, unstoppable until it pressed against a soft barricade of tonsils.
“Ahhh!” Reed groaned as he made his deposit—a gush of thick milky fluid that streamed down the Asian woman’s throat.
When he came to his senses, he expected the masseuse to run screaming from the room, accusing him of being a vile pillager, a rapist, scum! Reed’s frantic eyes searched the barren room for something he could use as a weapon to defend himself against the three women he expected to burst through the door at any moment. He had a horrible vision of the female battalion of three, hoodied up like ninja warriors—shrieking war cries, wielding nunchakus, and hurling poisonous ninja stars.
Astonishingly, an atmosphere of calm permeated the small room. Nancy wiped her mouth with a towel and then dabbed her teary eyes. “Hundred dolla extra,” she said, completely composed.
Reed gave her two hundred dollars. Hush money, just in case.
Back in his car, safe from harm, Reed started up the engine and thought about the massage parlor episode. He couldn’t control his savage behavior; he was a sexfiend—no doubt about it. But he was perplexed by Nancy’s willingness to keep it on the low. Shrugging, he supposed she was abiding by some Chinese code of honor, some antiquated need to save face. After all, how could she remain in her kinfolks’ good graces after swallowing a black man’s cum?
The session with Nancy was like an appetizer. His dick was still hard and he felt hornier than ever. He needed a depraved sex experience and the yearning scorched his loins. What he now required was a sex slave.
Dangerously In Love Page 19