“What are you talking about—a gun?” Chanelle asked, clearly alarmed.
“Yeah, I’m talking about a gun. I used to carry a little .22, but not anymore. With all the money I’m handling, I stay strapped with a baby nine.”
Chanelle was disgusted and decided to ignore any further mention of guns. “Where the hell is Bensalem?”
“Girl, it’s way up there—way past the northeast. You gotta hop on the Roosevelt Boulevard and stay on that bitch forever. Eventually you’ll end up in Bensalem.”
“I don’t drive and you know it,” Chanelle said sullenly.
“My bad; I forgot. By the way, what’s up with that?”
“I can’t drive.”
“Well, pay for some driving lessons; I need you to be able to get around. I already told you that ninety percent of my clients are white and in case you haven’t noticed, there ain’t hardly no white people left in Philly. Yeah, girl, the ones handling the real paper done hauled their asses the hell outta Philly and moved to the peaceful suburbs.”
After listening to Hershey’s commentary, Chanelle’s thoughts ricocheted back to Marc. She wondered where he lived, but fought the compulsion to ask Hershey to give her the 411. There was no way she would play herself like that.
“Do you want to get someone else for this guy, Wes?” Broke or not, Chanelle was feeling so depressed, she doubted if she had the energy to put up with a paid date.
There was silence while Hershey thought about it. “No. Take a cab; I’ll tell Wes he has to pay for your transportation.”
Chanelle’s shoulders sagged; she really wasn’t feeling this Bensalem trick. But she’d be a fool to turn down money outright while she was so badly in need.
“Oh, be sure to pack some exercise wear—a tank top and a pair of sweats.”
“Why?” Chanelle asked wearily.
“Wes is into physical fitness.”
“And…”
“I guess he wants you to exercise,” Hershey said sheepishly.
Chanelle sighed. “I thought you said this dude was gonna be easy.”
“He is easy,” Hershey said defensively. “You won’t have to even work up a sweat. He’ll probably want you to strike a pose while you’re holding a two- or three-pound dumbbell.”
Already regretting her decision to date this pervert, and unable to think of a coherent word to express her disdain, Chanelle simply uttered, “Umph!”
“Oh yeah, Wes likes his girls to arrive on time, so why don’t you order a cab now to be on the safe side,” Hershey suggested.
Fuck what Wes wants. Chanelle was really starting to hate Wes. Not because of his penchant for fitness, but because he wasn’t Marc.
The cab ride came to sixty dollars plus a tip. I could have rented a damn limo for this kind of money. As Chanelle paid the cab driver, she reminded herself she’d get her money right back from Wes.
“Can you pick me up in an hour?” she asked the cab driver. Thankfully, he agreed.
The crib was cracked; Wes was really living large. He even had an indoor pool, which was where their little rendezvous would take place.
Unfortunately, Wes was a creepy little thing and none of his material possessions could change that fact. Standing at about five foot three, he looked like he weighed about a buck twenty. A fitness fanatic, my ass! Chanelle thought snidely. The puny little wimp didn’t have an athletic bone in his body.
“There’s a bathroom right down the hall if you want to change,” Wes said, raising both brows double-time in a creepy, suggestive manner.
Eew! He repelled her; this had to be the worst night of her life. How could she do anything with this awful little man after being with someone like Marc?
Though she was fuming inside, she picked up her duffle bag indulgently. Careful not to swing her hips sexily, Chanelle left the pool area, striding as stiff as a soldier as she marched to the bathroom. Wes, as far as she was concerned, did not deserve a tantalizing rear-end view.
She emerged from the bathroom wearing a skintight white tank top that bared her navel and tight abs. Hip-hugging white nylon capri sweatpants and a pair of white Nikes completed her titillating athletic look. Although her appearance was wasted on the likes of Wes, Chanelle’s spirits lifted when she saw her reflection. All that white fabric against her dark brown skin provided a very attractive contrast.
Her mood instantly darkened again when her eyes rested on Wes, who was swimming in the pool naked as the day he was born.
“Do ya like skinny dipping?” he called out with a twinkle in his eye, and then he did the creepy double brow lift again.
“Not really; I can’t swim,” Chanelle replied. She could barely disguise her revulsion.
“I’ll tell you what.”
Chanelle cocked her head inquiringly.
“I’ll do the swimming and you do the flexing. What do you think about that?” He dove underwater and swam a while, as if to give her time to mull over his request. His tiny feet kicked and splashed water as Chanelle jumped out of the way.
Flexing? She didn’t know what he was talking about and she refused to try to figure it out. The hell with the money; she didn’t deserve this shit. She was a second away from picking up her cell phone to call the cab and get the hell out of this nut house.
Wes popped out of the water, causing another great splash. Chanelle rolled her eyes at him.
“Ready to do some flexing?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know, make a muscle. Wait a second, I’ll show you.” Holding on to the ledge of the pool, Wes pulled himself up and hopped out. Chanelle averted her gaze from the unattractive sight, but he called out, “Look…flex like this.”
The naked little man bent over and flexed a bicep like he was posing for the cover of Muscle Magazine. “See…I want you to flex like this,” he said trying to pump up his puny bicep.
It was clearly time to leave, but she’d have to wait for the cab. She sighed. Hershey was right; she really needed her own car. Learning how to drive was now a top priority.
“Hershey said you wanted me to do some arm curls or something with a dumbbell.”
“I don’t know why she told you that; I don’t have any dumbbells. I just want you to flex like this.” He did the pose again and Chanelle wanted to throw up. On second thought, maybe she should throw Wes’s dwarfed ass in the pool and drown him.
She thought about how much Hershey was paying her for this supposedly easy gig and suddenly four hundred dollars didn’t seem like enough. “I can’t do that, I don’t know how,” she protested.
“It’s easy! Do just like this.” He bent over to give another demonstration.
“Okay, okay. I got it. You don’t have to show me again,” she shouted. She could not bear to see him do it again. Feeling more than ridiculous, she balled her fist and flexed her bicep. She didn’t, however, perform the pose bent at the waist like Mr. Fucking Universe.
“Not like that! You’re doing it all wrong. I said. do it like this.”
Sighing and flustered, Chanelle endured another demonstration from the bossy little dwarf of a man. Satisfied that he’d given a thorough demonstration, Wes stood straight up and beamed with pride.
“All right; I see what you mean, but that’s gonna cost you extra.”
“How much?” he asked with a forlorn expression. “None of the other girls ever asked me to pay them more.”
“Look, I don’t know what your deal is and I don’t care, but you’re gonna have to give me another bean if you want me to act like a damn bodybuilder.
“Another bean?”
“Another hundred bucks,” she said with frustration. Having to decipher street jargon was annoying.
“Okay, I’ll give it to you before you leave.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Sorry, I need it now.”
Sloshing over the wet tiled floor, Wes, still naked, stomped out of the pool area to go get Chanelle’s cash.
Looking perturb
ed, he returned with the money. “Here,” he said in a gruff voice and handed her two fifty-dollar bills.
Chanelle folded the money and put it in her duffle bag, gave a sigh, and struck the ridiculous pose. She thought she’d sunk to an all-time low until she noticed that Wes, reclining on a lounge chair, was jerking on his dick, which had grown shockingly large.
“That’s right, baby, pump it up for me,” he said as his hand worked at top speed. With her hands on her hips, Chanelle stood up straight. “What the hell…”
“Don’t stop…I paid you…Come on, baby. Pump it up, pump it up!” he pleaded.
Figuring there were people who’d done far worse for money, and desperately wanting to get this insanity over with, she gave in and resumed the position.
Wes ejaculated; the long stream that shot high up in the air truly resembled a geyser. It splashed down near Chanelle’s feet. “Aw, man. I don’t know what happened. I can usually do amazing cum shots that hit the ceiling.” He pointed to several suspicious stains on the ceiling. “See? Do you see what I mean?”
She opened her eyes when the cab made a left on Florence Avenue. Grateful that the driver didn’t try to talk her ears off, Chanelle gave him a twenty-dollar tip.
Inside her quiet apartment, she broke down in tears. Her life was shit and she didn’t know how to change it. She was so tired of being utterly alone.
Chapter 32
Too squeamish to look at the instruments of torture the doctor used to remove the sutures, Reed kept his eyes closed throughout the procedure. He didn’t know which hurt worse, getting his head stitched or having the stitches removed.
“Last one,” the doctor said cheerfully, his hand holding a shiny metal object of torture, coming toward Reed’s head.
Reed winced. “What’s the big rush, Dr. Oliver? Can I have a second to catch my breath before you start working on me again?”
“It’s better to get it over with,” the doctor explained patiently.
“Better for whom? Me or you?”
“You, of course,” said Dr. Oliver with a chuckle.
“You just finished yanking out a stitch. Now, give me a break…my head is killing me. Shouldn’t you have given me something for the pain?”
“I’ll give you something after the procedure, okay?”
“I hope it’s a lot stronger than those baby aspirins I got at the emergency room.”
“What were you prescribed?”
“Motrin,” Reed said in a huff. “I’ll write a prescription for Percoset, but be careful. No driving or operating heavy equipment.”
Whatever! Reed thought and rolled his eyes. The doctor had moved behind him, seeing only the back of Reed’s head as it bobbed up and down in understanding. Dr. Oliver had no way of knowing that Reed held him in contempt.
“Okay, here we go. Think of something pleasant. You’re only going to feel a little pinch.”
“Look, I’m not in any shape to go back to work yet…”
“All right; I’ll write a note for you to go back to work…let’s see…how about in two weeks?”
That sounded good to Reed. “Okay…ready?”
Reed closed his eyes and scrunched up his face, bracing himself for what felt to him like unendurable pain. “Ow,” he yelled. His hand flew up to his forehead, covering it protectively, and remained in that position throughout the drive to the pharmacy and during the entire ride home.
At home he took a Motrin. He’d take a Percoset late at night when he was ready for bed. Right now, he had important business to attend to and needed to be fully alert.
He uncurled the City Paper that was left behind in the physician’s waiting room. He quickly turned the pages, eager to get to the back, and quickly found what he was looking for. There were more than a dozen ads placed by women who were looking for a dominant man. He perused the selections and finally made a choice: “Submissive young woman desires to be enslaved.” There was an immediate hardening inside Reed’s pants. He caressed it—stroked it. He tried to console it, but it became harder and lengthened considerably. The hardness demanded special attention and would not calm down until Reed unzipped his pants and set it free.
His dick was in his left hand; with his right hand he pressed the numbers and excitedly listened to the phone ring.
“Greetings, Master,” said a sweet-sounding female.
“Uh. I’m calling about the ad…uh…the one in The City Paper.”
“Yes, Master. How can I serve you?”
Damn, this was the shit! And it was turning him on. He felt like he was gonna bust a nut while merely talking on the phone.
“Well, I wanted to get together. Is that possible today?”
The woman giggled. “Forgive me laughing. It’s just that I’m so honored that you’ll be spending time with me today. I can hardly wait to sit at your feet.”
“What’s your name?” Reed asked.
“My name is Patience,” the woman said. “But you can call me whatever you like. Personally, I like to be called slut…bitch or slave. But it’s not my place to choose.”
“Stop it,” he said in a gruff whisper as he unconsciously stroked his dick. “You’re going to have to stop talking like this…you’ve got my man down here all upset…” He paused and looked down, fondled his penis, and wiped away the pre-cum with his thumb. “I wish you could see what you’re doing to me; my man is about to explode.” His tone was husky and so lustful, he hardly recognized the voice as his own.
“You’re making me blush, Master,” Patience said with a giggle. “Would you mind getting a pen to jot down my address?”
After carefully writing down the woman’s address, Reed asked, “How much do you charge for this?”
“Oh, I don’t charge; I enjoy being submissive. I do, however, accept contributions…you know…to pay the rent.”
“Cool, I can contribute something.”
“Is ten o’clock tonight okay?” she asked sweetly.
He wanted to see her as soon as possible, but thought it best not to impose his will just yet. “Sure, ten o’clock is cool.”
Reed couldn’t get over how sweet she sounded; her tone was filled with such a willingness to comply. He felt he’d finally found the kind of woman he really needed. Had he not been experiencing residual pain in his forehead, he would have excitedly leaped into a back flip.
Most pressing at the moment, however, was the need to relieve himself. Reed pounded up the stairs, eager to get his private party started. He grabbed his special bottle of baby oil from the dresser in the bedroom. This lubricant was used for one purpose only—to assist in self-administered manual release.
This time he didn’t require an X-rated video to help him along. He needed only to think about his new playmate, his sex slave. The movement of his oil-slick fist became slower as he looked up in thought. What should I call her? The name Patience didn’t suit him; it sounded too prim—too old-fashioned. Settling for one of the choices she provided, Reed decided to call her Slut.
His hand moved fast and furiously; a hot sensation rushed through his loins.
“Ahhh,” he roared as he climaxed, then collapsed across the bed.
Depleted of strength, he curled up to take a nap. He’d need rest to rejuvenate his semen supply; he had big plans for later in the evening. He planned to fuck Slut until she cried.
Patience came to the door wearing a short frilly two-piece white set. She had almond-shaped brown eyes and cascading auburn hair.
“Greetings, Master. Welcome to my home,” she said breathlessly, and politely bowed her head.
Patience had the face of an angel; she looked soft and tender—vulnerable. She gave off virginal vibes, and was the perfect example of the kind of woman Reed yearned to defile.
This is the shit! he thought excitedly as he appraised her through eyes that had narrowed into lustful slits.
Patience beckoned Reed to come inside. The living room was also frilly and feminine, with oodles of fluffy and fringed throw pillo
ws. There was also an unsettling collection of what seemed like dozens of life-like dolls. The dolls representing various nationalities, were all dressed to the nines. They sat atop miniature wicker chairs, straddled tiny bicycles, carried picnic baskets, lay in cradles…Reed thought it was entirely too, too much.
“Mind if we do this in the bedroom?” His tone annoyed him; it was a tad too sweet. He should have barked out an order and walked her to the bedroom on a leash.
A leash! Agitated, he rubbed the scar on his forehead. He didn’t have any kind of equipment; nothing to intimidate a sex slave into cowering obedience, nothing that would instill fear. He’d have to brush up on the subject and start collecting the objects he needed to dispense both pleasure and pain.
“Certainly, Master. The bedroom is upstairs, first door on the right. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll join you right away. But first…” Patience blushed and lowered her eyes. “Forgive me if I seem impudent, but I would be remiss if I didn’t inform you that the contributions start at two-fifty.” Her fingers brushed her lips in a demur manner; her lashes fluttered bashfully.
“That’s not a problem,” Reed said and really meant it. He dug deep and gave her an extra fifty. Her soft voice and the way she spoke—so proper, so respectful—were enough to drive him mad. The three hundred dollars he gave her was just a drop in the bucket. He would have paid any price to demean and violate such a pretty little fragile thing. Just the thought of debasing her made the blood rush to his head.
Pulling open a pair of sliding double doors, she excused herself and motioned to the stairs. “I’ll be with you in just a second, Master.”
This shit is serious, Reed thought as he climbed the stairs. Every sexual act he’d ever engaged in was nothing more than foreplay. Being lord and master without apology was the lifestyle he deserved; it was the life he was destined to live.
Filled with a sense of self-importance, Reed opened the door to the bedroom. More beady-eyed dolls stared at him.
Reed frowned and sighed and determined he was going to have to put his foot down for sure. Slut is gonna have to get a grip! She’s gonna have to get rid of all these dumb-ass dolls and all this childish bullshit!
Dangerously In Love Page 21