by Pynk
“No, Your Honor.”
Attorney Wyatt bent down and whispered in Lavender’s ear. Lavender then whispered in Milan’s ear. She nodded.
“Ms. Berg, since Ms. Hart dropped charges against Mr. McCoy, who in my opinion is the one who the civil and criminal charges should be directed to, then I don’t know what else to say. So, if Ms. Hart wants to file a civil claim to see if a jury will find the club civilly responsible, meaning they determine the club is the reason for the cause, then so be it. But as for now, I do not recommend this case for criminal trial. This case is dismissed. Next case.”
The attorneys gathered their files and stepped past the swinging doors with their clients. Attorney Wyatt patted both Lavender and Milan on the back, and Milan kissed Lavender on the cheek. He returned her gesture of congratulations.
Ramada stepped along in her tight skirt and stared Milan down, cutting her with a prolonged slice of her eyes. Ramada’s blonde female friend stood and took Ramada’s hand as they proceeded toward the door, but not before the female made a point of giving Lavender a lingering smile.
Milan caught the smile and asked, “Who’s that? She gave us the eye earlier.”
“That’s the same woman Ramada and I got with at your club last year.”
“I thought she looked familiar. Why am I not surprised?” Milan rolled her eyes.
Lavender and Milan followed their attorney into the hallway.
With briefcase in hand, Attorney Berg approached Milan, Lavender, and Attorney Wyatt. “So, do you want to discuss a settlement?”
Attorney Wyatt spoke right up. “No civil charges have even been filed yet.”
“I’m saying just so we can save everyone the time and expense,” Attorney Berg said. She looked at Milan and then Lavender.
Attorney Wyatt replied, “We need some time to discuss this. I’m inclined to say no.”
“I agree,” Lavender said.
Milan crossed her arms. “We’ll see. We’ll get back to you.”
Attorney Wyatt added, “We’ll be in touch.”
Ramada and her friend walked on to the elevator with Attorney Berg. Ramada turned back, giving an evil look down toward Milan’s feet and up at her face, shaking her head.
“She needs to quit,” Lavender said with a deep exhale, noticing her stare of dismissal.
“That’ll be the day,” said Milan, looking everywhere but at Ramada. “And you need to get that restraining order filed that we talked about before.”
“It’s been prepared, we just need you to sign one, too. It’ll be filed. Don’t worry.” Lavender took Milan’s hand and they took the stairs to the parking garage.
31
“Brick House”
Saturday, May 17, 2008
10:51 p.m.
The almost-full moon cast its glow high in the almost-black sky. It was barely eleven o’clock at Erotic City. And just as it had been since the fateful night that Ramada made her accusations, the club was full.
Dakota, a regular, was also known as Dee, though some called her Good ’n Plenty. She wore a generous princess-cut diamond that glistened as her hand moved. Her shoulder-length hair was dyed sandy brown for the month and was gelled back away from her face. She wore a peach-colored teddy and a matching pair of sheer bottoms that were slit all the way up her thighs. Her cheetah-print thong was buried deep into the crack of her behind. And her hips devoured the leather stool beneath her. Even though Dakota was extrathick, thicka-than-a-snicka thick, two biscuits short of two-hundred thick, she was well proportioned.
They called her Dee because of her triple D, boobalicious tits that she always showed off. Her cleavage spillage was off the charts. The girls were about the same size as her fifty-inch hips. Her wide breasts were pushed together compliments of an underwire bra. The pale, alabaster skin of her bosom bubbled outward like pop and fresh dough, high and overflowing, damn near touching her chin. She had an itty-bitty voice that forgot she was a big girl, and a baby face that forgot she was fifty-five.
Dakota and her husband, Jed, found a semiprivate, cozy little room of their own to play in. The red-light special ceiling lights cast a sensual glow. The walls were painted black.
Jed lay beside his hot-to-trot wife. He was fully dressed, except he had taken off his shoes and socks. However, she now lay naked as a jaybird.
Dakota’s name was etched in ink around her left ankle, her tramp stamp read Nympho, and a playboy symbol lived on her right shoulder blade. She lay flat on her tummy, with her amazing cellulite-free ass lounging upright, just letting it all hang out for the voyeuristic world to see.
And see they did. Two men kept walking back and forth, peering past the open door to get a glimpse of her wonderment. They noticed her every amazing curve. Jed noticed their stares. Jed lay on his side with his head propped upon his hand, his elbow taking the weight of his head. And under his pants, his hard-on came and went, depending upon their glances.
Dakota faced forward. She could see her nasty admirers through the wall-to-wall mirror. Another man looked inside and nodded.
Jed said, “Hello. I see you looking. Come on in.” He gestured with his hands.
“Oh no. I was just walking by.”
Jed said, “Yeah, but your eyes came on in for a visit. It’s okay. She is something else, isn’t she?”
He answered with a nod, “Yes, she’s very beautiful. Is this your wife?”
“Yes. This is Dakota. People here call her Dee.”
“Hello, baby. What’s your name?” Dakota asked, looking at the young black man from head to toe.
“Braylon.”
“Hello Braylon. Nice to meet you. Have a seat.” She nodded toward the bed but he sat on the chair.
He faced Dakota. He sat still and quiet, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He looked around from wall to wall. Anywhere but where he wanted to look.
Suddenly, Dakota asked, “Can I kiss you?”
He sat up straight. “Yes. You can.”
Dakota shifted her big-boned self around and sat in a yoga position. She reached toward Braylon. He stood and stepped to her, bending down. He met his face to hers and sat down on the bed next to her.
Her hand was behind his neck. He brought his lips to touch her lips and she opened her mouth. He opened wide and swirled his tongue with hers. She straightened her tongue and stuck it deep into his mouth while he sucked on it. Their lips stayed pressed together. She removed her tongue and laid a loud smack on his full, brown mouth and backed away, making sure to keep her eyes on his. She moved her hand from behind his neck to his crotch. She felt his thrill and smiled as she sized up his package.
“You need to step out of those,” Jed said from behind Dakota.
Braylon did not need to be told twice. He stood up and dropped his pants to the floor.
“Mind if I leave these on for traction?” he asked, pointing down at his black Chucks.
Dakota said immediately, “Please do.” She got up on all fours and propped her Mac truck rear end up high.
Jed gave him a condom but Braylon took one from his pocket. He secured it and moved up behind Dakota, placing his hands on her hips, pulling her extrawet, bald pussy onto his dick.
He went deep like a quarterback throwing a bomb.
She was the wide receiver.
And Jed was ready to play referee.
Jed stood up, removed his pants, and faced her with his penis at full attention. She took a deep breath and sucked Jed’s uncircumcised white cock, licking his foreskin with every motion. For every cock that pulled out on one end, a deep-diving dick was on the other. Her juices seeped and she let out muffled screams.
The door was still open, and within only ten minutes, there was a group of people watching the threesome fuck show live. Jed, at the sight of the group watching his wife get fucked by a big black dick, felt his balls release the heat of his turn-on. His fuse burned from his explosion as he quickly blasted his ejaculation deep against the back of his wife’s t
hroat. Dakota gave a few gulping swallows and then hummed the words, “Uuhm, uuhm, good.”
Braylon, who had positioned himself in a firm Chuck-wearing stance, explored Dakota wall to wall, with her ass slapping against his balls. Like her tattoo bragged about, her nympho hunger was evident. Her excessive juices could be heard. That along with the sound of her silver bracelets jingling softly.
After a flurry of hard thrusts, Dakota made sure to ride through her slow-rolling orgasm by controlling her breathing, trying her best to make it last. She looked back to see Braylon’s dark skin pressing against her white ass cheeks and she wailed.
Dakota sounded as though she was crying. She always did.
There were no tears, but she had this way of whining and sniffling, giving off weepy moans.
Braylon was impressed by her loud passion. He gritted his teeth and pounded her pussy for all he was worth, continuing to give it to her like he assumed she deserved to be fucked.
Jed had stepped back and regained his hardness, thumbing his tip at the ebony and ivory sight before him.
Braylon thrusted and worked his length into every nook and cranny he could find until he felt his dick swell to its max.
Dakota looked back and saw his I’m cumming expression. She braced herself, giving him all the access he needed so that he could blow. She focused on wringing his climax from him and milking his semen. She again moaned like she was in the throws of bereavement, like something hurt, bad.
Braylon shot his load like lightning, skeeting as she wiggled just for his personal visual satisfaction.
He slapped her ass and shook his head, and said, “Now, that is some good, tight pussy, there.”
“You know it,” Jed said, now seated with his legs apart, his dick pointing up toward the ceiling.
Most of the crowd began to walk away while giving off murmurs of appreciation. Among the people who remained, eyeing the threesome, was Lavender. He kept his eyes on Dakota and readjusted where his fully awoken dick lived and walked away.
Braylon backed away and scratched the back of his head, still eyeing Dakota’s ass while the baggy condom covered his now-flaccid penis.
Within a few minutes, Braylon and Jed were dressed, Dakota stayed naked. Jed and Dakota went in the direction of the hot tub. Braylon left. They had departed just as easily as they came together.
Three bodies fucking.
Just taking enough time to hit it and quit it.
No bonding.
No phone numbers.
Taking love thy neighbor to a whole new height.
32
“Let’s Work”
Sunday, May 18, 2008
11:31 a.m.
On Sunday at the second service, Pastor Michael stood in his tailored, wheat-colored suit with a rust tie and shoes to match. He wound down his sermon just before the offering. He downshifted the pace of his words yet still spoke at full volume.
“And so, you must have a new consciousness. A consciousness of good, of thinking good and doing good. You need confidence in order to position yourself for success. In doing that, your life will gravitate to the level of those thoughts. How you think is who you are. Expect to be blessed.”
“Amen,” some of the churchgoers replied all at once.
Milan and Lavender sat in their regular seats and listened intently.
“Yes, Lord. Become more in God’s consciousness than self-consciousness. And now it is our time of giving.” He picked up a small envelope and held it high. “You’ll see that on the envelope the ushers handed out, there are a few categories as far as your offerings go.” He perused the front of the envelope with his index finger. “One is the general love offering for tithing and giving, the other is for the building fund which goes toward keeping our beautiful sanctuary up and running. The third is a donation for our Open Word Big Sister Program where we actually mentor our high school girls and prepare them for college. A portion of the funds goes toward their college tuition. We’ll present the young ladies at our anniversary dinner coming up soon. Please take a moment to fill out your envelopes.”
The band played music for a minute or two and then the pastor spoke again.
“Now at this time, please hold your offering over your heart and repeat after me.
“I thank you for the ability to give and share with others knowing that our giving is returned through the circle of this blessing. For this we do give thanks. Amen.”
Milan secured her check into the white envelope and licked the seal. On the front of the envelope, she wrote her name and address, e-mail address, and the amount of ten thousand dollars. She placed the envelope in the basket as the person next to her handed it over. She passed it on to Lavender, who had filled out his envelope and placed a two-hundred-dollar love offering in the basket as well.
“I saw that,” he told her.
“The least I can do. That’s a great program for high school girls.”
“You’ve got a big heart.”
“I, for one, know that I have been blessed.” She also said in her head, In spite of myself, as the service concluded.
Monday, May 19, 2008
1:01 p.m.
The next day, after an uneventful evening at the club, Milan sat at her L-shaped, handcrafted desk in her home office, flipping through e-mails on her laptop while doing her PC pushups. She wore only violet panties. The CNN newscast was broadcasting in the background.
She opened an e-mail from an address she was unfamiliar with. It read
Ms. Kennedy, By way of introduction, my name is Rowena Weber and I am a programming executive here at the WET TV Network in Los Angeles. Would you be so kind as to give me a call at the number below when you get a minute? I have something I’d like to discuss with you. Thank you. Sincerely, Rowena.
Milan immediately dialed the number and turned down the volume on her flat screen. She stood from her desk chair and headed to the love seat near the window. She settled herself square into the softness of the suede brick-red sofa, and crossed her legs.
“Rowena Weber’s office.”
“Hello. This is Milan Kennedy calling. Is Ms. Weber available please?”
The assistant asked, “Milan Kennedy. And you’re with?”
“She sent me an e-mail less than an hour ago asking me to call.”
“Okay. Hold on just one minute.”
“Thanks.”
“Uh-huh.”
Milan sat back and cleared her throat. She tapped her fingertips along the sofa and uncrossed her legs. She stood up, taking the few steps to the window, looking outside at the neighborhood view of landscaped yards and beautiful trees. She smiled at the quaint sight as she heard through her cell, “Milan! Hello. Thanks for calling me back.”
“Hello, Ms. Weber. How are you?”
“Oh, I can’t complain. And please call me Rowena.” The voice was chipper and bold.
“Okay, Rowena. I just got your e-mail.”
“Good. I’m glad you were able to talk so soon. I did a little research and found your e-mail address, thank goodness. Listen, I’ll cut right to the chase. We listened to your interview on the Maurice Black show. We’d like to meet with you if possible.”
“Regarding?” Milan started to pace the floor, taking barefoot steps along the beige Berber carpet.
“Well, my sister-in-law lives there and tells me you did a radio interview with Diva Sexton not long ago, so I’ve been keeping an eye on you. Last Friday, I attended a creative meeting with our senior executive and she agreed that we need to talk to you. We’d like to talk about you being involved in a new cable television show we’re creating called Erotic City. Great title, don’t you think?”
Milan stood still. She grinned as her heart beat faster. “It is, if I do say so myself.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, the name of your club is a great name for our series. It’ll be a mix of The L Word meets the Cat House meets Sex in the City. But, it’ll introduce the viewers to the fascinating world of swingers. I see it as
a suburban phenomenon. I understand swinging is three million strong and counting. And I do think it’s quite fascinating.”
Milan still did not move from her spot. “Wow. I must say that I’m shocked. I just, well, maybe I never thought the world would be ready to be introduced to the swinger’s lifestyle in a format that would spell viewership.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I mean, as you can imagine, especially if you heard about the Diva Sexton interview, I’ve taken more than a little flack for my business, not to mention the push back I receive when I talk about my sexual beliefs. I just didn’t think enough people would be supportive of alternative lifestyles.”
“I don’t think people would need to be supportive to watch. That’s part of the mystique of the forbidden. People live through other people, especially when it’s labeled as forbidden. And one thing is for sure, WET TV is far from your conservative, good old boy network. We’re an alternative to the white-bread standard. We think this whole concept of women and sexuality needs to come out into the forefront. To me, it’s kind of like the whole tabloid magazine thing. People are just curious by nature. Yet no one wants to admit that they peek. But they do. We all do.”
Milan twirled the end of her hair around her finger, again and again, in deep thought. “Well, you know I agree with that.”
“So, whatta ya say then? Perhaps we can make a date to discuss this in person.”
Immediately, Milan responded. “I say I’d love to. I have a manager who I’d like to bring with me. I’m not sure how soon we can get to L.A. though.”
“It turns out that I’ll be in Atlanta on Wednesday. You know WET TV is owned by Wallace Entertainment there in Atlanta. I’m meeting with our attorneys and some marketing people there. You pick a time and we can meet at the Wallace offices downtown.”
“Wednesday should be fine. I’ll check with my manager, but I’m sure we can work out being there that morning.”