Twisted Vows of Seduction (3 page)

J
eff walked out of the restroom after flushing the Magnum condom he had just worn down the toilet. His semi-hard, ten-inch dick looked like it had been dipped and coated in several layers of rich dark chocolate fudge, then pumped with steroids as it seemingly hung between his knees. He slowly walked toward the bed, his eyes locked completely on her.

“Ready for another round?” Ménage asked seductively as she spread her long, silky shaven legs into an expanding V, as if she were posing for a men's magazine centerfold. She parted the lips of her juicy, tender pussy with two fingers to reward Jeff with a 3D experience, then teasingly twirled the tip of her pearl tongue.

“Come on and finish playing this pussy like a harmonica,” Ménage squealed as she dipped one of her saucy fingers inside her orifice. She was wetter than before.

Tonight Ménage wore her hair slicked back in a long straight Jeannie ponytail that stopped just above the split of her ass, with three-toned colored bangs, a silky jet-black and a strawberry-honey blonde. Her poetic tight hazel eyes, flawless butter pecan complexion, and stallion body was the envy of all the strippers at X-Rated, the popular gentleman's club where she currently worked. It was also the spot where she'd met her lover, slash customer, slash suga daddy, Jeff. He was a godsend if she'd ever believed in one.

Ménage hadn't been in the stripping business long, but for the extent of time that she had, she was ready to get the hell out. She didn't want to become trapped in the lifestyle of fast and easy money like many of her homegirls who had succumbed to it. She'd heard one horror story after another about women who were murdered, raped, beaten, kidnapped, or committed suicide, all because of the lifestyle. Then there were the few dancers whose age had caught up to them. They had lost their youth, their body, and all the money right along with it. And the real big-time spenders didn't want a washed-up dancer. That was a no-brainer. They wanted and had to have the baddest bitch in the club. The chick that had body and knew every pole and pussy-popping trick in the stripper's handbook. Ménage was
that
bitch, hands down. She was an anything-goes-behind-closed-doors type of chick and had the best pussy that money could buy. Most of all, she was known for her creative talent and mad sex appeal. She was undoubtedly the highest-paid dancer at X-Rated. And while her name came with local fame and money like clockwork, there was no way in hell that she could make a career out of stripping, nor was she trying to. She wanted to get in, make a little money, and get the hell out. And now that she had over forty grand saved in the bank and a little extra all-purpose cash on hand, she was ready to chase her real dreams.

She'd had her share of experiences in the industry, but she felt it was time to get out while she still had a chance. Stripping wasn't in her life plan; it sort of happened by accident. She had graduated from high school and was on the right track to a promising future until her dope-dealing boyfriend, Slug, got them caught up. He'd owed his supplier money from a score they'd fronted him, and when he'd failed to cash out, rumors started to spread like wildfire that a hit had been put out on him. So when Ménage
had gotten word of that, she'd bailed out on Slug, ditched her hometown, Detroit, and fled to Dallas with the clothes on her back and the shoes on her feet. She didn't even tell her family where she was moving. All they had been told was that she had accepted some high-paying job out of state. That was about two years ago and she never looked back, but the trio of bullets tattooed on the face of her pussy would always serve as a reminder of the life and the man that she'd left behind.

While Ménage possessed the body and talent that made her big money, stripping was far from what she had her heart and sights set on. She was an aspiring actress and she figured it would take a miracle to happen before she ever got discovered in Texas. So this next move was going to put her in the
real
spotlight that she deserved. And whether Jeff knew it or not, he was going to help her get there.

Jeff's eyes never wavered from her hairless pussy. Her swollen glistening pair of lips called out his name, causing his nodding dick to swell and salute her all over again. She couldn't believe that he had this type of effect on her, as much as she couldn't believe that he was still rock-hard after busting that mighty big nut. He was seven years older than her, but his dick had the stamina of an eighteen-year-old. He had put a hurting on her pussy, but she wanted more.

“You see what you do to him?” Jeff asked, pointing to his Gila monster of a dick.

She parted her lips, then rolled her long tongue over the upper one. “I could always use some more protein, but then again, it looks like daddy's dick is still hungry,” Ménage teased as her enticing eyes traveled his tall, chiseled, and lean physique. Jeff was over six feet tall, dark, handsome, and could beat the brakes off of a wet pussy. She could attest to his bedroom get-down and she
was addicted to the pipe. Unlike her other customers, she never had to pretend with Jeff. He was the only man that could make her hotter than a sauna every single time they were together.

“Tell mama you hungry,” she purred softly, bringing her wet sticky finger to her lips. She slid out her tongue and proceeded to suck her own sweet pudding right off of her finger. “Ummmm! Tastes like candy.” She smiled. She then reinserted her finger, pulled it out, and made her pussy blow bubbles. He enjoyed watching her do nasty tricks. Especially the different ways she made herself cum. She was sure her being a squirter had everything to do with it.

“Damn, baby. You stay wet.” Jeff was obviously enjoying the peep show.

“If you want some, come get some,” Ménage ordered him.

Jeff took baby steps forward, his eyes drawn to her sweet carnation pink center as his steel-like pipe aimed in her direction like a loaded Smith & Wesson, ready to cause some internal destruction. Noticing his cell phone on the floor, he picked it up and tossed it back on the nightstand. Ménage watched on sheepishly, wishing she could have seen the look on that bitch's face as she got an earful of the two of them going at it. She bet his baby mama was lying up sick right now after listening to another woman getting dicked down by her man. Ménage gave it her all not to burst out into laughter.

Jeff climbed on the bed and crawled toward her. The desire to have him back inside of her mouth had sweat building on her tongue. She spread her legs as wide as they would go and upon that notion, Jeff lowered his entire face back into her yoni. She wrapped her legs loosely around his backside and fisted the sheets as he drove his tongue deeply inside of her.

“Right there, daddy,” Ménage squealed as the tip of Jeff's tongue put a gentle spanking on her clit, driving her insane.

“You like that?” Jeff asked, nudging his nose against her arousal as his tongue seesawed between her slippery folds.

Ménage's eyes were practically rolling in the back of her head. “Oh yessss!” she hollered.

Jeff slid his right middle finger inside of her while his tongue paddled through her recurring waves. Ménage placed her hands on the back of his head, propped a leg over his nice tight ass, and fed it to him right.

“I'm about to cum, baby!” Ménage announced. Soon as the words left her lips, Jeff stopped, flipped her over on all fours, and began devouring her from behind. He slapped her on her ass and reacted at how it bounced back against his face. “Ooohhh shit!” Ménage moaned, pulling at her left nipple ring, loving the pain that it brought.

“This what you wanted, huh?”

“Yessss, daddy. Punish this pussy!” Ménage sang. “Don't cheat me outta my fucking nut!” Ménage could tell by how hard his dick felt against her ass that he was on the brink of explosion. He blindly reached on the side of him and grabbed the last rubber out of the Magnum pack. He slipped it on quickly all while he continued his feast, forcing her to reach a climax so big that she squirted all over his face.

He lifted his face from her crotch and took his tongue skinny-dipping along the river banks of her asshole. “I'ma teach you to stop nutting until I say when—” Jeff stopped mid-sentence when they heard a pounding knock on the door. He was hard as tree lumber and about one second away from making his grand entrance inside of her before the abrupt interruption.

Ménage stiffened all at once and then rolled over onto her side as the second round of knocks came.

“You expecting somebody?” Jeff asked, his face pulled into a scrunch.

Ménage checked the time. “No, I'm not expecting anybody this late.” She jumped up from the bed and hurried over to the dresser. She threw on a white tank and a pair of lime-green, low-rise terry shorts that made her ass look twice as big, then practically power-walked toward the front door. She looked out the peephole before cracking it open. It was her neighbor and good friend, Tiffany, from directly across the hall.

When Jeff heard the front door open and close, his guard came up. He cursed under his breath as he threw his boxers and jeans on as fast as he could. A million things ran through his mind as he dressed. One of them was whether it was one of Ménage's customers. A hint of jealousy crept over him, but he quickly dismissed it. Although Ménage wasn't what he would ever classify as his woman, she was indeed his lover, his comforter, and his newest addiction. In only a short year, she had replaced all the things that Nadine used to be at one point, and more. In that short time span, Jeff had grown to care for Ménage, but that was about as far as he would allow his feelings to go for her, or for any woman. His pride had been walked on, his feelings pissed on, and his heart shitted on—all by a damn woman. A woman that he once proudly claimed as his wife. He had been betrayed in the worst way and he didn't know if he would ever recover.

A major chain of events had his mind and his heart in a screwed-up place right now, and all a woman could do for him was reward
him with some no-strings-attached-conversation and some have-it-your-way-on-the-go pussy. That was
all
he expected and needed from a woman—pussy and conversation—it was all that he would allow a woman to give him generously. He didn't need or want an emotional deposit. That was a personal investment that he knew she would never get a return on, because emotionally, Jeff had checked the hell out. The invisible scars across his chest suggested that he wasn't built to love or trust anybody else. His player's card had been restored and it was time to put that baby to maximum use and catch up on lost time. The days of feeling obligated to one woman and being boggled down with one woman, were history. He was a free man, mentally and physically, and free men did whatever the hell they wanted to, when they wanted to, without the restrictions.

Jeff headed into the living room and found the front door wide open. He could faintly hear Ménage arguing with someone outside as their voices carried into her second-floor apartment. He hurried down the stairs and trudged toward the commotion brewing in the parking lot, unsure as to what was going on.

“I said don't touch my gotdamn car!”

“Sorry, ma'am, you're going to have to call our office in the morning and straighten this out on your own time. As far as I'm concerned, your name is on my list to repossess your vehicle, and that's exactly what I'm here to do.”

“I better not see one scratch on my shit!” Ménage screamed over the loud grinding noise that came from the tow truck as it raised her new black Honda Accord onto the flatbed. The fully loaded vehicle was decked out with custom chrome wheels and dark-tinted windows. It was one of the dressiest cars in the parking lot, with a license plate that read
BOSS B
. With her face twisted in a scowl, she yelled, “I'm calling the police. Your list is a bunch
of bullshit!” She screamed loud enough for the entire apartment complex to hear her.

“Go right on ahead, ma'am. I'll leave a card for them too.”

Ménage grunted and turned to walk off just as Jeff was coming up from behind.

“Hey, hey, hey. What's going on?” Jeff asked. His eyes darted from a hysterical Ménage to the short, heavyset, and balding Hispanic man who was dressed in plain dingy clothing that had visible dirt and oil stains on both his shirt and jeans. He looked over to the tow truck. One side of it read:
GARCIA'S WRECKER SERVICE.

“I'm towing this
nice
young lady's car, because she hasn't paid her bills,” the man retorted sarcastically.

“That's bullshit! I pay all my damn bills and when I call the bank tomorrow to straighten this shit out, I'm going to see to it that your ass is fired!” Ménage fired back. Her silver spike hoop earrings bounced against her shoulders as she fired off.

The man stopped what he was doing only to smile at Ménage and then went right back to work.

“Asshole,” Ménage huffed loudly, crossing her arms.