Thank you for the wonderful comments. Here is installment 2. Enjoy
The bar’s atmosphere sizzled. The smoke hugged the ceiling like smog; strobe lights barely making a dent. The volume of the speakers was obviously turned up to LOUD AS HELL. It took great effort to even think, much less converse.
A crowd encircled a couple. Center stage. The floor all to themselves. The man was tall, dark, and impeccably dressed as was his partner, an equally tall, mocha-colored, blonde bombshell. Their bodies writhed to the samba music. Swing in. Swing out. Twirl. Their bodies like spinning tops whirling across the floor. But this samba wasn’t the usual. They’d added an African flair to the Latin dance—exaggerated pelvic movements and thrusts. Dry-fucking.
His tongue trailed down her neck, saliva glistened in the light. Fine-boned hands massaged her stomach then skimmed up, ever so slowly, to cup her fabric-encased breasts. My nether lips twitched.
I crossed my legs to stop the sexual impulses that were trying to grab a foothold. I wasn’t here to get off but to do a job. Him. John Pendergast. The mark. A cheating husband who I’m being paid to get the goods on by his wife. My partner, Schi, was the woman he was all over. The dumb fuck.
With steady hands, I snapped a few shots of their antics with my spypen. The music ends with the man’s lips pressed deep between the valley of the Schi’s breasts. In amusement, I wondered how many other women he’d been on this same floor with, licking the same way.
Suddenly, the hair rose on the back of my neck. Trouble.
Scanning the room, my radar honed in on one specimen striding confidently my way. Strobe lights illuminated him in snatches. From what I could see, I liked—caramel, tall and built like a male brick shithouse except…for the Danger sign embedded in his forehead like a neon light.
Turning back to the bar, I crossed my legs; appeared nonchalant. He took the stool next to mine. Cologne teased my nostrils. A hand is placed open-palm near mine.
Looking up, I find my eyes captured by a pair of hazel ones surrounded by a goateed, caramel face. “I’m Meylon. Let me buy you a drink.” His voice is just as I expected. Gritty. Rough around the edges. Danger oozing from his pores. An unwanted distraction.
“Mo, and I’ll have another Singapore Sling.” I said, ignoring the hand and tossing back the last of my drink, my brain screaming Run! Run! Run!
I should be scared…but I’m not. Cassieta Modine ain’t afraid of too much. Just God and a gun and he’s neither.
He glanced at the couple leaving the floor. Bodies fused. “Know them?” He asked, surprising me.
Normally, this is where I have to give a long soliloquy about my name. It doesn’t seem to faze him at all. I looked at him with greater appreciation.
“No,” I said with a taunt, fake smile.
“Looks like you want to,” his deep voice rumbled out.
“They were just putting on a show and I didn’t want to miss the encore if there’s one,” I finished, eyebrow lifted. A dare.
“Ahem. A voyeur.” He stroked his goatee.
“Not really. But, hey, if you don’t mind screwing where I can see, I’m damn sure gonna watch.”
“Touché.” He said, his hands moving to lightly touch my exposed back.
This is a bold brother here. Playing me cheap. I stiffened and removed his hand. A hand that had awakened nerves I’d buried years ago. Not by choice. Had to.
He lifted his hands in surrender. “My bad. Guess I’m moving too fast for you,” he chuckled.
“For yourself, too.” I replied succinctly, refusing to be drawn into sexual play I couldn’t, wouldn’t participate in.
Smirking, Meylon turned and asked the bartender to freshen my drink. I glanced over at the couple now situated in a booth. Still at it I saw. The mark’s hands were now inside the V of Schi’s dress, her tongue licking her lips. Damn! I need another photo! I maneuvered the spypen up and in their direction, clicking imperceptibly.
Meylon followed the direction of my eyes. “You sure I’m not intruding?”
I turned back to my fresh drink, keeping the couple in my periphery. “No. Why’d you say that?” I gave him a hard stare.
“Looks like you’re more interested in that dude and lady than me. That’s a first,” he snorted.
Scanning him from his closely cropped head to his indented waist down to his Stacy Adams encased toes, I realize that was probably true. Well, no reason for me to swell his head bigger than it obviously already was. “Like I said, I don’t want to miss any encores.”
He leaned closer. “We could be the encore,” he said, his liquor sweetened breath bathing my face. “Mo…I so want to—”
I interrupted whatever line he was about to try on me. “Please. Give it a rest. Okay?” I was not in the mood for some new variation of a trite come-on and I think I’ve probably heard them all. They usually start with ‘Baby you are so fine’ or ‘When my eyes met yours, I knew you were the one for me.’ Only problem is, they always forget to add the ‘Let’s fuck tonight’ to the end of them. And that’s all they want to do. But, I’m not interested.
His nostrils flared. Eyes became hooded. Defensive.
I saw the man and woman suddenly rise from the booth, coats in hand.
Without another word, I swung down from the barstool and strode towards the door.
“Hey!” Meylon called after me.
I didn’t even break stride. I had work to do.
“Hey! Mo!” I heard him yell. Closer. I kept walking until a hand grabbed my upper arm, stopping me in my tracks.
With ease of practice, I grabbed his thumb, twisted and lifted upwards. He cussed in pain. Seeing a chair next to us, I gave him a solid punch to the solar plexus. He grunted and slumped forward. I caught him and pushed his gasping body into the chair. His eyes spoke volumes as they burned into mine. Time shifted. Then, I tore my eyes away and without another glance, walked out the door and onto the street, Meylon’s eyes haunting me as I began the second phase of my night work.
I pushed those eyes from my mind as I jogged over to my nondescript Crown Victoria and cranked the engine while watching the door. John’s Mercedes was parked five cars up.
They exited the club, still hugged up tighter than welded metal. Schi gave me a discreet “thumbs up” sign before he seated her in the car. I let a few vehicles pass by before I pulled out to trail them. Thankfully, a busted taillight— courtesy of yours truly— made surveillance an easy task.
After ten minutes of riding, they pulled into the Grommet Hotel. I whistled. Hey, now, big spender! This is one of those hotels that start at two-fifty a night. That he would spend that kind of money on a woman he just met was obscene to me.
I parked across the street from them, grabbed my large “suitcase” purse and walked confidently towards the entrance. The attendant opened the door, a pleasant greeting sliding from his lips. Entering the lobby, I saw John retrieving his key from the desk clerk. Thankfully, the elevators were in clear view, so I walked purposely towards them, my progress hidden from view of the clerk. They followed on my heels and we entered the elevator together.
“Floor?” I asked pleasantly.
“Ah…” John began, looking down at the key, “ah…twelfth.”
I pushed the button for the twelfth floor. I guess John truly was an exhibitionist since he began ardently fondling Schi before the doors closed completely; totally disregarded my presence.
That’s all right. He’ll know who I am in a few.
The elevator shot up to the correct floor. I held the door open button as they shuffled out; arms wrapped around each other like a cocoon. I followed, stopping to stare at the arrow signs, appearing to anyone watching that I was trying to locate my room.
They ambled down the hallway to my left. After a few seconds, in which time I saw John fumble with and finally open a room, I retraced their steps.
My adrenaline was surging as it always was at this point of the game. If everything went as usual, then Schi should have suggested that the mark “freshen up” in the bathroom while I enter.
I knocked lightly.
Schi immediately opened the door. No words were exchanged. None were needed. As I sat my bag on the floor, we heard the sound of the toilet flushing.
John stumbled out wearing only his boxers, his erection evident. He stopped short when he spied me. “Who the hell…what the hell…” he fumbled, eyes vacillating between me and Schi. “What’s going on here?”
“Baby, I thought we’d finish the night off with a bang!” Schi said breezily as she walked over and boldly began massaging his pole through his shorts. Kisses rained down on his neck and chest for added persuasion. “I thought you’d enjoy a threesome. Hell! What man doesn’t?” She finished with a laugh.
He closed his eyes as she pulled his rod free of his shorts, his body involuntarily consenting to anything and everything.
That’s my boy.
Schi maneuvered him onto the bed willingly. I joined the party, rubbing him all over his chest. His hand pushed into the neckline of my dress without preamble. John moaned as Schi stroked him, bit his chest.
Reaching behind me, I removed two sets of handcuffs. Schi never stopped biting as I passed one set to her over John’s still closed eyes. I mouthed the numbers and on the count of “Three” we each snapped a cuff over a wrist. John’s eyes flipped open with the first click. Before he could fight, we quickly snapped the other end to the headboard. Thankfully, they had iron beds in here, otherwise I’d have to use the rope and it’s more difficult.
“What the fuck is going on!” he roared. “I don’t do no freaky tying up shit! Turn me loose!”
Ignoring him, we each grabbed a leg, intending to handcuff his ankles to the footboard. Sensing this, John began thrashing about; feet kicking at us.
“Watch out!” I screamed just before his foot connected with Schi’s chest and she thumped onto the floor.
“What’s this shit about?!” he screamed at me, spittle flying in my face.
This beyotch better be HIV negative!
Angered, I punched him in the stomach, silencing him. I grabbed a now-complacent foot and handcuffed the ankle to the footboard. I repeated this with the other ankle before checking on Schi. Pulling her off the floor, I saw that she was shook up, but otherwise unhurt.
“What…is….this…about?” John gasped, eyes wide. “My… money… is… in… my…wallet.”
I tsked him. “This is not about money, at all,” I assured him. Not from him, anyway.
“Well…what is it about?” His voice grew stronger, meaner. “I mean, I pick up this bitch at a bar,” his eyes darted to Schi, “and you join us and tie me up. If it’s not about money, then what the fuck is it about?”
The thing about me and Schi is, you can think we’re bitches all you want to. Just don’t call us one.
Schi shimmied over to my bag and retrieved a short whip.
“Wait, girl. Don’t mark him up!” I told her, knowing how vicious she could be when angered. And calling her a bitch will do it every time.
“I’m not gonna mark this asshole up. I’m just making sure that Mrs. Pendergast gets her money’s worth. Grab the damn camera!” Schi urged, a devious look in her eyes. I did so with a smile.
“My wife!” John sputtered. “What the hell does she have to do with this?” Realization dawned.
“I’ll pay you double what she’s paying you! How much is it?”
“Save your money, sweetie. After you called me a bitch…I’d do this for free.” Schi whispered with a saccharine smile that didn’t quite reach past her nose.
“You bitches, you! I’m gonna get you for this! You don’t know who you’re messing with!”
I shook my head. He was screwing himself into a tight corner.
John pulled, pushed and wiggled in an effort to free himself to no avail.
Schi looked at me. “Ready?”
“As ever,” I affirmed.
Camera in position, Schi forcefully slapped his exposed rod with her bare hand. His mouth opened in anguish and Schi positioned her nipple close—but not too close—to his open mouth. Through the camera lens, it looked like he was taking a break from sucking, ecstasy etched in his face. I clicked with relish.
She then sat on his chest and inched her body forward. John began bucking, knowing what she was about to do. She stopped scant inches from his mouth and thigh-locked his face. For all the world, it would appear that he was performing oral sex, especially when she arched her back and palmed her own breasts.
I snapped photos like crazy, my own panties wet.
John must have felt it too because his previously deflated erection rose to attention.
Schi changed positions and leaned towards the erection. John pushed upwards, obviously fooling himself that he was gonna really get some action. Schi let her hair fall forward, shielding her lips and the top part of his rod. From the side, it looked like straight up fellatio.
And half of the estate goes to Mrs. Pendergast!
Schi wrapped the whip around the base of his rod, giving the set shot a sex-frenzy feeling. Like he and she were really into this thing. From the way John was grunting and shifting around trying to locate her mouth, I think he was really into this thing.
After eating up two rolls of film, Schi slid off the bed and began putting on her clothes.
“What? That’s it?” John asked perplexed. “I’m really not getting any? This is really for my wife?” I heard the fear return to his voice.
“Yep. You’re not and it is,” I said before returning the camera to my purse.
“What about the keys? You aren’t going to just leave me here like this, are you?” He looked between us, discerning the answer for himself. “Please. Please. Don’t do this.”
Let the groveling begin!
John rattled the cuffs against the bed. I never turned to look at him, my job now finished.
“I’ll get you bitches! I’ll cut your hands off and slit your throat! You don’t know who you’re fucking with!” John screamed at my back.
Give me a dollar for every time I’ve heard that statement or one of its variations, and I’d be nearly a millionaire.
“Ready, girl?” I looked towards Schi as she stood.
We walked out the door without another glance at John, him continuing to shout obscenities at out back. As the door clicked shut, we high-fived each other and sista’ strutted towards the elevator. Ahhhhhhhh. Another lying/cheating/philandering asshole bites the dust.
The alarm clock screamed, jolting me awake, my dream now only wisps of disconnected memory bites leaving me somehow…uneasy.