Les Tales (19 page)

“So tell me. What did you think?” Nina asked.

“It was almost everything Layne described, but nothing compares to being there. I see why Layne got hooked,” I admitted. “I can't wait until we visit the next place.”

“That was a two-star hotel we just left. Where we're going next time, that's a five-star resort. You'll fit right in.”

We reached our cars. “Come over?” I asked. My body was too hot for the night to come to an end. I needed more.

“I'll follow you,” she agreed.

We reached my home in thirty minutes, good timing considering Chicago's never-ending traffic jams. Once inside, I wasted no time. I knew exactly what I wanted.

“Follow me.”

I headed toward the staircase. Nina remained still, and only when I turned around did she start to follow me. She moved carefully, slowly, like she had been forbidden from entering this territory. I guessed I was right in my assumption that Layne had intentionally kept Nina out of our bedroom. That meant that I would have her in a way that Layne hadn't, which gratified me further.

Upstairs, Nina walked behind me down the short hallway to my bedroom. I placed a hand on each handle of the white double doors and paused. Nina was quiet; her breath had halted with anticipation. Finally, I opened the doors to the massive room, whose decor was sleek, modern, simple, and all white. Before us, waiting, was the king-size bed. I threw our coats on a chair, took my shoes off, and nestled comfortably against the pillows at the head of the bed.

“Lie with me,” I requested.

Nina took small steps to the edge of the bed and crawled onto the side on which Layne used to sleep. We faced one another.

“I've never been in here,” she stated, her eyes devouring the space.

“I know. Can we finish what we started at the bar before we were wonderfully interrupted?”

Nina's bottom lip dipped inward into a sheepish smile. I was learning firsthand that she was sexually flexible, playing passive and shy when preyed upon, and dominating and forceful when in her voyeuristic element. She seemed to like it both ways.

“Take your pants off,” I instructed her in the same tone she had used when making demands of the blond woman.

Nina unbuttoned and unzipped her slacks and slid them down to her feet. She used her toes to peel them from her ankles. Again, she wore no panties.

She's sweet. She's salty. She's my palate's favorite flavor. . . .

“I want to taste you.” I raised my arms and removed my wool sweater, then unbuckled the belt around my waist. I lifted my hips, lowered my pants, and tossed them on the floor. Next to Nina, I lay in my pink lace bikini panties and bra. She removed her blouse to reveal a satin black bra with a diamond setting in the center. Nina stretched her body into a receiving position, placing her arms above her head and opening her thighs to me.

“It's yours if you want it,” she eagerly conceded.

It had been years since Layne had allowed me to touch her, and at times I felt like a novice in the art of pleasing another woman. But I had been an attentive apprentice and had taken mental notes of the way Layne's tongue sweet-talked my body into a climactic surrender.

I positioned myself over Nina, anxious to graze her with my lips. I first touched her knees, showering delicate kisses on their bony ridges and alongside the caps. From what I had read, Layne and Nina never made love. They fucked. They had aggressive, forceful, daring sex in reckless places. I wanted to have Nina like Layne hadn't, coupled with her tenderly and gently, making love to her on Layne's side of the bed. Nina yielded to my wishes.

When I finally tasted the sweet tang that fell against my tongue, I laid eyes on the black-and-white photo of Layne and me on the night table at Nina's side. Layne gazed at me with her round eyes and watched the woman she loved wrap her legs around my neck. Nina's hips swayed into a slow grind beneath me, and as she clutched the pillowcases and murmured “Taryn,” I stared back at Layne, satisfied, superior even, having savored her woman in a manner in which she never had.

Ms. Sheila and I stood together outside the center's gym to greet players, parents, volunteers, and spectators from the community as they arrived at the fund-raising basketball game. It had been a busy week of finalizing details to ensure the night went as smoothly as in prior years, as the game was one of the center's most popular annual events, attracting hundreds of people.

I had noticed that Ms. Sheila had been short with me ever since our conversation in Jimmy's office. While she remained cordial when we saw one another, her old eyes scrutinized me. She looked me up and down with the same demeaning gape she had accused Layne of perpetrating. I didn't know if her shortness had anything to do with her words in Jimmy's office and the private conversation I had overheard.

“We haven't had an opportunity to talk and catch up,” I said casually to her after welcoming a group of teenage girls. “How is everything with you?”

“I'm fine. Blessed to see each day.”

“How's Mr. Robertson?” Mr. Robertson was her husband of fifty-one years.

“He's better now. Finally, after all these years, got himself saved at church this past Sunday.”

“That's good for him. You both must be happy.”

“Yes, child, we all need saving of the soul.” Her eyes popped wide behind her glasses. “How have you been?”

“I'm healing. It's getting easier day by day to deal with Layne's passing.”

“Uh-huh.” She clicked her dentures with her tongue.

I pressed her to find out what she disliked about Layne. “What was it about Layne that you didn't care for? She was far from perfect, I know. What had she done to you?”

Ms. Sheila peered at me as if she couldn't believe I didn't know.

“I ain't tryin' to start no mess.”

I became anxious, though I continued to smile as each attendee passed into the gym. “What do you mean? What is it?”

Jimmy appeared in his annual getup, a black suit with a white shirt and a white bow tie. The black leather loafers on his feet shone from a fresh polish. He interrupted our conversation. “Taryn, time to start the game.”

Ms. Sheila looked relieved.

Before the game started, I took to the center of the gym, and with a microphone in hand, I welcomed the guests and thanked them for their attendance and support. I reminded them through their participation at the game, whether a ticket purchase or an additional donation, they were supporting various programs that benefited the center and the community as a whole.

We Are One's drill team performed a dance routine before Sabrina, a sophomore high school student who assisted with some of the younger kids, sang the national anthem. Ms. Sheila had disappeared to the concession stand, where she was assigned to monitor the volunteers. During the first half of the game, Jimmy and I sat courtside with some of the city's well-known supporters, including several politicians, the mayor, two Chicago Bulls players, and Sugar, a famous homegrown talent, who was set to perform one song at halftime. After Sugar's performance and few words spoken by some of the honored guests, all the well-known supporters left, missing the second half.

With five minutes left in the fourth quarter, Ms. Sheila met me again at the gym's exit. I had hoped she would then confess her angst about Layne, but she had brought a young man named Lewis back with her. Lewis was one of the young people from Ron's church who had volunteered to sell hot dogs, chips, soda, and snacks at the concession counter.

“How'd it go, Lewis?” I asked him.

“A'ight.” Lewis was a short guy, about five foot four, and he wore washed-out jeans and an oversize navy-blue Polo T-shirt. He was fidgety, bouncing his feet from left to right, kicking the heels of his white Nikes together.

“A'ight?” I said, mimicking him. “What is that?”

“I mean, I had a good time. Thank you, ma'am.”

“Now, that's better.” I patted him gently on the shoulder, and he jumped. I had learned years ago that some of the kids were unaccustomed to affection, as I had been while growing up, and reacted to touch differently. Some were hostile; some welcoming. Lewis looked at me as if I had offended him, but he quickly softened, casting his eyes downward and biting his bottom lip.

The buzzer soon sounded, signaling the end of the game.

“I gotta go,” Lewis told me and Ms. Sheila.

“Thanks for helping out tonight. We'll see you again?” I asked him.

Without answering, Lewis vanished in front of the crowd of people that began to exit the gym. Ms. Sheila and I repeated “Thank you” many times before we heard gunfire about two minutes later. There were two loud pops back to back. The noise caused the many people who were exiting to run from the gym into the already packed hallway. Security guards rushed past frightened individuals while I grabbed my cell phone from my pocket and called 911.

Jermaine, one of the guards, and I managed to escort Ms. Sheila into one of the small janitor's closets, and I told her to wait there. Jermaine and I then tried to keep the panicked crowd under control on our way out to the parking lot. Everyone outside was screaming as they stood around a boy who lay on the ground. By the time we reached the limp young victim ourselves, several police cars had already arrived, sounding their horns and sirens to break through the thick crowd. Teenagers yelled obscenities, damning the shooter. Others cried for the victim.

“It was Lewis! It was muthafuckin' Lewis. We gon' get his ass!” a young man named Harold yelled.

“No! I can't believe this. Not Eddie!” Sabrina cried.

The officers jumped out of their vehicles and swiftly took control of the crowd, backing the stunned and angry gapers away from the body. They then began their investigation by interviewing the witnesses. For several hours, the center was on lockdown. Some of the attendees were questioned, and Jimmy and I did our best to keep a growing number of antsy and impatient people calm. By the end of the night, we learned that there had been a squabble between Lewis and Eddie. The word on the street was that Eddie had been bragging about having sex with Lewis's younger sister, who was just thirteen years old. Lewis had had his friends meet him outside to give him a gun and then to drive the getaway car.

Over the years, the center had had its share of fights and troubles and had taken careful precautions to keep the kids safe. We hadn't, however, experienced an escalation in violence as severe as a shooting. The media got wind of the shooting, and in response, two reporters arrived to take statements, which Jimmy handled.

Before locking the doors to the center, Jimmy and I sat in his office and completed an incident report, one that we kept on file for the center's records. We also sent an e-mail to Ron, informing him that we needed to meet with him the following week and asking that he adjust his schedule to accommodate our request.

It was almost 4:00 a.m. by the time I got home. After a hot shower, I got into bed and stared across the room at an outfit hanging on the outside of the door to the walk-in closet. After the night's chaos, I was ready to unwind, and that ensemble and what came with it would provide me all the release I needed.

Nina described the mansion as a hedonist's paradise. It was located in a secluded, discreet location, buried at the end of a dark two-mile road in an upscale suburb on the far west side of Chicago. It was midnight when we pulled up to the dimly lit, massive modern-style home. The windows were draped in black coverings, with only a peek of light creeping through the corners. The sight was ominous, yet alluring, I had a feeling of anticipation and trepidation, like one might expect when approaching a dark haunted house.

Men in black tuxedos greeted us after we reached the top of the driveway. One on each side of the car opened our doors. An olive-skinned man with eyes the color of nutmeg took Nina's keys. She handed him a fifty-dollar bill, and he placed a small ticket in her hand.

Nina wore a calf-length sable fur coat, and I, a red-leather trench. We both wore five-inch black platform stilettos, which pounded against the ground as we ascended a lengthy number of steps until we reached large doors with stained-glass windows. Two new tuxedo-wearing men opened the doors and then took our coats, along with the ticket Nina had been given by the valet. Right after that, a woman wearing an elaborate Mardi Gras-style mask approached us with a tray of dry martinis. We each took a glass and began our venture into the party.

I hadn't seen Nina's outfit until now, as we had gotten dressed at our own homes. She wore a tight, strapless black leather dress, short enough to reveal the hump and curve of her ass cheeks from the back. Around her neck was a spiked collar, and she had on matching spiked wrist cuffs made of leather. Her hair was in a gorgeous state of disarray, with wavy curls scattered about her head.

I wore a red and black bustier and a short leather skirt, with a sheer G-string beneath. At Nina's request, I had spent hours putting spiral curls in my hair and following an online makeup tutorial to create intense smoky eyes. Neither technique was I familiar with, yet I was pleased with the transformation. In no way did I resemble the stereotypical conservative, librarian-like woman I saw in the mirror each day.

Nina and I walked across a marble hallway that led to an open, sunken room filled with white leather sofas and silver and glass tables. Dim pink lighting created an intimate vibe throughout. Contemporary jazz poured through speakers at a low volume.

Men and women casually mingled about, talking and drinking, socializing as if they were at a dinner party. The only giveaway as to the nature of the evening was our attire, or a lack of it for most. Many men and women were dressed like me and Nina, with bare-chested guys in leather chaps and women in leather catsuits or tight-fitting dresses. Other women wore lingerie: sheer chemises, lace camisoles, and bras and panties with garters. Everyone was beautiful, like airbrushed magazine cover models with high cheekbones and pouty lips. Everybody was fit, toned, and shapely.

“There is no sex in this area,” Nina explained. “This is where guests come before they venture down either of the halls.” On each side of the room was a long hallway. “The rooms to our left are for orgies.” All the doors down that hallway were closed. “You'll see what the right side is for later,” she teased.

We sat on a love seat and were soon approached by a woman who had been standing alone near the bar. She was an Egyptian beauty, with a golden-tawny complexion against midnight-black hair. On her slim figure she wore a sparkling gold bra and panty set with black fringes that swayed with her every step.

“Hello.” She stood in front of me and introduced herself. “I'm Clarissa.”

“I'm Shelley,” I lied. Nina had informed me that although names were rarely exchanged, I should be ready to provide a fake one if needed. She had told me that many women used cliché, alter ego stripper-like names, such as Diamond, Precious, and Tasty, and had recommended that we invent the opposite.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Clarissa asked me.

Nina scooted to the side to make room for three. Clarissa placed herself next to me, her legs stretched outward, with the right over the left. She rested her arm behind my head.

“I couldn't resist speaking to you.” She tousled one of my curls between two fingers. “You look amazing.”

I blushed and felt nervous, unsure if Clarissa's presence was an invasion, considering I had arrived with Nina and expected to follow her lead. “Thank you.”

“I am alone tonight,” Clarissa announced. “Would you mind if I accompany you?”

I didn't have an answer for her, unaware myself of what the rest of our night entailed.

“You are more than welcome,” Nina answered on our behalf. “Come.”

The three of us got up and walked to the hall at our left. On the handle of each closed door hung a red or green sign. I heard moans and groans and words of pleasure from behind each door.

“Clarissa, you know what this means, don't you?” Nina asked.

Clarissa's red lips arched upward. “I do.”

“Please explain to Shelley.”

Clarissa leaned close to my face. Her skin smelled fresh, with the light scent of jasmine circling about her.

“Behind these doors lies a variety of fantasies. Red signs mean that no additional guests are allowed.”

We continued to walk until we reached the fifth door, where Nina stopped and put her hand on a gold handle with a green sign.

“The green means more are welcome,” Clariss told me.

Nina pushed the handle and opened the door. Inside the small room were four naked women, a brunette, a blonde, a redhead, and a silky smooth woman with luscious chocolate skin. The redhead stood at the edge of a high bed, her hands at the waist of the blonde, penetrating her from behind with a strapped dildo. The African-American woman kneeled on the bed, her ass pressed against the face of the blonde. She cooed oohs and aahs as the woman's tongue dove into her coffee cheeks. The brunette sat on a corner chair, her legs spread wide over the armrests, masturbating with a vibrator. Nina closed the door behind us.

The three of us leaned against the wall and watched. For a woman who had never experienced the environment I was in, I felt comfortable. I was aroused. I was wet and wanted to relieve the throbbing that instantly pulsed between my legs.

I directed my attention to the woman in the chair. She had been watching the women on the bed, but her eyes now turned to mine. She increased the speed of the tiny purple vibrator and rubbed it aggressively against her clit. Her murmurs increased in volume as she climaxed, and her pink lips opened and shut with each pleasurable spasm. She rested a moment, her arms at her sides, then got up, walked up to us, and stood in front of me. She took my glass and sipped. She kissed me next, her tongue warm and tasting of expensive vodka.

“You are a beauty,” she told me.

So was she, with tanned skin, dark brown layered hair, and lust-filled blue eyes. She looked at Nina, assuming I belonged to her. “May I?”

Nina gave her permission to touch me. “Yes.”

The woman stroked the moisture between my legs, and her slim finger grazed my lips. “Oh, yes.” She turned to Nina. “I'll tie her hands.”

She opened a small box on the floor next to the bed and pulled out a rope. She stood in front of me and took my hands, placed them behind my head, and tied my wrists together. Next, she loosened the strings at the back of the tight-fitting bustier and released it. She ran her hands down my chest until she reached my abdomen. She caressed me, then continued to rub her hands down my thighs until she spread my legs. She lowered herself to her knees, unhooked my skirt, and slid it down my body. With her teeth, she removed my panties. She tossed them into the small box after I stepped out of them. Her tongue suddenly darted out, and she licked my hungry lips.

“You are in for a treat,” she told Nina after she stood. Then she and Clarissa took several steps backward and allowed Nina to take control.

With her left hand, Nina grabbed my throat and squeezed, choking me as I had her that day in her office. With her right, she pinched and rubbed my clit. I struggled for oxygen, while enjoying the pleasing sensations the tips of her fingers brought me. I neared climax quickly, and she stopped, releasing the grip around my throat and abruptly ceasing the pleasure. She got on her knees and, with a warm tongue, aroused me once again. Repeatedly, she brought me close to orgasm, only to stop before the actual release.

I was sweating, my heart was beating fast, and my knees quivered. I was near tears with desire. The woman had returned to her chair, masturbating while watching us.

“Beg me,” Nina demanded.

“Please,” I cried desperately.

“Please, what?”

“Let me cum,” I pleaded.

Nina licked the wetness around my lips and on my upper thighs, continuing to tease me. “Not yet.” She turned to all the women. “It's showtime, ladies.”

With that, they all stopped fucking and stood up. One of them, the redhead, retrieved a collar from the box, untied my hands, and placed it around my neck. Another grabbed a chain and attached it. She handed the chain to Nina, along with a whip.

“Hands and knees,” Nina instructed.

I lowered myself to the floor and waited. The women used white towels to blot themselves dry, and then Nina opened the door. Nina lashed the whip against my ass and told me to go. On my hands and knees, like a dog, I entered the hallway. Across the shiny floor, she led me back through the lounge area and down the other hallway. All the guests, every single one of them, followed us to the last door at the end of the right hall. I entered first, with Nina at my side and the four women, plus Clarissa, in tow. The room was large, with dark gray cement-like walls and a poster bed in the middle of the floor.

“Get on.” Nina unclasped the hook of the chain from the collar.

I crawled onto the bed and lay on my back. Men and women sat in chairs and stood around me with drinks in hand. Some kissed, some ground against one another, but mostly I was the center of their attention. At least fifty sets of hungry eyes devoured my body. I was sweating with anticipation of what was next.

The four women each took an arm or a leg and tied it to a corner post. The scene was almost as I had pictured it the many nights I touched myself while thinking about it. Nina stood at the foot of the bed, with Clarissa at her side. Nina then nodded to the redhead, who then crawled onto the bed with a black leather flogger in her hand. She rested her body behind my head and ran the flogger over my face, down my lips, and between my breasts, caressing my nipples. She slapped one, then both, darting the leather left and right. I arched my back, wanting more. I wanted her to go lower, to help me release the pressure I had inside. She stroked my stomach with the flogger and finally tapped my clit. She danced it around and around until again, I was ready to break free. Nina told her to stop. Upon command, the woman got off the bed and stood at the top right post.

The masturbating brunette was next. On top of me she positioned herself in a sixty-nine position, and with her rouge ass in my face, she buried her tongue deep inside of me. I screamed uncontrollably, and my legs shook. She fucked me with her stiff tongue, and within seconds, I was ready to burst. She stopped. It was the most pleasing torture I could have imagined.

Then the blonde crept onto the bed, placing herself at my ankles. I felt her tongue lick the top of my foot, slow and then fast, making circles on and tapping my skin, and then with her lips she made strong sucks up my shins to my knees and thighs. She never stopped kissing.

At last, the dreamy cocoa woman crawled snake-like onto the bed, her long legs slithering across the silver sheets, and straddled my chest. She lowered her waist onto my left breast, stroking her clit against my erect nipple. Between the kisses to my thighs and the moans from the woman pleasing herself, I wanted nothing more than to squeeze my legs tight and cum with her. But, with my legs separated, I couldn't. Instead, I focused on the way her lower lips swallowed my nipple, which was becoming increasingly wet, sliding against my skin. With the limited experience I had exploring a woman's body, I had never considered an orgasm possible in that manner. When the woman squeezed her knees tightly around my body and let out one final cry of ecstasy, I yelled with her, repeating the flurry of curse words that escaped her full lips. Her aroma remained even after she removed herself from on top of me.

Nina, who hadn't moved and had stood to watch each woman's performance, walked to each post and untied the rope that bound me to it. At the right side of the bed she positioned herself and raised her short leather dress. The redhead handed her a tan-colored rubber penis. My eyes grew wide. Layne and I had never used toys in lovemaking. I was unsure what to expect. Nina watched me as she attached it to the straps of the leather holder around her waist. She smirked deviously as she got onto the bed with me.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the grand finale,” Nina announced.

Nina approached me on her hands and knees and surprised me by lying down and flipping me on top of her. She saw the fear and desire in my eyes.

“Ride it, Taryn,” she instructed me softly, so only I could hear. She guided me to my knees, over her, until the tip touched my soft wetness. “Come down slow.”

My lips slid onto the dildo and flooded the empty space that had been craving attention. I gasped from the twinge of pain and the simultaneous pleasure as the dildo rubbed against and filled my inner flesh.

“Yes, that's it,” Nina whispered. “Rock with me.”

Nina rolled her hips beneath my body, and I felt the pressure of the dildo deeper inside. It found an untouched place, a small womb that nestled every hidden fiber of pleasure I had not experienced. With each stroke, I came down against Nina, the dildo grazing my insides, my clit brushing against the heated leather. My flesh gripped and pulsated around the dildo as my climax built. My ass smacked against Nina's upper thighs, and the look on her face was stern, as she was intent on bringing me to wild orgasm. The ripples intensified until my body tensed from the strength of the orgasm, which had been escalating for an hour, and a rush of juices streamed down the dildo, ejaculating onto the leather.