Samantha and Tilly Fallen Angels

Samantha and Tilly

Fallen Angels

An interracial lesbian love story

Millie Dynamite

Copyright© 2015/23 by Millie Dynamite

NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic sexual nature. This book is pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously—any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, real events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Samantha and Tilly

Fallen Angels

—2005 —

The Gritty Underbelly of the City

In January, a freezing wind raged through the city, bringing a cold like a knife cutting a person to the bone. Wisps of powdery snow fluttered in the wind, and faint streaks of white residue blew across the sidewalks and icy streets. Only a few girls hung in it until midnight. Fewer still lasted after half past twelve on the footpath.

Even the Johns weren't cruising, so why had Tilly stayed until one am? Simple, she hadn't earned enough for days. Her pimp would be angry. A pimp was terrible at the best of times, but a pissed-off pimp was incredibly bad.

Tilly needed a goose to come along with a golden egg she might swipe. A prince charming, she could con into helping her out, with more than enough. Some baker who was careless with the bread. But by one fifteen, she'd lost hope of earning enough to avoid a beating.

What Tilly really needed was a savage she might tame and use as a protector. One who wouldn't take most of the money she earned. A pimp with a heart. If such a creature existed.

Tilly ducked into the backroom of the abandoned pawn shop at South Robinson and 39th Street. Flipping on the small heater, Tilly opened the door to the front of the store just a little, watching to see if a car cruised the avenue. The power was still on. Likewise, the heater ran at the lowest setting, 60 degrees, to keep the pipes from freezing.

The tiny floor heater glowed red in the dark, casting heat inside the room. Tilly stuck one foot to the heater, eye gazing outside. She'd have to keep trying. She needed at least thirty more bucks to make Jamil happy.

Meanwhile, at night trips on Reno Ave., Sam sauntered about the room, looking for a peacock to pluck. The hour grew late. Most of the men were drunk, but they were all burly young guys with little money for her take.

An older fellow staggered into the club and plopped into a chair at a table close to the stage. Samantha danced toward him, swaying her hips, staring into his eyes. His inebriation was evident. And Sam understood he'd pass out with only a little more booze needed to pry his money from before that happened. She bent to his ear.

"How about a private dance?"

"How much?" he asked, pulling bills from his pocket. With a quick motion, Sam plucked a twenty from the pile.

"This'll get you in the room. It's a good start for much fun in the champagne room."

She walked away toward one of the private rooms. Like a puppy, the older man followed, licking his lips, wondering how far she might go. Waiting for him at the door, she handed the twenty to the bouncer.

"This is off-book," she said. "That's your cut. Keep this between you and me."

Jack, the bouncer, grabbed the bill and quickly slipped it into his pocket, nodded his approval.

The fifty-ish man had a shit-eating grin as he entered the small room. It took him four steps to make the chair. He dropped into the seat, loosened his tie, dug out the bills from his pants pocket, and handed her a ten. Stuffed the remaining wad of money back in his pocket.

The door opened. A woman with a voluptuous figure and minimal clothing entered the room. She made her way to the table, balancing a heavy bucket of ice and two long-stemmed champagne glasses on a tray. A bottle of Dom Pérignon tucked inside the bucket cooled to perfection.

The man gazed at the champagne, bewildered.

"Compliments of the house, room cost, however, is 250 dollars. Credit card or cash?" the girl asked.

"Cash," he said. His mind spun on tangents, not quite grasping what was happening. He contemplated the cash from his pocket for a moment but realized the money there wasn't enough. Pulling his wallet from his inside coat pocket, he plucked three one-hundred-dollar bills and held out the payment.

"Thank you for the tip," she said breathlessly.

"Tip," he said. "Yeah, sure."

The well-shaped woman pulled the glasses out, then removed the foil and wires from the cork. Putting the bottle between her legs, she stooped, twisted the cork, drew it, and freed it with a loud pop.

She filled the glasses, returned the champagne to the bucket. Bending, the woman ran her fingers over his arm, pressed her lips to his cheek. She gave him a messy kiss, grinning mischievously. Leaving him with bright red lipstick marking the spot.

"Enjoy," she said. Samantha watched as she left the room, turning back to offer a smile and a wink before disappearing.

The music which played outside the room blared on speakers in the room. Sam swayed, gyrated her hips, and moved with the music. The man sipped the wine, taking in her form like he drank booze.

The dancer wore a black bra over her apple-sized breasts. A leather belt with handcuffs hanging on them, a bullwhip on the other side. A black thong left little to the imagination. Her heels were high and spiked, and her legs sported lacey stockings held up by garters.

Her muscled body undulated, twisting this way and that. Teasing him with possibilities. She danced behind, pulling his coat off his shoulders and body. She threw it off to one side. Running her hands over his body, his blood boiled in desire.

Softly, slowly, she pulled his hands behind and slipped the cuffs on, locking them behind his back.

"Oh, my," he said.

Samantha danced to his coat, sticking her ass toward his face. She stooped, pulling the billfold from the pocket.

"Oh, my God," she said, "so much money all for me. I shouldn't." Sam turned to him and dropped the wallet to the floor. "Maybe what's in your pocket is what you want to give me."

He nodded.

Coming to him, she forced his legs together and straddled him. Sam lowered herself onto his lap. She gazed into his eyes intently, as if she searched for a secret.

"Somebodies got a stiffy," she taunted him.

"Yeah, I do. Can you help me with that?"

Samantha slipped her fingers into his pocket, digging down until she found the money. She retrieved the wad of cash. Laughing, she slid the hundred or so dollars into her bra next to her heart.

"Why not?" she said. She took the zipper and slipped it down. Slipping her hand inside his pants, she grabbed his small, hard cock. Sam squeezed his cock and balls.

Surge after surge of cum shot from him. Soaking his pants and underwear. The man moaned and groaned as the enjoyment washed over him. Raising her semen-covered hand to his mouth, she spread his seed over his lips.

"You created a nasty, gooey mess all over my fingers. Clean it up," she said. "Or I'll hurt you."

He lapped it up without questions or hesitation.

Picking up the bottle, Sam put it in his mouth.

"Drink," she said. Turning the bottle up, while the man greedily gulped it until it was empty. His eyes glassed over, and he gazed at his goddess as she picked up the wallet. "I can have all of this lovely money, right?"

He nodded. After a few moments, his head lulled down on his chest. Between soft snorts, snores, and murmuring, he said, "Take whatever you want."

Unhooking the handcuffs, she lowered the man to the floor and left him to be assisted by the bouncer to a cab at closing. Sam went to the dressing room to count her money for the night. She hid what she didn't want to turn in. Turned in the take for the night that she admitted to, asking for her cut to go on her check.

"You did splendid tonight," the manager said, pulling a fifty from the funds and handing it to her. "You're a good egg. This is between you and me."

"Thanks, cross my heart and hope to die. I won't rat you out for showing me favoritism, Timmy." She kissed him on the cheek, knowing she'd taken fifteen times what he handed her before she'd turned in the tips.

Samantha never enjoyed giving the bar ten percent of her tips for the privilege of working there.

On South Robinson, Tilly exited the car and smiled at the mark. "Maybe next time you can have enough to get some pussy, baby."

"Oh, the blowjob was fantastic," he said. "I enjoy getting head more than anything."

Sticking her hand back into the car, palm up, her smile twisted to leer, "How 'bout some more then?"

"I only have a fifty left."

Tilly leaned into the car and ran her hand over his crotch.

"Pretty please."

Instantly, the college student got hard again. "Well, maybe if you suck me again." He fished out the bill as she manipulated his hard cock through his pants.

Taking the bill from him with the other hand, she stroked him and said, "Shit, that a cop, baby." Tilly left the car and slammed the door, walking away from him.

The guy put the car in gear, driving into the dark without looking to see if there was a police car.

Tilly turned back, wondering if he might ever realize she always did that to him every time.

"Dumb cracker, motherfucker."

A Corvette turned onto the street a few blocks ahead of her, crawling toward her. Unbuttoning her coat, Tilly pulled it open and angled herself toward the approaching car. A cigarette dangled from the driver's lip.

As the car drew near, the passenger window slid down. When the vehicle stopped, a white woman, about eight or nine years older than Tilly, gazed at her.

"I ain't lesbian," Tilly said.

"Have you ever tied it with a woman?"

"No."

"Would you for five hundred dollars?"

"Yeah, sure I would." Opening the door, Tilly clambered into the car and shut the door. She pushed the button, and with an electronic whirr, the window slid up, shutting out the cold air.

"Nice and warm in here."

"We can't do this in the car."

"I don't have a room," Tilly said.

"I'll get us a motel room."

While Tilly was a whore, she was new to selling herself to a woman. When they got to the room, Tilly stood, statue-like, unsure what to do. She gazed about the room, playing with the buttons on her coat and repeatedly saying, "What a nice room."

The other woman took her coat off and tossed it on a chair.

"I'm Samantha, but you can call me Sam."

"Yeah, well, um, I'm Tilly."

"Hey Tilly, don't you want to take off your coat?"

"Yeah, sure," Tilly said. Removing the coat, glancing around the room, "Sure 'nuff a nice room."

"Wow, Tilly, I didn't realize how little clothing you wore under that coat. What a sexy body you have in that tiny micro-dress."

Sam moved to the younger woman without hesitation, took Tilly in her arms, and kissed her. For a few moments, their lips glued together, and they kissed deep with longing. Out of nowhere, Tilly pushed away.

"Ain't never done that afore," Tilly said, casting her eyes everywhere but at Samantha. "Really is a nice room."

Taking the younger woman by the arms, Sam forced her to look at her.

"Shut the fuck up." Sam pushed the girl onto the bed and crawled on top of her. Sam pushed her hand under the dress, cupped the black girl's bare beaver, and fingered her. Pressing her lips to Tilly's, she trusts her tongue in and out of the girl's mouth.

Tilly moaned and ran her tongue into Sam's mouth. Fumbling with the buttons on Sam's blouse, she found her firm, small breasts and massaged them. Pulling the silk blouse from her shoulders, Tilly ran her hands over the muscled-up woman's body.

"Your hard like a man," Tilly said. Her ragged and quick breathing came in short, almost violent bust as her body burned in fires of passion. "Oh fuck, fuck."

Sam peeled the dress off the girl. Kissing her small, bare tits, working her way to the belly, back to breasts, neck, and Tilly's mouth. As they kissed, their hands playing with the other's body, Samantha asked, "Do you make your customers wear rubbers?"

"Ya, erm, hun, I do."

"Good. Has a woman ever eaten you?"

"Nobody ever done that," Tilly gasped, their lips touching as they spoke, exchanging air and spittle.

Sam kissed down her body, licking and sucking on the dark, tender flesh, making her way toward her desired goal.

"Oh, God, in heaven."

With passionate kisses and long, languorous slivers of her tongue. Sam explored the shaved pubic mound, tickling the clit, sliding down and parting the lips. Taking the bud, peaking out of its hood, between her teeth, Sam teased the clit.

Tilly's body twitched, her toes curled, and her hands dug at the sheets.

"You taste so yummy." Sam inserted her tongue into the cunny.

"Shit, oh, umm, goddamn, that's so wonderful." Tilly's body rippled in sensual transport. She danced away and into the girl's mouth. Thrusting her hips as waves of rapture took her. Massaging her tits, Tilly lost herself in an animalistic delight.

Samantha kept up the assault on Tilly's quim as she stripped out of her clothes.

"Oh, oh, God, oh, Sam."

Panting like a dog, Tilly's body shook. Her pussy oozed a thick yogurt-like cream from her crack. Sam lapped up the cunt juice as she kissed and tongued the girl. Sam loved the smell or the taste of Tilly's honey hole.

"You taste like peaches and cream," Sam said, talking while lapping up the discharge. Sam was wet with pussy juice and her saliva. The smell of their sex filled the room. Sliding up Tilly's body, Sam rubbed her tits on Tilly's flesh. Sam's hard nipples raked around the girl's areolas. Sam's short, fine, blond twat hair tickled the dark girl's body.

Straddling the girl's face, Samantha pulled Tilly's face to her clam.

"Eat me, return the favor."

Tilly went into an automatic response and tongued the older girl's pussy.

"You're so sweet," Tilly said.

Sam pulled her tight against her twat. Rolling her hips, she forced Tilly to eat her out.

"You fucking talk too much."

Till licked the lips, tweaked Sam's clit, and shoved her tongue inside her. "Oh, yeah, fuck me with your tongue, bitch."

Tilly stiffened and froze. Every muscle in her body ached in a sweet, sensory torment.

"Oh, yeah, oh, God, oh, fuck," Sam moaned.

Tilly's tongue searched for the clit, the inner folds, and the opening. The flavor of the older girl's juices turned her on, and she licked faster and deeper.

"Damn, you're a good pussy eater."

Tilly's tongue entered Sam's hole.

"Yes, yes, god, yes, yes." She came all over Tilly's face, and Tilly lapped up the thick cum mixture.

"Eat me, eat me, eat me."

Tilly dug her tongue deep inside Sam. Sam's body shook, spasmed, and her hands grabbed Tilly's head.

"Oh, Jesus, fucking eat me, eat me."

Tilly thrust her tongue in and out of Samantha's cunt, her face covered with the older woman's juice. Sam mounted the girl's face and ground her cunt into the other girl's mouth.

"Oh, Jesus, oh fuck, oh, oh, oh."

Sam's body rocked back and forth as Tilly ate her out. Samantha put her hands on Tilly's shoulders and pushed her down on the bed. Tilly lay there, nude, happy, and satisfied. Her clit poked from its hood, and juicy lubricant trickled from her pussy.

"You're not a fucking lesbian virgin, are you?" Sam said as she lay next to Tilly.

"Yes, I was."

"Can't say that again," Samantha said, pressing her lips into Tilly's mouth. They touched, kissed, and played for some time. Eventually, they lay curled together. All too soon, the sun streamed in through a slit in the curation.

"What the fuck," Tilly said. Her eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, while Tilly tried and failed momentarily to piece together how she ended up there.

"Morning," Sam greeted Tilly with a cheerful smile. The bed creaked as Sam rolled to the edge and stood up, her feet meeting the chill of the hardwood floor. "I haven't paid you yet, right?"

"No," Tilly said, not knowing if Sam had paid her or not. The hours before she fell asleep returned in dribs and drabs and the shame of her work. No matter how much she did the work, taking money for sex always brought shame. A new shame joined, though she wasn't sure why.

Tilly understood, being intimate with a woman was a natural, and nothing to be ashamed of for some women. Tilly had finally experienced pleasure during sex for the first time in her life.

"Five hundred, right," Sam said. Pulling a thick roll of bills from her purse, she peeled off five hundred-dollar bills.

"That was what we agreed on." Tilly got out of bed, found her dress, and slipped it over her head. "Where's my purse? Oh, I see it." Tilly got her clutch and took the five hundred from Sam.

"Here," Samantha said, holding three more bills to her.

"No, we agreed on five hundred."

"It's a tip. You were great."

Tilly took the money and shoved the bills into the clutch.

Sam pulled the girl to her, kissing her, trusting her tongue into Tilly's mouth. Tilly jerked away from her.

"I ain't no fucking lesbo. What I did, I done for the money."

"But you enjoyed it," Sam said.

"Awnawn, I didn't. I faked it. Will you give me a ride back to Robinson?"

"Sure, you earned the money and ride with that performance."

The pair drove back to the seedy part of town in silence.

For several weeks, Samantha drove back to Robinson, looking for Tilly. But Tilly saw the car at a distance and ran to the alley, into a store, or hid in the park. Eventually, Sam gave up her search.

As the month passed, Tilly longed to see the woman again. She dreamed of the night they spent together. Fucking men was more difficult than ever. Sucking cock grossed her out. And she had to work harder to get money, no longer just ashamed, no longer not enjoying the work. She was now disgusted with herself, the job, the slobs, and her pimp.

Winter passed into spring, and spring turned into summer.

By June, Tilly struggled to get Sam out of her head. The effort worsened when Samantha stopped trying to find her. Tilly tried to believe it was Sam's fault.

But why had the woman searched for her? To buy her again? She didn't buy other girls. Was there something more profound in Sam's search for her, or was Tilly reading into what she wanted?

So many questions with no answers. And still Tilly had to make a living for her and her pimp. Always there was the master, her fucking pimp.

An unforgiving summer sun beat its heat down on the city. Blistering pavement and streets baked those brave enough to traverse the thoroughfares on foot. The heat waves rose from the roadway, creating strange ripples in the air. Distorting the people and buildings, they appeared to bend and straighten when seen through the rising air.

It wasn't enough to have 95 degrees of blistering heat, there had to be 90 percent humidity to go with it.

Venturing from work, Sam left the gropers, perverts, drunken businessmen, and other oglers behind her. Working in a strip club, you put up with a lot of crap—but Samantha didn't put up with them. It was the rare stripper that didn't have the protection of a bouncer.

But Samantha didn't need anyone to take care of her.

Sam rode the streets on her big hog Harley and wished she hadn't worn the helmet. She wanted to feel the hot air rush over her face. The girl also wished she hadn't geared up for the ride. Her chaps and jacket protected her from the pavement in case of an accident, but cooked her flesh like a pot roast.