Shepherd's Pie Ch. 03

The clock was ticking, with Dante meeting me at 10:30. So I slipped back into my six-inch, purple pumps, clicking and clacking all the way back to the living room.

"Much better," Joel said, smiling from ear to ear.

"I have to agree," I said, smiling back. "And they feel amazing," I added, unable to stop touching myself.

"Where did you get these?" I asked, surprised he had done so well.

"I just went to Google and searched for pantyhose," he said. "I saw the name 'Silkies.' It sounded good. So I ordered some. Simple as that."

"Hmm," I said, nodding with approval. "Well, I'm very impressed. But I'll only wear these on one condition," I added. "You have to let me cut the crotch out. My pussy needs to breathe."

Joel laughed. "That's fine. Do whatever you have to do," he said. "Just hurry up so we have time to drop Miles off with your mother. You know how she likes to talk."

"Two seconds," I said, holding up my hand, as I turned and walked to the kitchen, where I pulled out a small pair of scissors, proceeding to make the critical alteration.

"Okay, now I'm ready," I said upon my return, flashing him quickly as I hiked my dress up, just to remind him that I'd worn no panties underneath, only my sheer, glimmering, silky pantyhose, which looked even better once I made them crotchless.

We got to the bar with five or ten minutes to spare. The place was busier than usual. Still, we managed to find a couple of empty stools, where we sat down, ordered light beers, then patiently waited for Dante to finally arrive.

From a distance, I noticed a familiar face. My stomach tightened when I realized it was Byron, who I then remembered lived only a block away.

"Byron's here," I said, holding my head down. "What if he sees us? What are we supposed to say?" I asked panicking.

"It's fine," Joel said, calm as usual. "Just sit here and talk to him. I'll go home and get everything set up. Just text me before you get back. So I'll know when to start the camera."

"Okay," I said, taking a huge sip of beer. "Do I look okay?" I asked, fidgeting nervously.

"You look incredible," he said, leaning in for a kiss. "Have a good time. Just be careful. Call if anything happens," he added, sneaking out the back way.

I sat there alone for only a minute, before Byron eventually noticed me and finally came over.

"Look at you," he said, with a huge grin on his face. "Hot date tonight?"

"Something like that," I said, with a slight nod. "You come here often?" I asked, noting the irony.

Byron snickered. "Did you really just ask me that?" he said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, that was pretty lame," I said. "I know you live just down the street."

Byron nodded. "Yeah, not the best ambience, but the beer's cheap. Anyway, where's Joel?" he asked. "Is he with you?"

"Not anymore," I said, making up a story on the spot. "This was supposed to be our weekly date night. But he wasn't feeling well, so he went home. Told me to stay and enjoy myself, especially since I got all dressed up."

"You sure did," Byron said, sizing me up and down. "You're wearing the fuck out of that dress," he added bluntly. "Are those pantyhose?" he asked, pointing down at my shiny legs.

"Oh," I said, glancing down at them. "You know how chilly it gets after dark," I said, making up a quick excuse. "Can't afford to catch a cold, not with a baby at home."

"Understandable," he answered. "I must say they're a nice touch."

As he spoke, I was already feeling a light buzz. "Oh, is that your thing? I've heard about guys who are into that."

Byron lifted his eyebrow. "Um, no," he answered, with a puzzled look, "not particularly."

"Oh, okay," I said, eyeing him boldly. "I'm only asking because the other day you left me with a very different impression."

"Ah," Byron said. "The day you had on those blue leggings. I do remember that."

"Oh, do you now?" I said, playing along with his little game. "That's good. You should remember it. I certainly do...especially considering all the evidence you left for me to clean up."

As Byron started to respond, he looked up over my left shoulder, where a second gentleman had walked up, standing tall, as he looked down over the two of us.

Turning my head, I noticed his skin was slightly darker than Byron's, reddish-brown, like petrified lava, hardened over time. His eyes were smoldering brown as well, with a thin layer of short black hair, cut close to the scalp, shining like polished shoe leather in the overhead light, with a pair of thin, perfectly even sideburns on each side of his angular face, coming to a point below his chin, joining his dark, trim goatee.

"Excuse me," he said, in his deep voice, cutting a striking figure in his full-length, open, black trench coat, worn over a dark gray suit, with a red tie, and a matching pocket square. "Hope I'm not interrupting," he added, offering his hand, where I noticed his gold Rolex. "I'm Dante," he said with an icy smile. "You must be Cynthia."

As he stepped in front of me, the width of his broad shoulders made Byron instantly vanish from sight. I quickly detected the bold scent of Versace cologne. I smelled it as he leaned forward, openly gazing down at my large, heaving breasts.

Sitting there on the tiny wooden bar stool, smiling in front of him, I was well aware that my plunging neckline had slid down to the point where every man within eyesight would soon easily see my nipples were my dress to slip down another half inch. Before leaving the house, I did try wearing a bra, but the new dress I wore that evening was simply too tight. Therefore, I had no choice but to sit there and look innocent, as Dante stood there making no effort to hide the direction of his wandering eyes, openly staring down at my cleavage, where my tits billowed from the gaping front of my sexy, low-cut dress, like a fluffed up pair of round, oversized pillows.

"So what's the game plan?" I asked, letting him continue staring.

Dante answered smugly. "Honestly," he said, glancing around the bar. "This place is a little too Caucasian for me. No offense," he added, acknowledging Byron with a slight head turn.

"Okay, so what do you feel like doing?" I asked.

"First priority is getting you far away from here," Dante answered. "I'll take you around my way...place called 'Oasis,'" he said. "Bring your friend if you want," he added, slapping $20 dollars on the bar.

I'd heard the name, but I'd never been there before. I enjoyed dancing. Yet, I hadn't been to a nightclub in over ten years.

Knowing the location wasn't exactly in the safest neighborhood, I stopped him before he made his way out.

"Isn't that in Roxbury?" I asked, touching his arm.

"South End," he said, mildly correctly me, as he looked back over his right shoulder. "You'll be fine."

Even in heels, Dante easily stood four inches taller than me, making him even taller than Joel. While Byron and I stood eye level with each other, right at the same height.

We stepped outside, standing by the curb, where Dante left us alone briefly to get his car.

"You do know who that is, don't you?" Byron asked, sounding a bit worried.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I answered, tilting my head. "Should I?"

Byron stood there, slowly shaking his head. "You really need to get out more. That's Dante Lavelle. He runs hoes for Cornelius Riley. Everyone knows Dante."

I squinted back at him. "Hoes?" I repeated. "You mean hookers? You're telling me this man is a pimp!"

"Yes," Byron said. "And from what I've heard, he's not the type of guy you want to mess with. What are you doing with him anyway?"

I paused for a moment, trying to think of some plausible excuse. "Um, it's not what it looks like," I said, as Byron turned to me, folding his arms, judging me with his eyes. "Well, okay...it is what it looks like," I confessed. "But Joel knows all about it. And trust me, he's okay with it. I swear."

Byron listened intently, nodding his head. "Oh, now I get it," he said. "So all that stuff you did in the shower...you did that on purpose."

I chose not to answer, opting to let him think whatever he pleased.

"Do you know where this place is?" I asked, changing the subject. "I don't see how I can back out now. But I would feel a whole lot safer if you were there."

On that note, Byron agreed to follow us to the club, promising to make sure I got home okay. I sent Joel a text, just to inform him that Dante was taking us someplace else. He said that was fine, as long as we didn't stay there very long.

As Dante and I pulled up in front of the club, we sat there and waited for Byron who pulled up behind us minutes later. I then waited as both men stepped from their cars, handing their keys to the valet; after which, Dante politely opened my door, then helped me to my feet, before quickly turning and walking ahead, leading us past the line of patrons waiting outside.

We entered the hot, cavernous building, where I fully expected to have my eardrums shattered by violent gangster rap. Instead, "E.T.," by Katy Perry blared through the speakers, rattling my bones, vibrating every wall.

"You're so hypnotizing... Could you be the devil? Could you be an angel?"

Overhead, the ceiling domed like an indoor stadium, three stories high, maybe more. Passing coat check, we came to a long staircase, with escalators on either side, leading down to the main dance floor, where flickering strobe lights illuminated a large crowd of mostly black, sharply dressed men, along with a host of scantily clad, highly attractive women from all different races.

Instead of going downstairs, we stayed there on the upper level, where two sets of bars on either side of the staircase extended from one end of the club to the other, with black marble countertops snaking as far back as the eye could see.

The DJ was set up in a crow's nest overlooking the main dance floor, with a ramp on either side, giving him access to the upper level where the three of us we were all standing.

We followed Dante toward the ramp on the right side of the DJ. Beyond the ramp, I noticed a secluded balcony overlooking the dance floor as well, waiting there were four other women, all wearing tons of make-up, showing far more skin than I was.

Monique was the fiery Latina, with brown eyes, olive skin, and a thick Cuban accent, frequently tossing her light brown, wavy hair, with blonde highlights, wearing an off-shoulder, red sequin dress, with fringe on the bottom, and a hole cut out between her breasts, showing off the inner halves of her round, prominent C-cups, swelling like grapefruits underneath.

Kimberly was an Asian beauty, with dark eyes, raven black hair, and skin like yellow parchment paper, mostly covered by a black latex body suit, with the zipper pulled all the way down below her navel, exposing most of her large, cone-shaped tits, jutting beneath the sleek, black, shiny material.

Brandi was by far the most exotic looking, though her tits weren't nearly as big as the others. She had thick, black, curly hair, with emerald green eyes, and luminous French vanilla skin. Given her features, it was almost impossible to tell her ethnicity. Yet, judging by the amazingly rotund shape of her thick, monstrous asscheeks stretching out the back of her jeans, I logically made the assumption that she must have been part black.

Finally, there was Jasmine, who boldly stepped up to Dante as the obvious ringleader of the group. Through the narrow slits of her bitter-looking, chocolate brown eyes, she greeted me with a cold sneer, thrusting out extremely large, dangerously intimidating tits, rivaling the size of my own, straining to escape imprisonment from her tight camouflage sports bra, with matching bike shorts bulging over the astonishing curvature of her round, high, basketball booty.

With her long, mahogany hair extensions, she boldly stepped up to Dante, flipping her ebony locks, hand waving aggressively in his face.

"Really, Dante?" she said, cocking her head. "I know you ain't bringing some trifling snow bunny into our club."

With an angry look, Dante viciously snapped his head, turning to Jasmine, taking the fire out of her swiftly.

"Fall back," Dante said. "You know this ain't your club. Ain't mine either," he added, firmly reminding her. "It's Mr. Riley's," he continued, looming over her. "So no one but him tells me who I can bring in here, understood?" he added threateningly. "Now if you have a problem with that, then I suggest you go on somewhere with that foolishness."

"Fine," Jasmine said, huffing under her breath. "Come on Kim, let's go dance."

"Good idea," Dante replied. "While you're at it, take college boy with you," he said, referring to Byron, whom I'd already noticed openly flirting with Monique, seemingly to spite me for snubbing him earlier when Dante first arrived.

With Jasmine leading Kim downstairs, Monique and Byron promptly followed, leaving me there alone with Dante and Brandi, who stayed behind as Dante stretched out on the sofa, where Brandi sat down and cuddled up beside him. She then looked over at me with a friendly smile, complimenting my outfit from across the room.

As she started speaking, from the opposite end of a large L-shaped sofa, I took a moment to admire how sexy she looked in her bright, colorful, trendy ensemble. She had on a skimpy, form-fitting tank top, bubble gum pink, with "Princess" written in white cursive across her modest chest. She also wore a tight pair of shredded white jeans, hugging her full hips and thighs, leading to a glossy pair of cherry red stilettos, together creating the perfect outfit for someone trying to look like a teenage hooker from Candyland.

"I love your dress," Brandi said, crossing her legs. "It's so bright and colorful," she added, as I instantly smiled back, a reaction inspired less by her comment and more from the realization that our fashion sense wasn't so different.

"So where are you from?" she asked.

"Dorchester," I replied. "Though I just moved to Roslindale last year."

"Cool," she said, nodding her head. "Any kids?"

"One," I answered. "His name is Miles. We actually just celebrated his first birthday."

"That's sweet," she said, rubbing Dante's leg. "I have a little boy too, right about the same age."

Suddenly, Dante brushed her hand away. "Don't do that," he said, visibly upset. I wasn't sure why, but I got the feeling it had something to do with Brandi mentioning her child. "Why don't you get up and go get us something drink," he said, using a tone clearly intended as an order. "You know what I like," he added, lighting his cigarette, as Brandi obediently walked away.

Turning back, Dante asked me out of the blue, "So how long you been married?"

My eyes opened wide as Dante sat there with a bemused grin on his devilishly handsome face, legs parted on the sofa, arms stretched out over the cushions, as he exhaled the smoke from his fragrant menthol.

I listened as he then informed me that he and my therapist, Dr. Sinclair, had been close friends for many years. He knew full well that her practice mainly focused on married couples, particularly those with unusual problems in their sex life.

Brandi returned holding two glasses, setting one down on the clear table in front of Dante, before stepping over and handing the other glass to me.

Needing some liquid courage, I drank it down quickly, grimacing over the bitter aftertaste. Within a matter of seconds, I couldn't stop staring at the vibrant colors of the fake floral arrangement sitting there on the same table. Staring through the surface of the glass table in front of me, I was then riveted by the leopard print pattern of the shag carpet underneath. Suddenly, everything in the room was inexplicably bigger, brighter, and more captivating.

Like most college girls, I'd done my share of experimenting with illegal drugs, convincing myself it would only make me a better nurse having first-hand knowledge of what it felt to actually get high.

Weed made me lazy and unproductive. Coke made me more hyper than I already was. But whatever I'd just taken was something completely different, something purposely designed to simultaneously activate all of my pleasure sensors at once.

"God," I said, blinking as I rubbed my temples. "What on Earth was in that drink?"

From a distance, I made out the sound of Dante's voice echoing through my foggy head.

"Just a little something to loosen you up," he answered, before waving to Brandi. "Why don't you help our guest comfortable," he instructed. "Warm her up a bit."

Before Brandi even sat down, I had already managed to get myself highly turned on, as I looked down, drawn by the violent tint of my hot new sheer-to-waist pantyhose, where I reached down and let my fingers linger over the lush, velvety weave, grainy as my hand swept in one direction, chillingly smooth as my hand swept back the other way. Were it up to me, I would have sat there rubbing my pantyhose blissfully all night. Yet, Dante clearly had other ideas, sending Brandi over to start what felt like my initiation.

The first thing that hit me was her incredible smell, like breakfast on Sunday morning, the one time my parents had ever permitted me to see them being remotely sexual with each other. Stirred by her sweet, appetizing scent, my memories drifted me back to childhood, roused by the image of my own mother making French toast, with cinnamon, strawberries and fresh orange juice, beautifully dressed up for church, in her floral print sun dress, with beige pantyhose, and a modest pair of low-heeled white pumps.

Humming a soft melody, my mother would stand by the stove, as my father entered, grabbing her from behind, sliding his hands over her shapely hips, grinding his penis against her full, curvy backside.

Following church, the two of them would then sit together in the living room; Dad watching football, with Mom sitting next to him in the same dress. Meanwhile, I'd carefully study their weekly foreplay, as Dad pretended to focus on the game, while Mom gradually hiked up her dress, just enough for Dad to enjoy sweeping his hand back and forth over her pantyhose, while the two of them sat there relaxing together on the sofa. All of this followed each Sunday by an evening of unbridled sex, loudly overheard from the privacy of my dark bedroom, where I'd lay there and quietly masturbate, having multiple orgasms, before finally drifting off to sleep.

When I came back to reality, I was lying there spread eagle, with Brandi crouching between my legs, running her fingers along the silky nylon over my inner thighs.

"Nice," she said, eyeing the hole where my pantyhose gusset had been purposely removed. "Easy access," she added smiling, as she hunched forward and slowly began licking my pussy using wonderfully warm, soft, gentle brush strokes.

It wasn't long before Brandi noticed the rush of fluids leaking heavily in response to her skillful tongue, thrilling me with her eager thirst as she steadily began lapping at the river of juices pouring from my slit.

Framed between the upraised position of my bright purple heels, I looked up and saw Dante stroking his long, meaty cock. Seeing his manhood across the room, the size of it was equally impressive as Byron's, the main difference being Dante's was more menacing, with thick, bulging veins on each side, and a large, bulbous head, shaped like the tip of a bullet.

When it came to eating me out, the few girls I'd been with had nothing on Brandi's phenomenal technique. She knew how to use her soft, delicate tongue so patiently, painting the walls of my steaming cunt like a true artist. She clearly enjoyed what she was doing, taking her time, relishing the moment, lathing her tongue over every nook and cranny, slurping out all my honey with no regard for the sticky mess destined to cover her pretty face.