Nympho (5 page)

I suddenly felt like I was being interviewed to win the Miss America crown. Apparently, Brian wanted more than a whore. He wanted the appearance of a cultured lady—at least on some level.

“Hello, Brian. It's a pleasure to meet you. My given name is Leslie, but I prefer to call myself Innocence. I'm thirty years of age, teach for a living, and am on my summer break. My favorite hobbies include studying history, fitness, traveling, and meeting new people. I prefer to regard myself as a new millennium woman with discerning taste. Don't let me fool you—I'm not all Innocent though. I'm capable of going toe-to-toe with a man in a boardroom or the bedroom. In fact, there's nothing ordinary about me so if I were you, I wouldn't expect it.”

“Name the seven continents.”

“Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, South America, North America, and of course, Antarctica,” I replied, smiling victoriously. “Do you have any real questions, Brian? If you do, fire away. I'm waiting.”

“Take off your skirt and top. Let's see what you have underneath. That's not exactly a question but—”

“I know what it is—it's a command. I'm a teacher, remember? And I have nothing to hide or be ashamed of. My body is tight and it's a ten. No, I'm being far too modest. It's a twelve, at least in my opinion. It's only fair if you draw your own conclusion though,” I said, shedding my military inspired outfit. My pink and green mini skirt fell down my knees and I pulled my army green tube top over my head. “What if I'm not wearing a bra . . . or panties? I hope that's okay with you.”

I stood tall in nothing but my gold heels that just so happened to be Trey's favorite pair. He did manage to tell me my feet and calves looked sexy in them each time I wore them. I could tell by the manner in which Brain glanced over me that he was impressed by my physique. Although I wasn't some L.A. skinny bitch, I knew I was a head turner.

“All right—you passed those tests with flying colors. Before you take the last step in the interview process let me explain something to you. I take good care of my girls, Innocence—an expense account, shopping sprees, a nice place to say—no fear of being arrested. I'm not a pimp and never force a client on anyone. My girls come and go when they please. Drug use and alcoholism is prohibited, but I ensure that everyone goes home happy and comes to work happy. There is nothing to do until a call comes in for you. You can sit by the pool, talk on the cell phone, which I provide, watch TV, or just relax. You don't have to worry about being marketed because I make sure that is taken care of. If you accept a client, you deliver my finder's fee after you are paid. I have no fear of not getting my share because you'll definitely want another prescreened client with the same qualities as the last guy. I am a businessman and a damn good one. I work long hours and expect complete cooperation with all of the talent, so everyone can benefit from this. Dress and let's take a walk.”

After I dressed quickly, Brian allowed me to walk out of his office first. Next, he told the guard to take me to get a swimsuit, and then to escort me outside to the pool area. I slipped on a red string bikini with moveable letters that spelled BLING. They were strung on the side and midsection of two strings. When I finished changing, I followed the guard down winding steps that led to our final destination. My eyes scanned the open bar, lavish outdoor buffet, and umbrellas-topped circular tables. I heard girls suck their teeth and hiss at me as I walked past them to find a seat near the pool. Heads turned as I whipped out my sunglasses and lay back on a lounge chair in my heels.

By the time I strutted over to the bartender to request a mixed drink, I could feel eyes burning a hole in my back. Clients who were supposedly occupied were already lusting after me. I knew I was the center of attention and loved every second of it.

About forty minutes later, a guard I hadn't seen before pointed at me while a young man wearing diamonds in both ears and a huge dollar sign emblem necklace around his neck headed toward me. Despite him wearing a plain, large white t-shirt, I recognized the well-known rapper. In fact, I couldn't believe he was looking at me as if I was some sort of scrumptious entrée he'd picked out.
Doesn't his fame get him enough ass?
I was confused as to why a famous man would pay for sex—especially one who could pop bottles with super models.

“Hi, Ma,” he said. “How come I never seen you here before or at the VIP lap dance parties Brian hosts?

“What parties?” I asked. The rapper grinned.

“Never mind. You'll find out if you're good with your hands and can work them hips right. So . . . wassup witcha?”

At that moment, all of Brian's I better be an intelligent woman talk went flying out of the window. Before I could greet him properly, he said, “Get up and turn around.” I did. “Yeah—you straight. Let's go. Come take a little walk wit me.”

Apparently, the rapper's definition of “me” was more like “us,” and included his personal bodyguard. I questioned this at first, but then decided that despite his limited vocabulary, he must've had at least half a brain cell to want an extra pair of eyes along for the protection of his money. Smart thug. Correction: smart businessman. Obviously, he'd cracked the millionaire's code and wanted to keep his money under his thumb.

Once again, the girls sucked their teeth with envy when I followed the men. Since the competition tried to give me so much bad attitude, I added to the hate index by switching past them like a confident piece of ebony eye candy.

When the three of us walked down a long hallway inside of the mansion, we passed between the same set of bodyguards I spotted upon my initial arrival. We then proceeded up a flight of steps that I logically concluded led to the VIP area. When we reached the top and turned left, another set of bodyguards were blocking the hallway. Upon spotting the rapper, their eyes shifted slightly, giving the approval for him and his small entourage to enter the door at the end of the hall. As we passed several doors I could hear sex sounds with a twist—several staggered moans and groans of various pitches escaping through the air at once.

We moved a little further and then his personal bodyguard frisked me down, feeling me between my legs, then holding his finger to the rapper's nose to sniff it. He inhaled my scent and I knew he obviously approved because he ordered the bodyguard to “get the merchandise ready for purchase.” The bodyguard began to slowly undress me, rubbing all over my body, then smacking my ass. As he did this, the vain rapper showed off his lyrical skills by singing about ghetto love. The little tune went something like this:

When he stopped, so did the bodyguard. Standing nude in my heels, we locked eyes. I was dripping wet because the star who was lusting over me was the same one I fussed at my students over for trying to mimic his disjointed hip hop dance, and singing his lyrics everywhere in school, even during class. If I had a quarter for every time I reminded the young people that men like him don't know how to treat a lady, I'd be the only rich teacher in the world. And there I was the role model, mentor, and child advocate, watching him lick his lips over my ass, and listening to him refer to me as the best of the best eye candy. Suddenly, I was just as impressed by his cockiness, fame, tattoos, and the long platinum necklace that looked like Jacob The Jeweler had custom made it for him,. I was being a hypocrite, but the bad girl in me loved the fact that I'd been led to have the opportunity to be in this position. I felt like a star in my own right because I was getting ready to have sex with one.

“Stop acting like a virgin. Fuck the bed—up against the wall. Show me all dat ass,” he said, correcting me when I got ready to assume the position.

I turned around, pressing my breasts against the wall. I wasn't sure what to do with my hands until he said, “Play wit' yourself a while.” He palmed both ass cheeks and then pressed his lips press against each one. He stopped touching me. “Make it dance,” he commanded.

Instantly, I recalled some of the music videos I'd seen with women clapping their asses, particularly those with that popular video honey Buffie the Body. Since we were about the same size, her tricks became my tricks.

“Shit, you're a pretty little thing—that's what Blaze is talking about. I bet that apple looks good in jeans,” he mumbled. “Come on sexy. Enough bullshitting wit dat foreplay. Let's see if you got whip appeal.” He turned me around and looked me up and down. “What's your name?”

“Innocence.”

“I likes that. So take me to heaven, Innocence. Do whatever ya do that will blow my mind. Prove that you ain't got nothing but love for me.”

Knowing that all men love oral sex, I sucked on his dollar sign necklace to give him a hint that I was good at licking and sucking it like a lollipop, then I yanked at his belt buckle. Blaze's bodyguard walked over to pull down the star's pants. When the bodyguard moved out of the way Blaze's jeans fell to his ankles. I dropped to my knees in the middle of the room and stared up into his eyes while running my tongue around the rim of his swollen knob. Then I wrapped my lips around the largest, thickest penis I'd ever encountered. When he began to moan, I wrapped both hands around his tool, bobbing my head faster, and mesmerizing him as Innocence began to defy logic. Blaze grabbed my head by my hair and pushed it toward his dick until I could barely manage to breathe. My lips felt as if they were stretched as far as they would go as I sucked what I hoped would soon be inside my pussy. Although I was thinking he was nearly too big for my mouth, I wasn't about to complain. The harder and larger he grew, the more I felt as if I was nearly gagging . . . but I loved being his cock sucker.

“Damn! That's one bad ass, freaky bitch right der! She sucks a mean dick!” his guard said.

The sound of the bodyguard's voice reminded me of his presence, and the thought of being watched turned me on. I'd always wanted to give Trey head while someone watched, but I knew I could never recommend such a thing. My fantasies were off limits although he'd probably lived each and every one of his.

Blaze let go of my hair and without speaking, I rose from my knees with saliva and pre cum swimming in my mouth. I began to moan and pinch my breasts while walking back toward the wall. I stood about two inches from the wall and bent straight over, preparing to show off my flexibility from when I was active in creative dance and gymnastics back in my college days. When I made my breasts touch my chin, the rapper snapped his fingers and his bodyguard presented a condom, tore it open, and handed it to him. He rolled it down on himself.

“Gimme dat. This bad boy's gonna tear your ass up,” he stated. The next thing I knew, my back was completely touching the wall and I could feel the vibration from Blaze's intense pounding. I screamed as the pictures on the wall rattled and my legs began to spread wider apart like an upside down V. After a few minutes passed, I stood up and pulled off the condom. Like a professional head doctor who sucked dick for a living, I dropped to my knees again. This time I moved my head around wildly, sucking on him until my own saliva streamed down my chest. I opened wide and deep throated his juicy penis once more, and then we made our way to the bed. He clicked his fingers once and before I knew it a fresh condom was covering his penis.

“Let me stick this up that big phat ass,” he said, holding himself.

“Oh no, honey. The back door is closed. Translation: my booty hole is off limits. You'll have to stick to the front opening,” I told him, switching gears.

Instantly it was as if a needle on a record had slid off and ruined the flow, mid-groove.

“Now ma, stop trying to hassle me and rip me off! I thought you knew—I'm paying $5,000 to tap this. Not five grand per hole; just five grand—
period.
Show some respect. You know what I'm sayin'? I got da hottest single out here. If a superstar like Blaze wants to open the back door, you're supposed to turn that ass up with a smile. Some women would pay to fuck me, not the other way around, so get your head right,” he said, sounding frustrated.

“Brian said everything I do is my choice, and I'm choosing to reserve my asshole for my husband, so enough of the yang popping,” I insisted.

“No one wants to hear all dat shit. Show me some love before I lose my hard on. C'mon, bitch, back that thang up and cooperate like you know your place,” he growled.

“Well this
bitch
is engaged, and I meant what I said.”

“No one gives a fuck about whatever nigga you got at home,” Blaze said, grabbing his balls, shaking his penis in my direction.

“You can shake that thing until 2007 but it's not going to make one iota of a difference. I know you think you've got all the power in the world, but I'm not letting you drive
this
Benz down the Hershey highway. Five grand or not, it's not going to happen. In fact, I'm as kinky as the next bitch, but that's not enough to even get me to start up the car,” I said, jumping up from the bed.

“What seems to be the problem?” Brian asked, suddenly appearing. I guess he got a glimpse of things not going so well on the monitor and decided to come survey the situation.