Read Spring Flirting(Part 2 in Naked Rose Series) Online

Authors: Rosalie Banks

Tags: #orgy, #celebrities, #voyerism, #vixen, #restraints, #tupac shakur, #candy girls, #naked rose, #taye zest

Spring Flirting(Part 2 in Naked Rose Series)

BOOK: Spring Flirting(Part 2 in Naked Rose Series)
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NAKED ROSE

 

Memoir of a Vixen

 

ROSALIE BANKS

 


Published by Pipit Inc. Smashwords Edition.
All rights reserved. This book is purely a work of fiction and a
fantastic imagination of the author. Any resemblance to real
persons is absolutely coincidental. It is strictly for
entertainment purpose ONLY. Not to be resold or stolen.

Copyright 2013 Rosalie Banks .

 

Dedicated to Halle Berry

 


Table of Contents

 


Synopsis


Prologue


Taye Zest Sex Quest


Tonya's Tale of Lust


Michele's
Sexcapade with the Senator


Live Erotic Movie
with Taye


Tupac's Last Birthday
Sex


Epilogue


About the Author


Other books by Pipit
Inc.

 

SYNOPSIS

 

NAKED ROSE:
Memoir of a Vixen
is a
journal of lust belonging to Rosalie Banks, a.k.a Rose, of a trio
of nymphets called Candy Girls, vowed to sexual freedom and
feminine control in intimacies. An epitome of sensual beauty, Rose
was orphaned and deflowered at the civil war of Liberia from where
she immigrated to the United States, her place of birth to discover
the gold invested in her sensuality and freedom through a personal
creed termed feminarchy.

Having blossomed into a
paragon of lustful beauty, she lived in New York City where she
explored her unique endowments as a sexy woman in the music video
industry working as a model cum video girl. Her tales continued in
this second volume subtitled
Spring
Flirting
are explosive and mind blowing,
featuring exclusive escapades into the sexual life of superstars
and celebrities.

Get ready for an enchanting read.

 

 

 This is the greatest sex I ever had

-R.Kelly

 

Spring Flirting


PROLOGUE

My name is Rosaline Banks and this is my
story. My story is mainly a tale of lust as I got to be taught by
experience that love is actually a girl’s fantasy. It is nothing
but a mirage; a dream found only on the pages of romantic novels
and in movie scenes. Love, true love where it can be found between
a man and a woman, is only where there is true lust. That is the
gospel truth. Few women actually know this and the few rule the
world. Men in their totality are creatures of pleasure. They live
to crave pleasure. In wine, in money and especially in women. I was
fortunate to know this truism and it made all the difference in my
encounter with men. Right from the moment I lost my virginityand
innocence shortly after my 18th birthday to Captain Vandy at the
refugee camp in Liberia, and subsequently got tutored on the art of
feminarchy by my Teacher; I learnt to know men for men, to please
them, to save them and they paid me back lavishly in returned
passion, worship and unparalleled affection.

 

Incase you were wondering what I do, I am a
video vixen and a photo model by the way. If you haven’t met me
shaking my brazilian butts in music videos, alluring with my Nia
Long face and Beyonce's body, seducing the stars and audience in
erotic dance; then you must have come across my face before on
billboards and posters and in magazines. Luscious, exquisite,
alluring; the girl you dream to fuck in your closet fantasy. But
I’m afraid you cannot have me because the price of my naked rose is
too high for the ordinary folks to pay. To court me is to be
classy, confident and wild. I detest tame men like the rich detests
poverty. I love men that are bold, adventurous and smart. Sometimes
women too when I choose. Too many of them have desired me but only
few have had the taste of my love nectar and the few always live to
remember it. My pot of honey is the sweetest any woman in the world
can have. It is a special gift I only give to those who merit
it-sometimes free and unconditional to relish and revel in. Never
confuse my red gift to the rose Juliet gave to Romeo. If you did
you are on a castaway island. My gift is purely of lust, given in
abundance to the deserving and chivalrous, wrapped in foil of
sensuality and absolute Eros.

 

Lust. Four letter word much like love but
totally different from it. Since I discovered it at the peak of my
teen I have come to wield a womanly power with it. Lust comes in
various shades like the colors of a prism. It could be bright,
somber, cool or deep depending on the context and time. If the
color is bright I’d give you a super performance, taking you to the
heights and throwing you down unhurt. That’s me when the passion is
pure; unsoiled by petty jealousies or chauvinistic conservatism. My
favorite time for bright Eros is when it is raining outside and the
house feels claustrophobic. The man in my sexual claws that moment
will leave with love scars and cadent memories seared in his brain.
But when the mood is somber; the tempo changes to a modulated
serial play. Slow music, gentle strokes, low moans. That’s me in
the falls; reflecting the mood of the season. I am the classic
Madame Pompadour. I live on lust like a food, nourishing my
existence on it, discovering the depth of passion and my feminity
without restraint or shame. You can call me names if you like. I
have been called many before. Vixen, Femme fatale, Loose, Flirt,
Slut, Bitch, Whore… but you will still find me to be men’s favorite
girl any day. Why is that? Because I know all men likes a wife in
the house but a freak on the bed. Ask any man to be real with you
and he will tell you I lie not. The way to a man’s heart is through
his groin. Let no preacher tell you different. So if you will cast
aside the toga of self righteousness or uppishness for a minute,
you might learn a lesson or two in the tales I am about to relate
in my lust journal on the secret cast in stone of what it takes to
make man a captive of love- the art of feminarchy.

 

 

Friday 22nd April,
1996

 

TAYE ZEST SEX
QUEST

 

Today was billed to be an unforgettable day.
I mean, after all Tonya did to get us VIP admittance to the annual
White Party thrown by the music mogul, Sean “Puffy” Combs, in his
Glass House at Richville Estate, Long Island, all we could do was
dream head in the clouds. But trust us to be invited. The Candy
Girls. A party was not a party in New York if we were not present.
The 3 Musketeers they called us on music video sets and photo
studios. We put sensuality into the scenes, flaunting our gracious
bodies to the sway of the music and the director's lens, setting
the scenes afire. Three students of New York State University and
working models; fresh, young and adventurous with pass to the most
august party thrown in NY. We were in cloud nine all day, debating
on which fashion ensemble to rock to the party and day dreaming of
what would transpire at the high profile event of the year- that
is, the lucky guys we would get to fuck.

We went shopping at the mall later, the 3 of
us- me, Tonya and Michele, invoking the routine stares and catcalls
from the men of New York City. Really, with us it was like New York
had never seen true beauties before. You would find the men ogling
at us even beside their wives and girlfriends anytime we strolled
into Times Square to have fun. But you had to give it to us, we
were stunners. Please allow me to do the introduction. You are
already familiar with me, Rose, with the caramel skin of an African
Queen, formerly of Liberian soil but now flexing her luscious
endowments in NYC with Tonya Shakes, my Puerto Rican room-mate from
Bronx, with the face of Eva Mendes and the body of Jenifer Lopez
(that butt especially), and the real stunner amongst us whom we
call G-girl for Grace Michele; a white blonde from California, with
the face of Nicole Kidman and the figure of Marilyn Monroe; whose
milk white skin shined with the splendor of a Caribbean sun, topped
with full American Girl boobs that always leave eyes popping out of
men in untrammeled admiration and fuck-dream. We were the Candy
Girls-sensual, sweet, and smart and New York City belonged to
us.

At the mall, we scoured the stores for best
buys in designer dresses and shoes before ending up at the lingerie
section to pick out wild assortments to flaunt at the party. Word
on the web had it that all the players in the game would be in
attendance at the all white party; featuring top ball players,
thick footballers, dashing actors and actresses, acclaimed artists,
music stars, seasoned politicians and other rich fellas, invited to
the exclusive party of the year where everything promised to be
lush and plush. As Candy Girls, we meant to rule the field of play
at the party and this we knew began with what we wore to beautify
our bodies, both externally and internally. Believe me when I tell
you that men are creatures of the eyes; they see and are moved
mostly by what they see. A nugget of feminarchy. And forget the
diamonds and pearls a girl wears, plus the ten thousand dollars
designer dress and shoes; what men really ache to see is what is
underneath the clothes; and the sexier it comes, the wilder they
get. So wives and girlfriends coming to Puffy’s party…Beware!

At 9 pm prompt we descended the lift to the
ground floor of our apartment on 195th Street where a chartered
limousine was already waiting to pick us up. This party is going to
be a hit, I mused as we clicked on our high heels to the tarmac.
Chauffeured limo for our pick up! Whoa! We must be the V.I of P to
get such queenly treatment, which I knew actually came courtesy of
an admirer of Tonya who hooked us up with the VIP pass. And what a
sight we were! The three of us ready to take on NYC looking smoking
hot like real VIP dates. For my part, I was dressed in a white
Fendi silk gown that hugged my frame so tightly you could feel my
skin and amply showed my caramel cleavage, fitted with a Char high
heels pumps on my legs that made my butts stand at position. I
always loved Japanese designer shoes for classy parties. For effect
I wore pink lace bra and string and pink lace nylon that
accentuated the silk of my caramel skin to shine and sported my
trademark golden hued low cut hairstyle. Tonya on her part rocked a
pearl white Versace lace gown with bare back that revealed her
bronze skin and which curved out at the back, cupping her firm
“J-Lo” butts to perk out in a way that made men go rock hard at
first sight, especially when you view her from the back standing on
trim legs draped in white stockings. She also wore stones encrusted
Salvatore Ferragamo stilettos shoes that gave a cat swagger to her
red carpet walk and wore her long dark hair in a croissant at the
top looking like a diva. Finally, our belle of the ball, Michele,
was fitted in a long crème Christian Dior gown that we knew would
cause a furor at the party for it was made of chemise like material
that hugged her body like a sheath. A teaser that she was, she wore
diaphanous rubber cup bra underneath that pronounced her great
boobs to peeking eyes and her silver Prada pumps made her calves
ripple and her pert butt shaking provocatively when she walked. As
Candy Girls, we intended to cause a stir with our entrance; and to
have fun at the party, painting the night of New York in the colors
of rainbow in accordance with the philosophy of feminarchy.

We got inside the limo and headed for
downtown, making the normal girls talk on our way to cover up the
nervousness we all felt beating against our chests. Star players,
Ballers, Shot-callers, Nouveau rich all waiting at the Glass
House…..here we come.

****

We got to the gated estate housing Glass
House and its rich occupants later and were ushered into the
magnificent house shortly after. The party no doubt was a star
studded affair. You could smell money and class in the air. From
the exotic cars parked outside to the whiff of expensive colognes
filtering the air, we knew the party was exclusive and going to hit
the ceiling soon. Already the in house DJ was sending sound waves
in the air and by the frothing pool at a distance we could see lot
of activities in top gear. Girls in sexy bikinis and guys in thongs
were splashing and jiving all over the swimming pool, having the
fun of their lives. We entered from the foyer into the main hall to
see the party in full swing, peopled by all the stars you could
think of. From Puff Daddy, the host, who welcomed us with a hug
each , to LL Cool J, Will Smith, Michael Jordan, Mike Tyson, Naomi
Campbell,Mary J Blige, Method Man, Craig Mack, Lil’Kim,
Dr.Dre,112…you name it, all dressed in white frolicking and
mingling with drinks in hand. The party was hotter than I had
envisaged.

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