The Stud Palace (4 page)

And she’s right. With each deep stroke being delivered to my pussy, I know without a doubt that I’ll be back every chance I get. I bite down on my bottom lip, then arch my back and let out a piercing moan. “Ohhhhh, yessssssssss . . . mmmmm . . . I’m cum
ing
!”

***

Three weeks later, with my new laminated membership card tucked in my clutch, I slip out of my apartment—scantily dressed in an ultra-short black dress with a cutout back and plunging V-neckline and a pair of black four-inch Jason Wu lace-up sandals—and creep my way back to The Stud Palace—the place where seduction and lust opened up a whole new world of being for me. The place where being fucked slow and deep by a
stud
unleashed a burning desire within me, unlocked inhibitions I’d kept repressed for far too long.

This time . . . alone.

Perched up on a leather stool in the section of the club called the CockTail Lounge. A decadent oasis, hidden behind thick mahogany doors, which is located on the top floor down a long dimly lit corridor. Upon entrance through the double doors, you ascend a flight of winding stairs onto the roof with its retractable glass ceiling, heated floors, and breathtaking view of New York City.

Gas-lit Tiki torches and flickering candles of enormous sizes and varying heights add to the seductive ambiance and décor. There’s a gorgeous wraparound bar—where I’m sitting—in the middle of the stunning space with private leather booths along the glass walls and plush purple leather sofas and overstuffed leather chairs situated throughout the area. Huge go-go cages sit atop massive speakers, displaying the most succulent pieces of pelvis-thrusting eye-candy clad in wife beaters, colorful boxer briefs, and Timberland boots.

The CockTail Lounge is where discreet, horny women teetering on whoredom and tossing their inhibitions to the wind, releasing their inner freaks, like myself, can fulfill their carnal desires by selecting the stud of their choice off of ornate purple and red menus, along with any combination of drinks of their liking. There’s a picture beside each studs’ name, along with their stats: age, height, weight, nationality, and turn-ons. Delicious
boi
treats such as: Cocoa Bombshell, The Smack Down, Caribbean Breeze, Chocolate Pleasure, Cream de Cocoa, Dred Delight, The Red Dragon, Chocolate Thunder, The Incredible Hunk, King Kong, Stud Daddy, Whip Appeal, G-Spot, The Pussy Pleaser, and a list of others are all available for one’s decadent pleasures.

Tonight, I am feeling slutty and bold, sipping on my second Pussy Pleaser—a mixture of Absolut vodka, blue Curacao, and grenadine with splashes of pineapple and cranberry juices.

I slowly slide the tip of my tongue over my glossed lips. I twist in my seat, discreetly grinding my pussy into the center of the leather stool as one stud after another swaggers out and into the middle of the room, flexing and profiling. Then saunter off. I have my sights on the Pussy Pleaser.

In her photo, she’s the color of licorice. Dark. And, hopefully, just as sweet. Her stats state she’s five-eleven, 157 pounds, brown eyes. Dreads. Her turn-ons: tight wet pussy. And squirters.

“Glad to see you came back, ma,” a husky voice says in my ear; soft lips gently brush against my lobe, startling me. “You look good enough to eat.”

My pulse quickens.

My whole body shudders, heated realization dances up and down the center of my spine, finding its way along the inner part of my smooth thighs, twirling along the seam of my pussy. There is no name, just the silken voice and the delicious memory.

I swivel slightly on the stool, bringing into view the one who changed my whole life three weeks ago. Tonight she’s wearing a white T-shirt, baggy faded jeans and crisp white Nikes. She has a black Brooklyn Nets fitted pulled down over her dark brown eyes. Her bone-straight hair is pulled tightly into a ponytail.

Her heated gaze slides over my body like melted butter. My eyes lower to the bulge in her jeans. Instantly, her thick dick jutting out from its harness flashes through my mind, replaying the way she slowly fucked me in long even strokes, plunging deep on the in-stroke, then slowly pulling out until the head of her dick kissed the mouth of my pussy before plunging back in, hitting the bottom of my Honeywell.

The way she fucked me was . . . sweet torture.

She’s handsomely beautiful—if that makes sense. Hell, nothing makes sense to me anymore.

A month ago I would still be home somewhere fighting my truth, hiding behind pretense, still surreptitiously masturbating to mental snapshots of naked women—the swell of their breasts, the dark, succulent ridges of their nipples, the smooth curve of their hips, the scented heat of their pussies and asses—stained into my memory as I finger-fucked one orgasm after the other out of myself.

But now secret fantasies have become a reality. The Stud Palace—in all of its opulence and decadent pleasures—is addictive.

From the moment I stepped through these doors with my girl Sheena three weeks ago, I was hooked. Its debauchery has rented space in my head ever since. It has kept me craving more of its delicious, dirty deeds.

And I am here, again. Hungry for another round of seductive pleasure, craving the soft touch of a masculine woman, yearning to taste her steamed juices as they seep out of her womanhood and coat the base of her harness.

I press my thighs together, squeezing back want and desire. “Isn’t this a nice surprise,” I say, eyeing her over the rim of my glass. God, I’d love to feel her lips on my body again; the wet, warmth of her mouth capturing my cunt and clit. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalking me.” Amusement laces my tone as I arch my brows.

“Hey. I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m too classy to stalk,” I say teasingly. “But
you
, on the other hand . . .”

She chuckles. “Nah, never that, baby. But I’d like to stalk that sweet, tight pussy, again.”

She licks her plump, pillow-soft, pussy-eating lips. I watch as she pulls out a piece of cinnamon gum and folds it into her lush mouth. A tinge of jealousy creeps up in me, wishing it were my chocolate nipples being rolled into her mouth instead of chewing gum.

I swallow.

I feel my smooth cunt starting to slicken as I imagine her long tongue flicking up and down on my clit as she pushes three slender fingers deep into my swelling river of juices.

“Let’s go to one of the booths,” she offers, her voice throaty and filled with lust. Salacious intent dances in her eyes, her attention completely focused on me.

I give her a coquettish grin. “Why on earth would I want to do that? A lady never walks off with strange women.”

“Then don’t be a lady. Be a tramp.”

I can’t help but smile. “I don’t even know you,” I tease. “You could be some pervert looking to molest me.”

She steps in closer. I breathe in the scent of coconut oil and cinnamon and feel myself getting lightheaded as I’m being mentally transported to a Caribbean island, the lick of a warm breeze caressing my skin, tickling my senses and causing my nipples to harden.

She smirks. “You don’t need to know me, ma. I’m not a pervert. But I’d damn sure like to molest you.”

“Right, right. I forgot. We don’t need names,” I say, repeating her words to me from our first encounter. “You’re anonymous.” I take a slow, deliberate sip of my drink.

She grins. “Exactly, baby. All you need to know is, I wanna eat that pussy real quick, then stretch it open with my cock. I know you remember how I made you feel a few weeks back. I know I do. I loved the way you sucked my dick, then gave me all of you.” She slowly glides her tongue over her top lip. “Mmm . . . all that good pussy.”

I blush.

“And the way you sucked my dick . . .” She shudders. “Damn. You got some good mouth.”

“You have good dick,” I bashfully admit, swallowing back the drool gathering in my mouth. “I loved sucking that big chocolate dick.”

She grabs her crotch, revealing her thick imprint. “You can get it again. It’s all yours, baby.”

A slow burning fire starts in the pit of my belly, then fans out along the lining of my uterus, causing the juices in my pussy to steam. I glance around the dimly lit room and start to notice semi-inebriated women stripping out of their clothing. The gleam of half-naked bodies shimmer under the moonlight. The glow of flickering candles reflecting off the glass walls enhance the images, causing lusty silhouettes to dance about the room. The scent of arousal floats all around me. Wet pussies clickety-click-clicking, glistening cocks, sensual grunts and moans coming from the speakers heighten my need to be fucked. I strain to keep from getting lost in what’s beginning to unfold all around me.

Two stools to the right of me, a beautiful cocoa-brown, plus-size vixen clad in a red bra and heels is bent over between the cocked legs of a brown-skinned cutie with a low-top fade, feverishly sucking her long purple dick as if she’s auditioning for a starring role in a
Deep Throat Diva
film.

It takes everything in me not to topple over when a short stocky stud with long thick braids sidles up in back of her, pulls open her ass cheeks, then shoves her face in between her ass and starts tongue-fucking her before pushing what looks to be close to nine inches of condom-wrapped cock into the back of her pussy. The stud immediately begins to bang fast and hard in and out of her, assaulting her pussy with each stroke.

My own pussy feels left out.

I swallow, hard . . . wishing it were me.

“Maybe later on. But in the meantime, can I at least get a name?”

She grins. “It’s Anonymous, remember?”

I playfully roll my eyes, dismissing her with the flick of my wrist. “Whatever.”

The seductive sounds of Art of Noise fade from the speakers, and a husky voice comes through. “Okay my freaky, horny lil’ femme beauties. Welcome to The Stud Palace where erotic passions and sensuality meet. If this is your first time up on the rooftop, you’re in for a real sexy treat. If you’ve been here before, then you already know how we do it up here away from the other club patrons. And ladies . . . what’s done in the
Cock
Tail Lounge,
stays
in the
Cock
Tail Lounge. So without further ado, feast your eyes on some of The Stud Palace’s most scrumptious, hottest, finger-licking, make-your-hearts-flutter-pussy-melting stud-
bois
in the Tri-State area.”

The thirty or so women who are in the room eager to be fed start clapping and catcalling as one hot stud after another hits the floor. Chiseled bodies, toned bodies, some more masculine than others, dark, light, and every skin tone in between with locks and long braids and cornrows and waves, all work the floor. Some are barefoot donned in boxer briefs and wife beaters; some in baggy sweats and wife beaters with crisp white sneakers; others wearing camouflage pants and combat boots. Some have on colorful do-rags, others have on fitted hats, the brim snapped down over their eyes.

My God! Where has this place been all my life?

I lick my lips, feeling like a little kid let loose in a candy shop. So many choices, so many pleasures to indulge.

“Now ladies,” the voice continues, “the rules are simple up here at the
Cock
Tail Lounge: Play nice. Fuck hard. Indulge all of your freaky fantasies. Share if you will. And be sure to come over and over. Now who’s ready to be transported to ecstasy beyond your imaginations?”

The room erupts with hand clapping and foot stomping. And hands waving in the air as women scream out, “Yes, yes, yes! I am!”

“Then let’s get to fucking! You can place your orders for the pleasure of your choice over at the bar with either Chaz or Len. And if you’re feeling a little greedy, there’s always room for two or more. The stud meat is plentiful here at The Stud Palace.”

“So have you decided who you’ll have tonight?” Miss Anonymous asks as the sounds of soft, musical moans float out of the speakers.

I shift in my seat, cross my legs and pinch off the trembling in my clit as I focus my attention back to Miss Anonymous.

“Huh? What did you say?”

She repeats the question. I tell her I’m considering The Pussy Pleaser. She gives me a mischievous grin, then flags over the barmaid. She tells her my selection, then brings her attention back to me. I almost choke on my drink.

“You aiight? Don’t get scared now, ma-ma. You about to get that back blown out. The Pussy Pleaser is in hot demand. And is guaranteed to leave your pussy well-satisfied.”

That’s exactly what I am hoping. To be fucked well.

I meet her amused gaze. “Why’d you do that? I said I was considering it. I didn’t say I was
ready
to actually go through with it. Coming here alone tonight, then coming up to this part of the club is a big step for me. Getting fucked anonymously again is a big stretch for me. I’m here to watch.” I say this fully aware that voyeurism is not allowed up here in this part of the Palace. Getting fucked
is
exactly what I’m here for.

She laughs, giving me a “yeah right” look. “Then you’re in the wrong part of the club, ma-ma. You can watch others on the first three levels if you don’t want to partake. But up here in the CockTail Lounge, baby, it’s all about the cock. You get fucked.”

I quickly glance at the barmaid as she sets a fresh drink on a napkin for me. “This is all still very new to me.” I take a long sip of my drink.

Miss Anonymous holds my gaze. “Baby, live in the moment. Obviously you’re right where you want to be.” She inches in closer, her hand trailing the inner part of my thigh. Tingling heat shoots through me as her fingertips lightly brush along the edge of my silk thong. “So you might as well give in to what your body aches for. I bet your pussy’s already wet for what’s to come.”

I squirm in my seat, tossing back the rest of my drink, then setting it up on the bar. “No comment,” I push out in a throaty whisper, fighting back a moan.

“No comment needed.” Her two fingers slip beneath the fabric. Circle my clit, then plunge into my pussy, curling upward into my throbbing heat. I gasp. “This wet pussy says it all.”