Dangerously In Love (5 page)

C
hanelle slipped her foot into a red strappy stiletto. She was wearing a red fringed fishnet gown with long slits on both sides, matching thong, and an underwire bra that pushed her natural D-cups up to the rafters.

She strapped on the other shoe and then gazed in the full-length mirror. Lingerie and heels—a combination that had become as familiar as her own skin. But not for long! Once she hooked a husband, she would never again put on anything shimmering, slinky, or see-through. She’d be sleeping in flannel pajamas and padding around her dream home in fuzzy slippers.

Hanging up her G-string for good was her favorite fantasy.

“Toxic” by Britney Spears, which was Mandy’s corny theme song, broke into Chanelle’s reverie. As much as she disliked the tune, oddly, she felt a strong desire to dance. Suddenly parched, she rotated her hips to the beat as she danced over to the bubbly and poured herself another glass. She took a few swallows of the extra dry champagne that delighted her taste buds. It may have been her imagination, but the second glass seemed to taste even better than the first.

Less than a half-hour ago, Chanelle had to restrain herself from putting her fist in Lexi’s mouth, but now she felt, well…fabulous!
This is weird!

One last cursory glance in the mirror confirmed her belief: she looked hotter than ever. In fact, she was the finest mocha chocolate mama on the planet and those uptight white boys downstairs had better act like they know and have her money ready. Chanelle no longer had the feeling of being an outsider. Giggling and bouncing rhythmically, she descended the staircase.

It was time to shake her moneymaker.

Still garbed in Dolce & Gabbana instead of stripper wear, Lexi gave Chanelle a warm smile. How strange. Considering that Chanelle was late and should have been downstairs attending to the men fifteen minutes ago, she expected Lexi to give her a scowl of disapproval or to mouth off some type of chastisement, but Lexi maintained a pleasant expression.

Yes, the mood in the room had definitely changed. Not only was Lexi more relaxed, the men also seemed less uptight. They were more animated and actually looked entertained as Mandy slithered around on a leopard sheet, gyrating to Britney’s awful song.

Chanelle leaned over to Lexi. “Where’s the groom? I want to congratulate him and uh, you know, give him a special dance before I start my routine. Oh, yeah, where’s the best man—is he tipping for the groom?”

Lexi scanned the crowd and then shrugged. “The groom was here a few minutes ago. I’m sure he’ll be right back. In the meantime, why don’t you go make nice with Brad over there?” She nodded toward a muscular young man who was watching Mandy’s performance from the back of the room. “Brad and the best man are paying…” Lexi paused; her head swiveled around until she located the best man. The best man had his head buried so deep in Mandy’s bosom it was impossible to get a clear view of his face. Lexi chuckled as if the best man’s behavior was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. “They’re paying for this shindig. I told them not to worry about the groom. His dances are free—part of the cost.”

Free dances! Now, Lexi knows she’s wrong
. However, for some reason Chanelle decided to let it fly. Though it was her nature to gripe and bitch endlessly when she believed someone was trying to exploit her, Chanelle merely shrugged and said, “Okay, I’ll hook the groom up. What’s his name?”

“Trevor.”

“Okay, let me know when Trevor’s ready. I’m gonna give him a bangin’ send-off.”

Lexi smiled. “Okay, but look…Brad is the one who specifically requested a black chick,” Lexi added.

Chanelle wasn’t aware that anyone had
specifically
requested a black girl. The request seemed racist, but she was feeling too good to let it bother her. Determined to put a smile on Brad’s face and some extra cash inside her purse, she sexily wound her way to the back of the room.

Dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt, Brad was tall and muscular. He looked more like an Eagles linebacker than an investment broker. He was the only man in the room not wearing professional attire. With a brooding look, he stood slouched against a wall chugging down a Heineken. His eyes kept darting worriedly in the direction of the kitchen where the whizzing sound of a blender could he heard.

Then his green eyes landed on Chanelle. He broke into a huge, appreciative grin and seemed instantly to forget whatever was going on in the kitchen that seemed to trouble him.

“Hey, handsome. Havin’ fun?” Chanelle asked as she moistened her outlined and glossed full lips.

“I am now.” He looked and gave a bashful smile. “You must be Sensation?”

“That’s what they tell me,” she said sassily. She stared into his eyes; the shade of green reminded her of the pictures she had seen of the ocean in the Cayman Islands. His eyes were so pretty, she wondered if he was wearing contact lenses.

Mandy’s next song came on—something by Hilary Duff. Though Chanelle was definitely not into white girl music, she found herself inexplicably locked into the bass line of the song.

And another weird thing was happening to her. The sporadic movement of Brad’s Adam’s apple had her mesmerized. For some reason, Chanelle was intensely, yet pleasantly aware of everything! It was so weird, but in a good way.

She was ready to start dancing. Hell, as good as she felt, she’d dance for free. That strange admission put an amused smile on her face. Poking out her chest and rotating her hips, she rubbed up against Brad. And for the second time, he blushed.

Not being under the roving, ever-watchful glare of the bouncer at Lizzard’s, the attendees at the private bachelor party took many liberties with the dancers. Brad, smiling sheepishly like a shy little boy, was no exception. His naughty intentions became apparent when he suddenly thrust one hand beneath Chanelle’s gown and cupped a breast with his other hand.

Chanelle gasped in surprise. Seemingly ambidextrous, Brad simultaneously squeezed her right butt cheek and her left tit. In the grip of some mystifying euphoria, she wasn’t resistant; she didn’t jerk away. Instead, she moved dreamily from side to side. With her eyes closed blissfully, Chanelle gave in to the enjoyable feeling of Brad’s self-assured hands.

As unthinkable as it was, Chanelle, now enraptured, forgot about collecting tips. She concentrated completely on her own pleasure. Brad worked his hand under her bra and began to circle her nipple with an index finger. The friction of his fingertip was powerfully stimulating, causing her to utter a small moan.

Taking that sound as a green light to proceed to uncharted territory, he slid his hand to the front of her thong, caressed her mons pubis through the fabric, and then boldly slipped his hand inside.

He raked his fingers through the abundance of crinkly hair. The crackling sound of fingernails against pubic hair sounded melodic, sensual, and stirred her passion. Chanelle inched closer to Brad’s musical fingers and breathed out contentedly.

“It’s your turn, Sensation,” Lexi called, breaking up the sexually charged moment.

Chanelle was at first unable to tear away from Brad’s skillful fingers, but when she heard the first few bars of her theme song, she felt an overpowering urge to dance.

“Be right back,” she assured Brad, and blew him a kiss.

Welcoming her with whistles and a cacophony of whooping sounds, the male audience had become much more energized. Chanelle assumed the stiff jerks were finally feeling the effects of alcohol.

Chanelle strutted to the front of the room. The moist stickiness between her legs made her very much aware of her sensuality; she felt eager to give a dazzling display of her erotic dance moves.

With great pride, she watched the faces of her audience as she swiveled, undulated, and twisted to the pulsating rhythm. Unlike Mandy, Chanelle was not standing before them merely shaking her ass, fondling her breasts, and swinging her hair. No, she was giving the men something neither Mandy nor Lexi could give: uninhibited dancing from the soul of a sexy black woman.

They gaped at her with awe as if she were some rare exotic creature they could only dream of capturing. Gazing at her audience with narrowed, seductive eyes, she lowered one thin strap of her gown and then slowly lowered the other. The men gasped as if baring a shoulder was the equivalent of parting her vaginal lips and inviting them all to explore the mysteries of her dark and forbidden womanhood.

Feeling extremely powerful, Chanelle unhurriedly removed the fringed dress, exposing her beautiful blackness as she stripped down to just a slinged thong and a push-up bra. The uptight bunch of brokers went wild, blanketing the floor with cash. A pelvic thrust as she cupped and caressed her crotch sent the crowd into a frenzy that inspired another shower of greenbacks.

Strangely, she was falling head over heels in love with a profession she thought she despised. She couldn’t imagine why she had considered the privilege of displaying her beauty and talent as something unwholesome and demeaning.

As a finale, Chanelle whipped around and worked the muscles of each buttock. In other words, she gave the audience her spectacular ass—to kiss.

After stashing her cash, Chanelle rushed to the rear to continue the sex play with Brad. She found him in the kitchen having a heated argument with a short and rather scrawny man who was holding a pitcher of a pastel-colored daiquiri he’d concocted in the blender.

The drink looked delicious. With her mouth feeling as dry as the Sahara desert, she was about to ask the short man to give her a glass of the exotic-looking drink. But there was something in the icy look the man gave her that made her change her mind. That look and the tone of the quarrel between the two men made Chanelle raise a puzzled brow. She left the kitchen to look for another male playmate.

Someone placed a single chair in the middle of the dance area. Lexi pointed to the chair and announced gaily, “And now, it’s time for Trevor to have his last hurrah!”

“Trevor, Trevor, Trevor,” the intoxicated attendees began to chant as they craned their necks in search of the guest of honor. Chanelle stopped working the crowd long enough to catch a glimpse of the elusive Trevor.

Annoyed, Trevor emerged from the kitchen, gave the drunken crowd an impatient look, and said, “Give me a second.” He disappeared back into the kitchen.

Chanelle couldn’t have been more surprised that the disgruntled “Daiquiri Dan” was Trevor, the guest of honor. She took a few seconds to ponder what was going on in the kitchen and decided that Trevor and Brad were probably having a dispute over the thing people argue about most—money.

“Sensation,” Lexi called. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Trevor, but the boys are getting restless. Would you be a dear and give another performance?”

“No problem,” Chanelle replied, feeling uplifted and unusually happy.

“Mandy’s gonna join you,” Lexi quickly added.

“Okay.” Chanelle smiled brightly. All was well in her world.

It was hard to catch a groove dancing to Mandy’s ridiculous music, but Chanelle rode the bass line and then started moving as if she owned the song.

In fact, she forgot Mandy was a part of the performance until Mandy sidled up to her and attempted to match the swings and sways of Chanelle’s womanly hips. It was an impossible task. Mandy quickly gave up and got the attention of the spectators by brazenly stroking Chanelle’s private parts.

Revved up and sexually aroused, the guys started sticking five-dollar bills in Mandy’s G-string, encouraging her to escalate the sex play. Taking a surprisingly willing Chanelle by the hand, Mandy took a seat in the designated bachelor’s chair and invited Chanelle to join her. Chanelle bent over and pushed her ample derriere between Mandy’s thin white thighs.

It was a totally new feeling. Feminine softness replaced the hard dick Chanelle was accustomed to feeling against her butt. Moreover, the sheer decadence of the routine was a turn-on. As Chanelle grinded her ass into Mandy’s crotch, Mandy groped around and unhooked Chanelle’s bra, exposing her breasts. The contrast of Mandy’s white hands fondling Chanelle’s dark breasts drove the men even wilder.

“Let’s see some chick-lick! Chick-lick!” the audience chorused. Ever obliging, Mandy leaned forward, reached over Chanelle, and took a bottle of Heineken from one of the guys. She dribbled beer over Chanelle’s breasts, then turned her around and began licking the brew off.

One of the drunken spectators decided to get into the act. He nudged Mandy out of the way and boldly poured beer over Chanelle’s shoulders. Beer ran down her chest and arms. And that’s when things started to get out of hand.

The oversexed group of men went into their bizarre chant again: “Chick-lick! Chick-lick!” Looking perplexed, Mandy froze and moved away from Chanelle. Lexi tried to enforce crowd control, but couldn’t.

In a matter of seconds, the bawdy men had drenched Chanelle from head to toe with beer, vodka, and gin, and shouted for Mandy to lick Chanelle.

Shocked out of her euphoric state, Chanelle screamed for them to stop. Her yelling did not deter one ambitious attendee from pouring the entire contents of the daiquiri pitcher over her head, coating Chanelle’s face and body with the cold, mushy mixture.

Temporarily blinded by the combination of alcoholic beverages, Chanelle stumbled toward the stairs. Neither Mandy nor Lexi came to her rescue with a towel or even comforting words. As if she weren’t humiliated enough, she heard titters of feminine laughter as she stumbled up the stairs.