For the Reader: This is the final installment of a series that has some elements of truth in it. I'll leave the reader to guess the what and where, and even the whom.
This story is, however, only a work of fiction. Whether you condone or condemn interracial sex, adultery, rape, risky sex, or any of the other themes within this series, the intent is for you to find enjoyment, and not a racist rant or other meaningless, degrading diatribe on or of the author. In short, if you can't be constructive, shut the hell up.
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A Work Party- Chapter 6
My Voyage of Self-Discovery Ends
The alleyway we parked in was actually far more spacious than I ever imagined. The single-lane drive was opened into a fairly large parking lot, with brick or concrete- walled buildings on three sides. There were some dank smells about, and the loud of dripping water somewhere, a steady stream of who knows what. Heavy debris and broken or discarded furniture was littered everywhere, and there were some stacks and piles that appeared to be organized lumps of trash.
The soft breeze that had been wafting along the outside became a lot stronger, and I had to hold my skirt to keep it controlled. We had wound up parked near the end farthest away, and at the end of the man-made canyon, forcing the air to flow upwards. It was powerful enough that any skirt of dress would fly high, if proper attention was not paid. I was glad that I was wearing panties, even if it was just a thong and a very tiny sheer patch covering my petals.
My heels crackled on the broken pavement as Ron escorted me out of the car, and around to the entrance of a non-descript door. There was a muffled heavy beat coming from it, and it looked all the world like some club only those "In-the-know" would find, let alone enter. Ron knocked and then the door opened outward, where the loud and heavy beat suddenly escaped, almost blasting my ears. The air smelled like pot and perhaps worse. He flashed a $20 bill and was admitted, leading me inside. The door was slammed shut by a very large, very obese bouncer, whose skin was even darker than Ron's, as if that were possible, and he had gold bling hanging from his neck, and large and gaudy gold rings on most of his fingers. His smile even had a gold tooth in it. His attire was simple athletic pants and a grey tank-top, covered by a matching over-size nylon athletic jacket.
The walls inside were painted black, with red and gold lights illuminating the end of the hallway, and the first room. Well, the main room. The hallway had doors on one side, and it seemed that there were sounds coming from a few of them. These were noises I could readily recognize, as I had made them myself. Loud, passionate moans from feminine voices, and the harsh grunting of a male rutting leaked through the thin wood, and I was sure, the equally thin walls. Breaking out into the main room, there was a dark wood paneling on the walls, with some red fake leather booths, and some high-top tables. A dark wooden bar was laid along the left side, one stocked fairly well, but with a bartender who was harried. He was thin, slightly built, and he could be heard replying to questions. His accent marked him as a foreigner, maybe from Jamaica, or even Haiti. I wasn't sure.
As Ron paused to take in the surroundings and who was who, I leaned forward into him, and asked for the powder room, as I needed to freshen up, and clean myself up. Ron's last sexual use of me had left me in need of some hygiene. Not that I would want to necessarily leave his spunk wasted, but I was a mess of sorts down below. He showed me where to look, and I left his arm, my heels making my hips sway in a sensual, strutting tease, the short red satin dress flirting left and right with the multiple pairs of eyes on my ass. I took in the patrons, and noted I was nearly the only white woman there. One I saw was serving drinks, in a very barely-there uniform, another was obviously arm-candy for this black man who was dressed in a very dashing white suit, and yet a third was bobbing her head up and down on this really tall guy's lap. I snorted as I saw her at work, wondering if she could deep throat as I could. Women could be catty about the strangest things, at times, and for me, my ability to purse my lips around the base of Ron's cock and smear my lipstick on him was a great source of pride for me. I was the reigning blowjob queen, just ask me!
Making my way into the mostly clean restroom, I took care of my business, and cleaned myself up. I had to use several passes at cleaning my crotch, as Ron's cum had smeared well onto my inner thighs. My thong was a lacey mess, so I took it off and rinsed it out with hot water. I know warm is what was called for when washing it, but I needed it clean, and hopefully dry. In the middle of all this, Miss BJ came in, and wedged her way into the sink area, spitting out the remnants of her lover's jism. I couldn't resist myself.
"That bad, huh?"
She cupped her hand to slurp some water, swishing it around and spitting it out before replying. "I can't stand the taste, it is like bitter sea water to me." And she slurped in more water for her oral ablutions.
I smiled in a self-satisfied grin. "Not if you swallow, I would think." I was setting the hook.
She just looked at me. "I dunno. There was a lot of it." She was nearly admitting defeat.
"Not if you deep throat him." I cheerily concluded, and the look on her face said volumes. Obviously, she couldn't, or didn't know how to do it. Having my catty moment of victory, I left her to her own cleaning, and made my way out, refreshed, and even a bit bolder, having stroked my own ego.
Coming out, Ron was nowhere to be seen. I frowned thoughtfully, and more carefully looked around. Then I saw him, seated in a booth and in a conversation with some other men. All of them were dressed more or less as he was, though one must've been a new arrival, as he had his own fresh white meat on his arm, which made the booth full. I decided it was safe enough to be on my own in the main room, and strutted my way past him, trailing along his shoulder as I did so. He looked and gave me a nod of acknowledgement and then went back to his conversation. I had been left to my own devices.
I was simply leaning on a high-top with my arms up, gently kicking my toe into the red carpet, and looking around, people watching. Miss BJ came back out, and looked much happier, and we made eye contact, exchanging soft nods as she went back to her host. Boyfriend? Lover? John? Bull? It made me wonder about the others, and their relationships. Including my own, when I felt a hand caress my butt, sliding down the silky, shiny soft satin, until the material ran out, and his hand then reached up, cupping my bare rear. Turning, I saw a younger man, also black, dressed in a grey hoodie and red basketball shorts, with open-laced white basketball shoes.
