It was the night of Darnell's big party, and I was getting ready to play hard. Red cocktail dress, short with a long side slit, the kind of dress that my girlfriends called a "Fuck 'em" dress. I was wearing my black gloss stilettos, red lipstick and no wedding ring. I curled my long blond hair and restrained my rack with an underwire push-up, creating cleavage for days. I took a long hard look at myself in the bathroom mirror and was struck by how good my new necklace looked. There it was, hanging between my breasts, a black spade with a white 'Q' in the center.
I don't think Dusty knew what it meant, but even if he did, I didn't care. If I had learned anything in the last few weeks, it was how to be happy. Dusty's feelings didn't factor into that. He had been spending all his free time locked in the basement lately anyway, he said he was working on a new project, but wouldn't tell me anything else. If I gave a damn, I would have argued, but I had long since ran out of fucks to give for Dusty's hobbies, so I eyed myself in the mirror, adjusted my rack, licked my rosy red lips and strutted out the door, already aching from anticipation.
The drive tore my nerves up. I hated city traffic, but Friday nights were the worst. It was bumper to bumper all the way to the highway. Ten minutes into the trip, I had a hand up my dress, trying in vain to quench the need, if only temporarily.
I only frustrated myself more. If I carried a bigger purse, I would consider carrying my BBC dildo anytime I left the house. I'd even bought an adorable carrying case just for that reason, but the only purse that matched this dress was comically small and could barely contain my make-up and a little party-favor that I thought would come in handy if this night went my way. I briefly thought that a Dusty-sized dildo would fit nicely in it, but there was no way that something that small would be worth it. Out of options, I decided it was best to just focus on the road. The last thing I wanted to do was get in a wreck and miss the party. I was, after all, the night's entertainment.
The drive was pure torture. Every fiber of my being was screaming by the time I made it downtown. Four stoplights later and I was nearly shaking from withdrawals. Five and I thought I would die, but I squeezed the steering wheel of my '96 Accord until my knuckles turned white and worked my way through the maze of downtown streets until I made it to Darnell's street.
There were cars on both sides, and I was worried I wouldn't be able to find a parking space, but there was one reserved right in front, with a small sign that said 'entertainment'. I felt pretty special, important even, and I climbed out of my car as gracefully as its antiquated design would allow.
I could hear the party from the driveway, and I'll admit to being a little intimidated. Since I started my new life, I'd had my fair share of black cock, but I was taking on seven tonight, and I just wasn't sure of the logistics involved.
I made my way toward the front door, trying desperately to keep my composure. I'd found myself masturbating on this porch before, but I needed to look at least half professional tonight. I tried to remember the power trip that came from dragging Tremain into that club bathroom. Tried to hold on to that strength. I knew I'd turn into a slobbering, cock slurping whore by the end of the night, but I could at least pretend to be in control when I walked in.
It was so damn loud in there. I had never been to a record release party, besides a handful of get-togethers in high school, I had never really been to a party of any sort. I'll admit, I had some preconceptions, all of which were met. Darnell's living room was packed with young, well dressed black men, all laughing and carrying on. When I stepped through the door, the party came to a screeching halt at my presence. The talking stopped, and their eyes fell on me. I was being visually undressed by a room full of sexy black men, and my face turned bright red.
"There she is! You can look, but don't touch. Shiloh's a VIP tonight." Darnell's powerful voice cut through the room.
I'd love to pretend that I was keeping my composure, at least on the outside, but on the inside I was like a starving woman at a buffet. I needed their cocks. All of them. I wanted to drop to my hands and knees and crawl to the center of the room. I wanted to tear my clothes off and give in to the burning need that was dominating me, body and soul. Somewhere, deep down, I wondered if I'd lost my mind.
"I'm so glad you could make it, Shi." Darnell said, walking across the room and taking my hand before I could make a slut of myself.
"The crew's in the back right now, do you want to see the studio?" He continued, smiling.
I returned his smile, and forced myself to exert some control. I wasn't some hopeless addict. I was Shiloh Cash. I was a Queen of Spades. I dominate and submit. I give as much as I take. I placed a hand on his face and batted my eyelashes.
"There's only seven things I intend on seeing tonight, they better be in that studio." I said.
"Goddamn, Girl" He laughed, "I guess it's rude to make a lady wait."
Darnell took me by the hand and led me down a hallway and stopped at a big, heavy door. He placed a big hand on the doorknob and then turned to me.
"The Studio is soundproof, which knowing you is a good thing." He said with a big, charismatic smile "I'm going to get the crew, go on and make yourself at home."
I pulled the heavy door open and stepped into Darnell's home recording studio. His post-modern black-and-white decor continued into this room, with white carpeting and a black leather couch. The walls were covered in black noise-cancelling foam and a recording set-up dominated most of the room. There were a few mics, a high-dollar camcorder, some consoles I assumed were for sound mixing and an honest-to-god turntable. I sat my purse down on the couch and slipped off my underwear, stuffing them into my already over-packed bag. I was just starting to entertain myself by playing with the mixer when Darnell came back with six other black men, each heavily muscled and well toned.
"So boys, like what you see?" Darnell said, motioning toward me.
"Damn dawg, that's one fine-ass bitch." The shortest one said, smiling ear to ear.
"So how's this gonna work Dar?" Another one said, his thick, beaded dreadlocks hanging past his shoulders.
I walked towards them, running my hands over my body as I did so, and pressed up against the one with the dreads.
"Mic check," I whispered, trying to hide my hunger under a veneer of sensual control as I dropped to the floor and ran my tongue up the front of his pinstriped slacks.
I found the zipper with my teeth, and unzipped him in one motion, then I looked up at him while I fished his thick cock out with one hand.
