Den
Chapter 1
"To call Dennis Young, known internationally by his moniker "Den", simply an impressionist would be accurate, but it would also be a gross simplification. Den's work is a hallucinogenic tour de force through the human subconscious. "My work is like a virus that alters the viewer in their soul," said Den of his work. I am hard pressed to disagree. His work is challenging, dynamic, and most assuredly erotic. Indeed his massive oeuvre calls to mind Basquiat at his most primal. His work is presently on display at the Graffiti Art Gallery Alley in Las Vegas. It is a limited showing with only a two week residency, but well worth a look." - Ashleigh Wayan, Juxtapoz Magazine
"It's my show," I said to the comely young weed tender behind the glass case. She reminded me of bubblegum and rollerskating rinks as she smiled and bit her lower lip. That shit always killed me.
"That's so cool," she said nodding. "What can I get for you?"
I leaned in and looked her in the eye, "I'd love some of that Blue Dream and your company later tonight."
She giggled, "I can get you the Blue Dream, but I'm already taken," she flashed me the diamond on her finger. Just an engagement ring, but still.
I dropped forward as if she stabbed me, but laughed it off. I left the dispensary with a fat bag and a fat joint. The joint was extra, I counted it as a win. Back in the day I'd have had her legs around her head, fiance or not. Shit, husband or not I would've been her naughty little secret. I'd been off my game for a bit and had to put forth more effort than I was used to. I chalked it up to age, not exactly a spring chicken, but I still got plenty of moves. Ain't like the old days, I'd just flash a smile and the panties dropped like magic. These days it took a little more, not much, I'd been inching towards silver fox stage for a while.
I entered the Hard Rock lamenting my advanced age and regretted not marrying a wealthy heiress while I had the power to do so. The gaudy superficial environment suited my acerbic mood in a way that was strangely pleasant. The hotel around me represented everything I had been. I felt like those aging rock stars and gravitated towards the first bar I could find. The woman I found there changed my mind about everything.
She said her name was Angel and that's when I quipped that I should run. She giggled at that. Her head was shaved just above her left ear and she had a spider web tattooed there. She was adorned in necklaces, rings, and bracelets. A tight halter top, painted on leggings, and stiletto heels completed the ensemble. She caught my eye as I walked in, but when I sat she watched me with intent. Her gaze was so intense that she seemed to bore a hole into my fucking soul. I thought again about running but alcohol and most of that Blue Dream blunt softened my resolve. She was watching me and I thought I might just get my mojo back yet.
I took my cue and approached, those thoughts and feeling of age melted away as she smiled at me when I sat down. "I know you," she said boldly.
"Do you now?"
She nodded emphatically before looking me in the eyes and saying, "Your work is amazing and I am, like, your biggest fan."
"Always love to meet a fan," I said.
She touched me every chance she got and as the second drink was laid I decided to let go and let the night take me where it would. I assumed sex would be in the offing and she wasn't doing much to dissuade those thoughts. After our introductions were made and fresh drinks were poured she straddled my lap. I could feel her ass on my legs. The ass of a twenty two year old with thigh gap and the phantom wisp of a shaved pubis. Angel rubbed against my denim with every question she asked. She asked a lot of questions, about my inspiration, about my process, about the brands I used, and the origin of specific paintings. She had been following my work for years it seemed. It was, to use an obvious pun, heavenly. "Have you met with the gallery owner?"
"I have, we've been emailing a lot. We went to dinner at Battista's Hole in the Wall last night. Bianca is an amazing woman and has some fascinating plans to invite burgeoning artists to her gallery."
"You don't actually believe that do you?"
"I do," I laughed at her, "Of course. I've had some amazing successes over the years but this is the year I go mainstream. Banksy ain't got shit on me."
She shook her head again, "You're probably just using her."
"That sounds pointed."
"It's what men do, isn't it?"
"There's validity to that, but I'm not some master manipulator. I just go where the tide takes me."
She nodded, "I'm sure. What do you say we get a bottle of wine and take this party elsewhere?" she changed the subject which I was more than happy to do.
"Where did you have in mind?"
She was still on my lap when she shrugged, tilted her head down to make her eyes appear larger, and bit her lower lip. "We could go to your room," I died right there.
I picked her up with both arms and cradled her, "Fantastic idea!" I swung her around and she giggled. I called back, "Bartender, one bottle of Pinot Noir to go."
We barely made it to the elevator before her tongue was in my mouth. I had the corner of her panties hooked around my thumb when an elderly couple appeared at the elevator door. We collectively wiped our mouths as we pried each other apart. The nervous laughter lasted as long as it took for us to exit the lift and the ancient pair to be hidden behind brushed steel doors to resume our previous positions as we made our way to my room. Her hands were far more adventurous than mine as they dallied around the head and shaft of my dick. We fell with the door and nearly broke the wine bottle as we stumbled against the carpet with her hand around my girth while mine was three fingers into her sex approaching the second knuckle.
A realization of our locale broke the mutual spell of lust between us as we marched around the hotel room prepping for the meat of our endeavor. No expectations, just let the night happen. Push and pull with your affection. I worked every piece of game data I had to keep her enchanted while I prepped for bed. How do you turn brushing teeth and taking a shower into seduction? I could suggest the shower, but it's usually too obvious and definitely too intimate. My only tried and true method was to say simply excuse me and abscond to the bathroom. The less said the better. The impatient left, but those that stayed were keepers.
By the time I was ready she had two glasses of wine set out in plastic hotel cups and more importantly her very naked form lounged diagonally across my bed. Her body was so close to perfect that any argument to the contrary would be met with, 'but were you there?' in my head.
I pulled my shirt away as I approached my physique was still wiry and lithe despite the years of misuse I put it through. My pants were open and sliding to my thigh by the time I reached the bed. She took my dick in her hands and kissed the head almost reverentially before engulfing its length. One of her hands cradled my sack while she bobbed her head. I closed my eyes and groaned as she continued with her expert technique. My knees buckled and I almost fell as she swirled her tongue around the head.
She moaned even as her mouth was filled and the subtle vibration was sending shock waves through my whole body. I wasn't close to cumming because of all the weed and booze but I wanted to be inside her. I pushed her away and down onto the bed. She smiled up at me devilishly. "Use me," she said. "Fill me," she dabbed a finger into her wet slit with her legs spread wide. "Fuck me." she commanded through mewling sounds. What was her name again?
She had the most exquisite pussy I had ever laid eyes on. Not completely shaved but definitely the prettiest I had ever witnessed outside of a magazine or triple x rated film. What makes up the perfect pussy? Tight quivering lips, engorged blushing clit, a single drop of moisture clinging to her vulva which seemed to be blowing kisses at me. I consider myself something of a connoisseur and this one knocked it out of the park. Number one with a bullet!
Entering her made me feel like a teenage boy all over again experiencing my first sexual encounter. I could barely contain myself, it just sheathed my dick perfectly and literally made me go cross-eyed. She was making sounds, soft wanton sounds, I had to slow myself down. I kissed her neck and thrust slowly, but she wasn't having any of that shit. She wanted a beast and I decided, fuck it, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but I made the split second decision, if I came too quickly she was definitely not spending the night. So I attacked that pussy with extreme prejudice. She pulled me into her and the sensations were getting to be overwhelming. I still hadn't cum, that was good because I wanted to stay in that tight cunt as long as God would allow.
It turned out God had very little to do with it. I didn't remember falling asleep. All I had was smash cut flashes of our exploits in no particular order. Positions changed, her on top, me on top, her against the wall on my shoulders as I ate her out. I didn't even care that I could taste my own salt. I remember fucking on the bed, the couch, the bathroom, on top of the mini bar. The room turned into a playground and then there was nothing an empty gap in time. We were fucking and then there was darkness.
I woke to red neon lights washing over the sheets on top of her sleeping form. Decided not to wake her because I felt like she earned a good nights rest. Something felt off, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I was off balance and felt too low to the ground as I swung my legs over the bed to greet the floor. I chalked it up to hang over and moved through the room in a half blind effort to find the bathroom. That's when I saw her, another woman in my room, framed perfectly by a neon halo behind her. I had a thought, but stuffed it away so I could take a good look at this goddess in my room. Dark brown skin without a blemish anywhere to be seen. Huge dark eyes and a mane of curly black hair hanging to her shoulders. She was sexy and thick in all the right places. Her tits were huge, bigger than Angel? Yeah, that was her name, they were bigger than Angel's and stood proudly off her chest like eager puppies. Ass a thing of beauty. As I stared dumbfounded it seemed she was moving with me mirroring my movements as I looked her over. She turned her ass to me as I turned mine to her. Wait, that made no sense. I moved a hand and she followed, same hand, lifted my foot and she lifted hers and then my stomach fell out and I dropped to me knees. A sultry voice I'd never heard before screamed instead of my voice. I raised my hand to my throat and looked at the woman as she looked up at me. That's when the bedside lamp blazed to life.
I was blinded by the sudden shift but then I saw her, the sexy black girl staring back where I should've been. I tentatively raised a hand to one of her mammoth tits and touched it. Her smooth perfect skin felt exactly as I imagined it would as I kneaded the flesh. I shook my head in disbelief and then saw Angel behind me naked with her arms crossed and her mouth open waiting for the right moment to speak.
She found it, "Den, meet Bonnie, your new identity."
Chapter 2
My name was Bonnie Smith, but I went by Bunny when I was working. Las Vegas is all glitz and glamour until you look below the surface and believe me you don't have to look deep to find its ugly side.
Bradley's jaw just about hit the floor when he saw the dress I was wearing, "You look gorgeous," he said timidly.
"Thank you."
He took my hand, led me to his car, and held the door open for me. I kissed him on the lips, just a peck really, and let my hand linger on his cheek as I sat in the passenger side. I nibbled at his ear while we drove to the restaurant.
The food, the service, Bradley, all of it was dynamite. He was charming and polite and for a hot minute I forgot I was on the clock. That's how casual it all was and the chemistry it was almost enough to make me hang up my whoring shoes. Almost. We finished dinner, made out in the car, and went up to his room with a bottle of vodka. I worked my magic and gave him a long slow blowjob before he decided he wanted to be on top.
I dropped my dress seductively, there was nothing underneath, and he took me. He was rough, but in a good way and with his hand on my throat I could feel myself about to blow. But his hands never came away. No, they pressed in harder. He was still inside me and his hands were around my throat tight enough that sound wasn't coming out. I scratched, punched, and kicked as my vision started to blur, but all the alcohol took its toll and I didn't have the oxygen to keep my limbs from turning to rubber. I saw blood on his face where I got him with my nails, but that was the last thing I saw before I died.
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