Chapter 6
I looked at Ronnie in the mirror as she ran the flatirons through her hair.
We were both getting ready for our clients and decided to get ready together so we could talk.
Life at the brothel had been a whirlwind.
Ronnie and I were booked solid weeks in advance, so prioritizing spending time together was important for us both.
Ronnie was my sister. My diary. The wind underneath my wings. All that. She was my favorite person in this entire world and if we didn’t spend at least a couple of hours together a day, we would both be whiny little bitches.
"So…I met someone." I paused. "I think."
Her motion stilled at once. Setting down the flat irons, she turned to me, brows raised. "Met someone, met someone like a potential client or—"
I shook my head. "No. Met someone in general." I let out a soft breath. "Or met again I should say. Remember the guy from the club?"
Ronnie squinted her eyes in thought. "We met a lot of niggas, sis." She shrugged. "Narrow it down."
"The one we met by the bathroom." I filled in. "Tatted. Curls. Tall."
Recognition shone in her eyes and she nodded. "Ohhh—okay." She gave an approving smile. "I mean he was fine as hell I'll say that."
"Right." I nodded in agreement.
"So where did you meet him again?" She crossed her arms.
"Simmer & Soul. I went to grab some dinner when you were busy, and he just so happened to be the owner. He sent over a dessert." I shrugged with a soft smile.
Ronnie's eyes narrowed at me, but she was silent. Processing. I could read her like a book though. She inhaled deeply and blew out air. She had something to say.
"Just say it, bitch." I rolled my eyes.
"We don't date, GG. For obvious reasons," she said. "You know how these niggas get when we tell them what we do."
I sighed. "Yeah, I know. I told him that."
"And what did he say?"
I couldn’t help the smile that grazed my lips.
"Gave me his card. Said he wanted to take me out.
He thinks he could be the man to change my life or whatever.
" I rolled my eyes again but there was no annoyance with it.
It's not like I haven't heard it before, but when he said—I don't know… I kinda liked it.
Ronnie, however, snorted rolling her eyes as well. "Change your life? Girl, please." She chuckled dryly picking up her flat irons. "It's like these niggas reading from the same playbook."
I couldn’t argue with that. I know all too well how men would try to sell a dream.
I picked up my feather comb and began to rake it carefully through the heatless curls in my hair.
"He was sweet though," I continued softly.
"Kinda sad actually. He's a widower. Wife died from cancer and left him with a baby. "
"I mean…that's tragic as fuck," Ronnie replied.
"And I do feel for him, but that's all the more reason why you don't need that extra ass complication in your life.
The man is probably still grieving and he has a kid.
" She shook her head. "Nah. Hell, you gon' fuck around and slide into a ready-made family and be living in the shoes of his ghost of a wife. "
I chuckled softly, still combing through my curls. “See…that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you at first,” I said.
Ronnie snorted. “Because you knew I was gonna say some real shit?”
“Because you always go straight to the worst case scenario,” I corrected.
She turned the flatiron off and leaned her hip against the vanity. “That’s called experience, GG."
I caught her eyes in the mirror.
“And what experience has taught me,” she continued, “is that men love a fantasy. They love the idea of us. But the second reality hit—the second they realize you're not just some mysterious, pretty woman, but a sex worker…” she shook her head. “Whole vibe changes.”
I sighed because she wasn’t wrong. I had experienced it the few times I've tried to date. “Yeah. I know.”
“And that’s before you even add the other stuff,” she went on. “The grieving widower thing. The kid. The emotional baggage. That’s not light work.”
“I ain't saying I'ma marry the nigga so relax," I cut my eyes at her. "All I'm saying is he seemed cool. The vibe was there.”
“That’s because you met him during dessert and wine,” she shot back. “Life ain’t dessert and wine.”
"It could be though," I laughed. “And you're being a hater.”
“I’m being a realist,” she smirked. Picking up the brush, she began brushing through her 30-inch, platinum-blonde tresses while her eyes stayed on me through the mirror. “So, what you gon’ do?” Ronnie asked.
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
Her brow lifted. “Nothing?”
“Like you said…we don’t date,” I reminded her. “I meant that.”
“But you keep smiling like that card burning a hole in your purse.”
I rolled my eyes again, “It’s not like that.”
“Mmhm.” She finished her hair and set the brush down. “You like him. I can tell.”
I hesitated just a second too long.
Ronnie pointed at me. “Boom. There it is.”
I huffed. “I was curious. That's it,” I defended.
“Curiosity is exactly how shit start.”
I reached over and nudged her shoulder. “You're so damn dramatic.”
Ronnie grabbed her lip gloss and applied it carefully. “Not dramatic—protective.” Her tone softened a little when she said it. “You my girl. I’m not tryna see you get wrapped up in some situation that ends messy.”
I reached over and squeezed her hand briefly. "I know, babe."
She turned back towards me. “So…what’s his name anyway?"
“Remy.”
She nodded slowly. “He is fine, bitch,” she admitted reluctantly.
I laughed. “Very.”
Ronnie smirked. “Look, I get the interest. And honestly, if you do decide to call him, that's your business. I want you to be happy sis." She shrugged. "I don't know…maybe if he likes you enough you can convince him to get on your client list. He still gotta pay…sweet or not."
I laughed. "They all pay in one way or another anyway."
"Period." Ronnie snapped her fingers. "As long as you remember the objective." She grinned reaching over and brushing hair out or my face. "Anyway…you ready, pretty girl?"
I flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Ready, sexy."
We walked out arm in arm to wait for our clients.
My first client was a white guy named Steve. His profile stated that he was some hot-shot defense attorney that loved eating pussy. All that domination in the courtroom didn’t bleed into his personal life apparently.
He was a submissive with a praise and degradation kink. That was perfect. I loved the idea of dominating a white man. My pussy thumped in anticipation. I was looking forward to having fun with Steve.
When he walked into the themed BDSM room, I was ready for him. I was dressed in a black leather one piece, with matching thigh-high boots. The smile on his face was instant when he saw me. But as soon as the door closed, I was on his ass.
He was about to walk towards me as I sat cross-legged on the black leather armchair, but I stopped him in his tracks. "Did I say you could walk over here, peasant?"
He stopped at once. "I'm so sorry," he apologized weakly, his tone already reverting to one of submission.
"You will be sorry if you don't get on your knees and crawl to me," I demanded.
Steve dropped to his knees without hesitation. He began to crawl.
"Slower," I commanded.
He slowed his crawl the second I said it, hands moving carefully across the floor.
His eyes stayed locked on me, eager and desperate.
When he was at my feet, he looked up at me eyes full of lust and yearning.
I stared at him, not saying a word. Letting him wait patiently like a good boy for my next command.
I leaned forward slightly in the chair, resting my elbow on the armrest and letting my chin settle into my palm as I studied him like he was something I’d found on the bottom of my shoe.
“Look at you,” I said coolly. “A whole grown man. Expensive suit, fancy job… crawling on the floor like a bitch in heat.”
His breath hitched. “Yes, ma’am.”
I lifted a brow. “Did I ask you to speak?”
His mouth snapped shut. I uncrossed my legs slowly and planted the heel of my boot against his shoulder, nudging him back just a little.
“Eyes down.” He dropped his gaze right away.
“Good boy.” That little praise made his shoulders relax for a second before I tapped his chin with the tip of my boot.
“Don’t get comfortable,” I added sharply. "You may speak."
“Yes, ma’am. I'll do better.”
I stood, circling him slowly. Steve stayed exactly where he was, kneeling with his hands resting on his thighs, waiting for whatever I decided next. The red lighting cast shadows along the walls, the leather and metal fixtures around the room gleaming softly.
I stopped in front of him again. I tilted my head slightly. “Tell me something, Steve…”
His eyes lifted just slightly before he caught himself and looked down again. “Yes, ma’am?”
I leaned down until my voice was right by his ear. “Why do men like you come into rooms like this… just to be told how small and inconsequential you are?”
He shivered. “Because men should always submit to women,” he said quietly. "I defend criminals daily. I deserve to be punished for that."
I straightened slowly, watching him. Interesting answer. A small smiled pulled at my mouth. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet,” I murmured. I walked back toward the chair and sat again. “Stay exactly where you are,” I said lazily.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I slowly lifted one leg and placed it on the arm of the chair. Steve's breathing quickened just a bit. I did the same to the other. His mouth parted in anticipation. "Are you hungry?" I asked seductively.
He nodded quickly, licking his lips. "Famished ma'am."
"Do you wish to be fed, Steve?"
"Please," he whimpered. "Please let me feast, ma'am."
I wanted to laugh. He was practically drooling at the idea. "Why should I let you taste this good pussy?" I demanded. "Why do you deserve it?"
"I don't deserve to taste your sweet nectar, ma'am," he rushed out, "I'm not worthy, but with your permission, I will make you cum as many times as you can handle."
My eyes narrowed. "If I don't cum at least twice, Steve, I have a spiked paddle with your name on it. And I'll beat that white ass until it turns black and blue. Do you understand me?"
He nodded quickly. "Yes ma'am. I'll do good. I promise."
Slowly, I unsnapped the button at the seat of my crotch revealing my pretty waxed pussy in all its glory. A thin line of drool leaked from his mouth. He released a sound similar to a wounded dog.
I waited, watching his breathing become shallow. His dick strained against the fabric of his designer pants creating a tent. Steve had some weight on that thing. Finally, I stated, "Come eat, Steve."
He quickly scurried over and dove face first into my wet pussy. His tongue was a python as it snaked around my wetness, slurping me up like ramen. I fisted his dark hair in my hand and leaned my head back with a smile. "Good boy," I murmured.