Black Iris: Chapter Six
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CHAPTER SIX
The sound of raindrops hitting the window fades in as I regain consciousness. I open my eyes and see a blur of motion as Lincoln thrashes my cheek with his sweaty tongue. I’ve been through this enough times to know it will take several minutes for my senses to fully return.
The bowl of water I had next to me is empty, and the nearby pile of charcoal drawings is a damp, sooty mess. Not to point fingers, but I was dead at the time, so it can’t be my fault. I lap up the remaining drops from the bowl. Starving, I stumble blindly into the kitchen and devour a can of Friskies Chicken and Salmon Savory Shreds. Thank the gods for pop-tops, because I wouldn’t have the dexterity to use a can opener right now, and digging in with my claws would have made a ridiculous mess.
Several hours pass before I work up the nerve to try out my new dick. Pornhub is ok, but nothing gets me going like National Geographic cheetah documentaries. With their slender, powerful legs, their golden spotted hides, and their soulful eyes, cheetahs are the most beautiful cats in the world. They tend to be shallow bitches so I wouldn’t want to be with one in real life, but that’s what makes them such good wank fodder. I often fantasize about rescuing a cheetah from one of those drug dealers who has exotic pets. Sure, my apartment isn’t big enough for a cheetah, and essentially her life would be no better here than with the drug dealer or on the harsh African plains, but she could stay with me for a week or so until a space opened up for her at that Black Jaguar-White Tiger Foundation. Knowing that our tryst was temporary would make it that much hotter.
To my delight, my new member responds even before I touch myself. I focus on the screen and try not to overthink it. When I get close to climax, I stop. This is partially to save my first load for an actual partner and partially to make sure my erection goes down on its own. I breathe a sigh of relief when it does.
Now that I know the equipment is in working order, it’s time to go test it out in the field.
***
I consider going to The Top Hat and Monocle to look for Queenie, but I want tonight to be a sure thing. Mandi is my first choice because she’s pretty much always DTF. When she doesn’t answer my text, I head over to my favorite strip club.
Eight Deadly Sins will always have a special place in my heart because it’s where I lost my virginity. Her name was Redd Velvet, and she was actually a bouncer, not a dancer. She was a 29-year-old ex-Marine who had been dishonorably discharged after kicking the shit out of a U.S. Senator’s son who had tried to rape her. I was only 18 and she refused to let me into the club, even after I pointed out that I was actually 126 in cat years. She thought I was cute, though, and told me to come back in an hour when she went on break. I obeyed, but instead of bringing me inside, she fucked my brains out in the back of her pickup truck.
A few months ago, I became a regular customer when I found out this is where Meatballs recruited the women for Topless Tuesday at the museum. They’re all incredible dancers and are always up for unsanctioned fun in the VIP room.
Redd’s daughter Peppermint is on stage when I arrive, hanging upside-down on the pole with only her legs. She’s got her mother’s watermelon-crushing thighs and pineapple calves. Normally, I’m not into chiseled women, but Peppermint rocks a six-pack like nobody’s business. She winks hello as I take a seat up front.
It’s Monday night, and there are only three other patrons: two hipsters in jeans and hoodies at the bar sipping fruity drinks, and one hygienically challenged slob sitting at the table next to me. An empty strip club used to make me self-conscious, but now I’m fine with hogging all of the dancers’ attention. I burn through 60 Washingtons in five minutes.
Between sets, two guys in black suits and sunglasses come in and find a table in the back. When a dancer approaches them, one of them tries to shoo her away, but the younger one ponies up for a lap dance. I watch them out of the corner of my eye until Peppermint comes out. She’s now wearing lacy blue lingerie and seven-inch stilettos.
“Snowball! Long time, no see.”
There was a three-week window between breaking up with Gia and my dong getting broken when I was here almost every night. About a week after my incident, I tried coming back to see if a professional might succeed where friends with benefits and my own hand had failed. After five minutes, it was clear nothing was going to happen, so I left. I kept trying with Mandi only because it didn’t cost me any money.
“Yeah, I was sick.”
“Nothing you caught here, I hope.”
“Ha, no. Definitely not.”
“Good to know.” She sits on my lap. Her body is still warm from dancing, and she’s moist behind her knees and between her thighs. “So would you like a lap dance, sweetie?” She strokes behind my ears.
“Actually, I was wondering if we could maybe grab one of the VIP rooms.”
She flashes a glance towards the bar then leans in close. “We could, but… things have changed around here. I’ll still give you a hell of a dance, and we can have a few drinks, but nothing else, if you know what I mean.”
“Hmm. Well, that’s disappointing.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“Does it still cost $150?”
She nods.
It’s more than I want to spend for a little grinding, but I’m already here. Plus, who knows what’ll happen once we’re alone? Rules are made to be broken.
“You know what? Let’s do it.”
She leads me by the paw down a carpeted hallway to the VIP lounge, and we find an available room. What was once an actual door has been replaced with a beaded curtain.
“Unfortunately, this is what passes for privacy around here these days.” She pushes me back into a cushy leather chair.
“It’s fine.” I hand her my credit card.
She walks over to a touch screen on the wall and scans the card, then hits a button to change the menu. “Want your usual?”
“Yes, please.”
She scrolls until she finds what she’s looking for and hits “Play.” Bouncy muted trumpet fills the room as “Big Millie From Philly” pumps through the speakers in the ceiling. She begins by facing away from me with her hands against the wall, swinging her ass, peeking over her shoulder with a naughty smile. Slowly, she makes her way over to my lap. At the first big drum fill, she pulls my face into her cleavage, then turns away again as she undoes her top. Her shoes come off, then one at a time, she puts her feet on the arm of my chair to unroll her stockings. As she slinks out of her G-string, I get a waft of green tea.
She grinds her pussy on my bulge and a wet spot forms. I knew I should have worn thicker shorts because I’ve got pre-cum soaking through the front and ass sweat coming through the back. Some of the wetness is from her, which tells me she isn’t just performing anymore. The song comes to an end, and what she’s doing on my groin can no longer legally be considered “dancing.” She grabs my hand and puts it on her breast. Her back arches. I haven’t fucked in months and this damp-humping is enough to make me jizz myself.
Voices from down the hall trickle into our nook. Peppermint can’t hear them but freezes when she sees my ears pivot.
“Is someone coming?”
“Maybe.”
She buries her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a tease, but we really have to stop.”
“Ok, but… what changed?”
After finding her bra, she peeks through the beads. “The mayor has it out for my boss.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that? I thought they were friends.”
“They were, but I guess something happened, and now there are cops in here all the time.”
“Weren’t there always cops in here?”
She smiles. “These ones aren’t customers.”
Officially, prostitution has always been illegal in Kibble County, but it used to be ignored. What’s this damn town coming to?
“That sucks. But wait — I didn’t see anyone out there in uniform.”
“They’re undercover.”
“Right. Those weird guys in suits who were wearing their sunglasses inside.”
“Not them. I think those guys were just Mormons or something. The two guys at the bar were the cops.”
“Huh.”
As the sexual energy fades, I notice how cold the room is. I’m guessing it’s programmed that way to harden nipples. With not enough clothing to cover herself, Peppermint rounds her shoulders and wraps her arms across her body. If only there was something we could do to stay warm.
“So, we can’t do anything in these so-called ‘private’ rooms anymore, but isn’t there somewhere else we could go? Without a warrant, they can’t go anywhere labeled ‘Employees Only.’”
She bites her bottom lip. “Well, there’s the maintenance closet. The trick will be getting in there without anyone seeing us. The door is just down the hall from the bar, so if those cops are still sitting there, it won’t be easy. But once we’re in, we can lock the door, and nobody will bother us. As long as we don’t make too much noise, that is.” She pats my crotch. “So, what do you think?”
“I’m definitely game, but that’s easy for me to say. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
“What the hell, you only live once, right?”
She walks to the bar and starts flirting with the two men, allowing me to sneak into the closet unnoticed. The space is just big enough for two adults to stand upright, with shelves full of cleaning supplies on each side and a mop bucket against the back wall. The ice-blue stench of bleach is making me light-headed, but I like it.
I hear Peppermint’s stilettos as she approaches, and for a moment, I think of Gia. The image disappears the moment Peppermint throws open the door and attacks me. She moves her hands like a ninja across my body, and I go from zero to fully erect before she even has my fly undone. I pull her panties to the side and rub her pussy with my soft paw pads. She’s moist and ready to go. Her heels clack against the door as she drops to her knees in front of me. My dick is in her mouth for less than 30 seconds before it goes off like a bottle rocket.
I can smell the disappointment on her face.
“Sorry. As I said, it’s been a while.”
“It’s ok, sweetie.”
The truth is, I’m totally elated. Three hours ago, I was worried that I might never cum again, and now here I am with the sensitivity of a bear trap. I’ve been resurrected seven times now, but this is the first time I actually feel reborn. I had forgotten just how much better this drug is than all of the others. Now that I have my mojo back, maybe I can finally get rid of those stupid wooden dowels.
As Peppermint strokes the fur on my belly, I feel a tingle.
“You know… I might be able to go again.”
“Really?”
“You’re already down there, so you might as well give it a try.”
She takes my cock into her mouth and massages my balls. Sure enough, the thing springs back into action.
“Oh, wow.”
She stands up and rubs my tip on her clit until she’s wet again, but as she moves to put me inside of her, she accidentally bumps me backward, and I trip on the wheel of the mop bucket. My flailing arms hit the shelves, knocking industrial-sized bottles of bleach, half-empty paint cans, and a box of tools onto the ground as I fall into the dank water.
“Oh my god, Snowball, are you ok?”
“I’m ok, but someone in the hall heard it, and they’re coming.” I pull myself out of the water and ring my shorts out over the bucket. “Here. Stand over there so you’ll be behind the door when it opens.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll just tell them I got lost or something.”
“But — ”
“We don’t have much time. Sorry, this didn’t work out, but I’ll be back.”
I open the door before the person on the other side has a chance to knock. I’m greeted by a woman in lingerie and a silk robe.
“What on earth — ”
“Sorry. Thought this was the bathroom.” I shut the door behind me before she has a chance to see the mess, then escape the club without making eye contact with the cops or Mormons.
***
I feel bad leaving Peppermint hanging like that, but I’ll make it up to her next time. Hell, I might even come back tomorrow night. All I know is I plan on fucking nonstop for the foreseeable future. Maybe I’ll go on a cross-country fucking spree. I’ve always wanted to check out those legal brothels outside of Vegas.
Of course, there are plenty of non-sex workers I’d like to fuck. Mandi, for one. I want to repay her for all of her patience over the last few weeks. Oh, and I want to do that thing where I find someone who looks exactly like my ex and boff her brains out. I know it’s cliché, but I’ve never had an ex-girlfriend before.
My umbrella is still in a ceramic urn in the foyer at Eight Deadly Sins — a casualty of my quick getaway. As I patter through the drizzle, I’m hyper-aware of every unaccompanied woman I pass. Many are hiding under umbrellas, but I don’t need to see their faces. I smell their minty green pheromones, and that’s all I need. The hornier I am, the more a woman’s scent becomes their most important attribute to me, though a few times, I’ve hooked up with a woman just because I liked the sound of her voice.
I’m on Swardson St., three blocks from home when I hear a screech from above. I look up just before a dark box clobbers me in the face.
My ears are ringing. The rain trickling into my mouth is warm and acidic like black coffee, but then I realize it’s actually blood. The muddy sky fades into charcoal.