Samantha and Tilly Fallen Angels
Millie Dynamite
Samantha and Tilly
Fallen Angels
An interracial lesbian love story
Millie Dynamite
Copyright© 2015/23 by Millie Dynamite
NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic sexual nature. This book is pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously—any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, real events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
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Samantha and Tilly
Fallen Angels
—2005 —
The Gritty Underbelly of the City
In January, a freezing wind raged through the city, bringing a cold like a knife cutting a person to the bone. Wisps of powdery snow fluttered in the wind, and faint streaks of white residue blew across the sidewalks and icy streets. Only a few girls hung in it until midnight. Fewer still lasted after half past twelve on the footpath.
Even the Johns weren’t cruising, so why had Tilly stayed until one am? Simple, she hadn’t earned enough for days. Her pimp would be angry. A pimp was terrible at the best of times, but a pissed-off pimp was incredibly bad.
Tilly needed a goose to come along with a golden egg she might swipe. A prince charming, she could con into helping her out, with more than enough. Some baker who was careless with the bread. But by one fifteen, she’d lost hope of earning enough to avoid a beating.
What Tilly really needed was a savage she might tame and use as a protector. One who wouldn’t take most of the money she earned. A pimp with a heart. If such a creature existed.
Tilly ducked into the backroom of the abandoned pawn shop at South Robinson and 39th Street. Flipping on the small heater, Tilly opened the door to the front of the store just a little, watching to see if a car cruised the avenue. The power was still on. Likewise, the heater ran at the lowest setting, 60 degrees, to keep the pipes from freezing.
The tiny floor heater glowed red in the dark, casting heat inside the room. Tilly stuck one foot to the heater, eye gazing outside. She’d have to keep trying. She needed at least thirty more bucks to make Jamil happy.
Meanwhile, at night trips on Reno Ave., Sam sauntered about the room, looking for a peacock to pluck. The hour grew late. Most of the men were drunk, but they were all burly young guys with little money for her take.
An older fellow staggered into the club and plopped into a chair at a table close to the stage. Samantha danced toward him, swaying her hips, staring into his eyes. His inebriation was evident. And Sam understood he’d pass out with only a little more booze needed to pry his money from before that happened. She bent to his ear.
“How about a private dance?”
“How much?” he asked, pulling bills from his pocket. With a quick motion, Sam plucked a twenty from the pile.
“This’ll get you in the room. It’s a good start for much fun in the champagne room.”
She walked away toward one of the private rooms. Like a puppy, the older man followed, licking his lips, wondering how far she might go. Waiting for him at the door, she handed the twenty to the bouncer.
“This is off-book,” she said. “That’s your cut. Keep this between you and me.”
Jack, the bouncer, grabbed the bill and quickly slipped it into his pocket, nodded his approval.
The fifty-ish man had a shit-eating grin as he entered the small room. It took him four steps to make the chair. He dropped into the seat, loosened his tie, dug out the bills from his pants pocket, and handed her a ten. Stuffed the remaining wad of money back in his pocket.
The door opened. A woman with a voluptuous figure and minimal clothing entered the room. She made her way to the table, balancing a heavy bucket of ice and two long-stemmed champagne glasses on a tray. A bottle of Dom Pérignon tucked inside the bucket cooled to perfection.
The man gazed at the champagne, bewildered.
“Compliments of the house, room cost, however, is 250 dollars. Credit card or cash?” the girl asked.
“Cash,” he said. His mind spun on tangents, not quite grasping what was happening. He contemplated the cash from his pocket for a moment but realized the money there wasn’t enough. Pulling his wallet from his inside coat pocket, he plucked three one-hundred-dollar bills and held out the payment.
“Thank you for the tip,” she said breathlessly.
“Tip,” he said. “Yeah, sure.”
The well-shaped woman pulled the glasses out, then removed the foil and wires from the cork. Putting the bottle between her legs, she stooped, twisted the cork, drew it, and freed it with a loud pop.
She filled the glasses, returned the champagne to the bucket. Bending, the woman ran her fingers over his arm, pressed her lips to his cheek. She gave him a messy kiss, grinning mischievously. Leaving him with bright red lipstick marking the spot.
“Enjoy,” she said. Samantha watched as she left the room, turning back to offer a smile and a wink before disappearing.
The music which played outside the room blared on speakers in the room. Sam swayed, gyrated her hips, and moved with the music. The man sipped the wine, taking in her form like he drank booze.
The dancer wore a black bra over her apple-sized breasts. A leather belt with handcuffs hanging on them, a bullwhip on the other side. A black thong left little to the imagination. Her heels were high and spiked, and her legs sported lacey stockings held up by garters.
Her muscled body undulated, twisting this way and that. Teasing him with possibilities. She danced behind, pulling his coat off his shoulders and body. She threw it off to one side. Running her hands over his body, his blood boiled in desire.
Softly, slowly, she pulled his hands behind and slipped the cuffs on, locking them behind his back.
“Oh, my,” he said.
Samantha danced to his coat, sticking her ass toward his face. She stooped, pulling the billfold from the pocket.
“Oh, my God,” she said, “so much money all for me. I shouldn’t.” Sam turned to him and dropped the wallet to the floor. “Maybe what’s in your pocket is what you want to give me.”
He nodded.
Coming to him, she forced his legs together and straddled him. Sam lowered herself onto his lap. She gazed into his eyes intently, as if she searched for a secret.
“Somebodies got a stiffy,” she taunted him.
“Yeah, I do. Can you help me with that?”
Samantha slipped her fingers into his pocket, digging down until she found the money. She retrieved the wad of cash. Laughing, she slid the hundred or so dollars into her bra next to her heart.
“Why not?” she said. She took the zipper and slipped it down. Slipping her hand inside his pants, she grabbed his small, hard cock. Sam squeezed his cock and balls.
Surge after surge of cum shot from him. Soaking his pants and underwear. The man moaned and groaned as the enjoyment washed over him. Raising her semen-covered hand to his mouth, she spread his seed over his lips.
“You created a nasty, gooey mess all over my fingers. Clean it up,” she said. “Or I’ll hurt you.”
He lapped it up without questions or hesitation.
Picking up the bottle, Sam put it in his mouth.
“Drink,” she said. Turning the bottle up, while the man greedily gulped it until it was empty. His eyes glassed over, and he gazed at his goddess as she picked up the wallet. “I can have all of this lovely money, right?”
He nodded. After a few moments, his head lulled down on his chest. Between soft snorts, snores, and murmuring, he said, “Take whatever you want.”
Unhooking the handcuffs, she lowered the man to the floor and left him to be assisted by the bouncer to a cab at closing. Sam went to the dressing room to count her money for the night. She hid what she didn’t want to turn in. Turned in the take for the night that she admitted to, asking for her cut to go on her check.