Yes by RJ Lawrence Page A

dress. She stopped and looked
down as he pulled her back toward him. He moved closer and put his arm around
her waist, positioning himself as if he meant to take her sexually in the
bright open air for all to see. She felt his manhood underneath his slacks,
growing against her buttocks through the thin cotton fabric of her dress. He
leaned forward and put his wet mouth to her ear.
    "You
remember Hannah," he whispered. "You will always be my little whore,
no matter what."
    He
pulled her backside flush against his fully-engorged member and gave a slow
upward thrust. Then he released her and brought his hand hard against her
backside, reddening it beneath the fabric, as slapping noises racketed through
the neighborhood street. She stumbled forward and ran to her car. She opened
the door and got inside, while he strolled down the driveway toward her.
    "I'll
see you soon," he said, as she put the vehicle in reverse and wheeled out
onto the road.
    She
put the car in drive and brought her foot over the gas, stopping short to
summon courage enough to speak. She lowered her window and looked at him, his
face somewhat flummoxed, as if he couldn't believe she'd the gall to hesitate
in her escape.
    "Ronnie,"
she said. "You will never see me again. I will cut my own wrists before I ever
come back to you."
    His
face went flat, and she thought she saw the makings of sadness take root
somewhere within. But soon, she was too far away to tell anything, his figure
growing tiny and faint in the rearview mirror, her heart warm and swelling like
a balloon inside her chest, the horizon before her painted with colors and
promising little more than the sweetness of change.
     

 
     
    Chapter 2
     
     
     
    She
arrived to open arms, her sister giggling and crying, sexy as sexy gets,
fishnet stockings and pink lips, eyelashes thick and outstretched over wide sea
green eyes.
    "I
have to go," she said. "I'm so sorry, I have a show."
    She
turned and snapped her purse from the kitchen counter top, pausing as a thought
invaded her mind.
    "You
should come!"
    Hannah
shook her head.
    "I
don't think I'd fit in at a burlesque show."
    Courtney
took her by the arms and shook her head.
    "No,
honey," it's not like that. "Everybody belongs."
    When
they arrived, Courtney left her at the bar, a sweet sisterly kiss leaving a
lipstick imprint against her cheek.
    "I'm
so happy you're here," she said softly into her ear, and then she was
gone, weaving through a crowd of well-dressed men, their necks whipping back
toward her, as if towed by some exotic gravity.
    Hannah
lured the bartender over and ordered a drink. When it came, she sipped from it
lovingly, the alcohol sifting through her vasculature, warming her body. She
saw a man in an expensive suit eying her from down the bar, his jaw square, a
boyish smirk bleeding from the corner of his thick lips. She looked down and
brushed her long blond hair to the side, a thrilling chill springing up within
her chest. But before she could cast her eyes at him or offer any sort of smile
her own, the lights winked out, and the place erupted in noise.
    Hannah
turned her body with all the rest, as splashes of red light soaked the stage.
The first performer strutted forward, the thumping speakers at pace with every
step.
    The
girl wore a black, strappy corset, her breasts like jiggling boulders spilling
out over the top. The crowd gasped as she approached the chrome pole, which
jutted upward from the stage floor alongside a perfect twin. In an instant, the
girl scaled the thing and wrapped her legs around the cold metal. Her black
hair spilled downward as she leaned backward, the line of her cleavage square
to the crowd. Beautifully built, she was imperfectly perfect, with porcelain
skin and broad hips to match her broad chest.
    Hannah
watched the girl, her face contorted in awe like every other in the room. The
girl traveled the pole with no effort whatsoever, with a practiced sexuality
that seemed new and fresh and just for you.