BSC09 the Fall and Rise of Jared ReznikChapter 14 Jared s Kind Offer
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The Red Dress free porn video
The Red Dress
By Cherysse St. Claire
Baseball. Hot dogs. Apple Pie. Mom. We have all heard these little
homilies used to describe classic Americana; the things, big and small,
that make us what we are.
But what about that other quintessential American tradition? No, not
sleazy talk shows; Shopping! What could be a more red-blooded, all-
American tribute than taking to the malls on a whim and a charge card?
There I was at Water Tower Place, in the shadows of the John Hancock
Building on a sunny Saturday afternoon. I had already survived the
trauma that was finding parking in the underground lot. I decided to
take the Grand Tour; start at the Atrium Level, work my way up floor by
floor, and see EVERYTHING!
There was all the usual stuff; the big retailers on the Ground Floor,
Banana Republic (cute, if 'trendy' is your thing), and the usual
assortment you would find at Oak Brook Center, Woodfield, or Old
Orchard. I tried to contain my excitement as I rose, floor by floor,
through the building. I said I wanted to see everything, but I really
only wanted to see one store. You know the chain.
You may have visited their web site or seen their catalog. If you are
lucky enough to live in one of the few, select cities beyond their
headquarters in San Francisco, you may have even visited their store.
That would be one store per city; they aren't McDonald's and don't set
their sights for that demographic.
Seventh Level. I'm here; it's right down at the end of the esplanade -
oddly enough, right across from McDonald's. The similarity ends there.
Step through the door - slowly, reverently - and...INHALE! There are
certain aromas which the average nose can distinguish - and recognize -
above all others. Some are genuinely pleasurable. A few generate real
excitement. One, in my mind, elicits an instant, primal hunger;
leather! In an age dominated by latex (erotic in its own right) and a
plethora of lesser, synthetic fabrics, the look, feel, and scent of
fine leather is a contact high. No place is as ripe with that high as
this one.
Where to begin? I could spend an hour, a day, a lifetime in this store
alone. When I said I wanted to see everything, I really meant
everything in here. Wait. Hold the phone. WHAT IS THAT? Right there,
across the floor, near the entrance to the rear salon, on one of the
"traffic stopper" display racks... I have never seen anything that
beautiful. No sleeves, no straps, no kidding; a bustier-style fitted
dress, not quite knee-length. There is a full-length zipper in front.
God, it's a two-way zipper; it zips down from the top and up from the
bottom! The dress is ribbed, expandable in the waist, like the waist of
a motocross jacket - to make it fit the wearer that much more snugly.
Damn, that bodice is cut deep; with the right strapless demi-bra -
better still, a corset - it will really put my D-cups on display. It is
so soft, so smooth. I adore the lambskin they use in their garments.
What is this color called? "Lipstick Red"? Oh, yeah, Honey; I am there!
What was that? Did you hear it? No, Dummy; the voice. You MUST have
heard it. It sounds like a child, a little girl's voice. There it is
again! What is she saying?
"Cher-y. Buy me. Take me home. Love me, Chery."
Don't do this to me; I'm trying to be good! What size is it? I'm sure
I'm safe. It's probably a Size 0, designed for one of those anorexic
angels from Lake Forest or Highland Park. It's an 8?
Dear...sweet...Jesus; it's my size! What is this, the Twilight Zone? I
don't know. I don't care. Don't talk to me. I'm doing this! (snatch)
Where's the counter? Where is a damn associate when you really need
one? Forget the light, breezy chit-chat, Buster; RING IT UP!
I closed my eyes and signed the check; $325, plus tax (It doesn't seem
like much now. Then again, it would be twice that price today.). Zip;
into the garment bag. Zip; out the door. Are there other stores in
Water Tower Place? Not today, Bud. I just developed an acute case of
Tunnel Vision. All I can see is the path to the escalator, my car in
the parking lot, and the most direct route up the ramp, onto the
street, and home!
No, not home yet; I have to get shoes! I'll stop at Wild Pair. This is
gonna be tough. Black is black; I can match that all day. Just try to
match the same exact shade of red! I don't believe it! Look at these
pumps.
Pointed toe, ankle strap, five-inch silver metallic heel. This color is
gonna be close! I'll just slip the hem out from under the bag and...
(sigh) This IS the Twilight Zone. I think I'll take up permanent
residence here. What's another $50 between friends? I'm in The Zone!
(giggle)
Saturday Night in the Big City. All dressed up and nowhere to go? Uh-
uh, Honey; I know EXACTLY where this girl is going! I was right; the
corset makes it. I measure 40-24-36. That pushes the dress to the
limits up top - or not. All I have to do is unzip an inch or two - or
three. There, that's better. It shows off my boobies even better, too.
Daring enough for you, Sugar? I'm wearing stockings, not pantyhose; the
corset's garters have to have something to do, and even a slut has
principles. I'll leave the tights to the suburban hausfraus.
I'll be ready soon. My makeup is already done. I've done my eyelids in
dark blue with pearlescent white highlights to compliment my azure
eyes. Lashes? Black - and intense. Eyeliner? Liquid black; a wide
swath, extending from the inside corner to well past the outside
corner. Blush? Dark in the hollows, pearlescent white on the crest.
Lips and talons? As red as the dress. You want subtlety? Go down to
Division Street. Just don't let any of those Yuppie pukes heave their
green beer on you.
The silver heels on the shoes set the tone for the accessories. Hoops,
neck chains, bangles ankle chain; all silver. It looks great with my
platinum blonde hair, too. Now, just spray a few spritzes of Shalimar
(everything old is new again; all those other girls are fawning over
the latest designer fragrances - and usually all wear the same thing)
and I'm almost there. I'll just slip into my red leather motorcycle
jacket (it's still a bit chilly out there in the evening), put my
makeup essentials, driver's license and cash into my red clutch (not as
close a match as the shoes, but who will notice in a dark dance club?)
and I AM ready.
There are lots of clubs in The City - and then there is THIS one. We
know the address by heart; 1543 N. Kingsbury. It sits amid industrial
warehouse squalor, in the shadow of the North Avenue Bridge. There is
no marquee; no signs of any kind. There are no lights, either - except
in winter, when the valets will light a fire in a barrel to keep warm.
If you stumbled upon it in daytime, you would think it's just another
warehouse. If you drive by at night, the first thing that will assault
your senses will be the heavy THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of the Industrial music
inside. That will hit you about two blocks away. If you are perceptive,
you will notice the parade of automobiles where there shouldn't be any
at that time of night. If you drive by the place, you will see a long
line of mostly young adults waiting to get in.
I think I waited in line once - about two years ago. I was new to the
place then; they didn't know me. Now, I drive up, valet the car, offer
a hug and a squeeze to Mario at the door (I won't tell you where I
squeeze him, or where he squeezes me back) and I'm in.
Tonight, I'm nervous with anticipation. I think the dress is hot, but
what will everyone else think? I'm not worried that Mario would
actually banish me to the gulag at the end of the line, but still...
Showtime! The valet opens the door for me and... Um, excuse me. Mr.
Valet? You will have to move so I can get out. Please, don't stand
there and drool down your shirt; it really isn't all that attractive.
Thank you. Something is wrong. Do you hear it? No, not the THUMP-THUMP-
THUMP from inside; I mean the sharp, staccato click-click-click of my
heels on the pavement. That's the point; you shouldn't be able to hear
that.
It...is...dead...silent...out...here. That NEVER happens. Everyone is
STARING at me. What did I do, grow a third eye in the middle of my
forehead? Even Mario is doing it. Now I am feeling REALLY
uncomfortable; like the Fashion Police will be here any minute to haul
me off to the hoosegow(n).
Mario, Sweetheart, pull yourself together. Pop those eyeballs back in
your head. If it's bad, just say so; I'll slink home and try again.
Then I heard it. It was a small voice, almost a whisper, and almost
drowned out by the beat of the music. It came from someone near the
front of the line, just behind the rope.
"Oh...my...GAWD..."
(sigh) They're playing my song. I know what that means; no other words
need be said. All is right with the world again. Some fashion
statements are more attention-grabbing than others... There is no
velvet rope in front of the club; just some traffic sawhorses funneling
club-goers into single file into and out of the front door.
Mario is right there at the bottleneck, standing guard. Hi, Mario! How
are you...MMMPF. MARIO! Aren't WE friendly tonight!
I'm glad to see you, too, Lover. Later? Tell ya what; when you get a
break, come inside and find me. We'll find someplace private to...talk.
You won't have any trouble spotting me, will you? I didn't think so.
The Ladies' Room is just inside the main entrance. Tonight, this is a
very good thing. After Mario's exuberant greeting, I need to fix my
lipstick - big time. The stares continue in the Ladies' Room. Actually,
it's more like daggers in here. The other bimbos are trying to be so
cool about it, looking at me without looking like they are looking at
me. MAJOR peripheral vision test going on here. I dunno; maybe this is
a case of boob envy. Well, girls, shake 'em if ya got 'em. (giggle)
Feeling more confident in myself, I decided to put on a little show.
Nothing major; just add a little wiggle to my walk - and sister, do I
EVER know how to shake it! I checked my jacket at the coat check,
then... Showtime! Time stood still as I strutted onto the main floor.
At least, it seemed that way. Everyone froze dead in their tracks. I
heard a glass shatter somewhere over by the main bar. Probably just a
coincidence; people break glasses in bars every night.
Over the din of the music, I heard a loud WRANGGGGGG over in a near
corner by the door. It turned out, Mr. Power Tie in his thousand-dollar
Armani walked head-first into the diagonal girder of the steel
staircase and literally knocked himself out. I guess he was watching
something ? or someone - other than where he was going. Ooooo, Sweetie;
that's gonna leave a mark... I don't offer to kiss it and make it
better anymore. Too many guys were suddenly claiming their dick just
got slammed in a door...
Is it warm in here, or is it just me? Perhaps it's the elevated
testosterone levels in this place that make me FEEL warmer. There seems
to be an awful lot of guys here who are suddenly packing sausages in
their pants. Well, look here. There is an empty stool in front of the
main bar - right across from the dance floor. I think I'll just sashay
over there, have a seat, and check out the goods. A little liquid
refreshment would be nice about now. Oh, good; Jerry's on duty tonight.
"Hi Jerry! How have you been?"
"Same old, Chery. Ahem. Does Emergency Services know you are out in
that little number? They might want to have a few extra ambulances
standing by for the rash of cardiac arrests you are about to cause."
"You charmer, you! Flattery will get you everywhere. Do you have a
split of Tattinger?"
"But of course. You don't think I would disappoint our favorite stud
magnet, do you? Since you're here, I better open a case of the big
bottles, too. Now that they see what you're drinking, the orders will
start coming in any time now."
"Surely you exaggerate."
"About your ability to raise temperatures and certain body parts?
Never! And don't call me 'Shirley'."
"(giggle) Mea Culpa. It won't happen again. Cross my heart."
"(groan) Please don't do that again. I hate being insanely jealous of
your finger."
"If you think you're jealous now, wait 'til you hear where my finger
has been."
"Never mind; I don't want to know. If I don't know, I might actually
get to sleep tonight. Here's your champagne."
"How much do I owe you?"
"Oh, the things I could say, given such a perfect straight line... It's
on the House, Sugar. Believe me; we won't be losing any money on you
tonight."
"Thanks, Sweetie. Jer, speaking of raising temperatures, is it warm in
here tonight? I mean, warmer than usual?"
"With you here? U betcha!"
"Beast!"
"Bitch!"
"You are a love. How come we never got together?"
"You never asked. What kind of boy do you take me for?"
"You and I would be dangerous together. You get me laughing so hard, I
would choke on my champagne."
"Can I give you Heimlich? Better yet, CPR. I'll be gentle."
"Bastard!"
"Slut!"
"And damn proud of it!"
I can't believe I just came on to the bartender! It's not that he isn't
cute; he is. He also isn't married, engaged, celibate or Gay. It's
just...well, he's like family. I know all the people here so well,
making it with one of them would almost be like incest. Come to think
of it, I always thought of Mario the same way - and I flirted with HIM
outside. It's not like I started it or anything. He was the one who
practically raped my mouth with his tongue. Then again, I didn't do
anything to stop him. I even invited him to come in and find me later.
What's gotten into me tonight? And when in the Hell are they gonna turn
up the air conditioning? I'm gonna start sweating like a pig in a
minute, and if I ruin my new dress, I'm really gonna be pissed!
Jerry was right; a guy at a table up in the mezzanine bought a bottle
of Tattinger to share with me. Julie, the waitress, extended his
invitation. Any other night, I would have been miffed the guy couldn't
bother asking me himself. Julie winked and told me this guy was a
"keeper", surreptitiously flashing his platinum card as she rang up the
charge. Intrigued, I carried the two flutes as Julie carried the iced
bucket with its effervescent cargo.
OK, so he wasn't half-bad. All right, all right; he was good ? REALLY
good. We each sipped a glass. We made nice. We sipped another glass. We
made kissy-face. He poured the last glass - it was just one. I sat in
his lap, slipped one arm around his neck, and poured a sip of bubbly
into his mouth. He took the glass and poured a sip into my mouth. We
groped each other. We each took another sip. We kissed and groped some
more.
"Chery-y. You know you want him. Just do him."
"Wha? Who said that?"
"Do him, Cher-y. Right Here. Right now."
I looked around quickly. Everyone seemed wrapped up in their own
business, not paying any attention to ours. This is too weird. Damn,
it's hot in here! At least, now I had a good reason; this stud was
making my blood boil. If he touches me there, like that, again... He
did. Mister, I don't know if you are into girls like me, but your time
for choosing is OVER!
While I was busy devouring his tongue, I placed my hand on top of his
and guided it as it unzipped the lower portion of my zipper; up, up,
towards my nether places. His hand now had much freer access to my sex,
and took advantage of it. He seems to like girls like me just fine.
PERFECT! I made quick work of his zipper. His glorious tool popped out
instantly, standing tall and proud. We stroked each other into frenzy.
I writhed in his lap, long past caring about propriety.
"I want your cock, NOW!"
"Told you, Cher-y!"
Who is SAYING THAT????? Right now, I don't give a rat's ass. I lift
myself about twelve inches, then thrust myself downward, impaling my
wet hole on his turgid tool. Oh, God that's good! We establish a nice
little rhythm, with me sitting in his lap, arms wrapped around his
neck, lips locked on his.
"Faster, Chery-y. Deeper. Make him cum inside you. Make YOU cum."
Stop that, damn you! Whoever you are, wherever you are, I don't need
your help to make a man cum. And cum he did. Sweet Jesus, he like to
have blown me right off his lap! I have never felt so full.
So, that sated my sexual appetite, right? Not even! Mr. Platinum Card
had shot his wad - figuratively and literally - and was done for at
least a little while. I was not, and started looking for alternate stud
service as soon as I could re-zip my dress (not all the way; I left a
generous 'front slit') and discreetly pry myself away. I felt, rather
than saw, the trickle down the inside of my thigh and made no attempt
to hide it.
Apparently, other men DID see it. As I made my way through the crowded
dance floor, there were hands all over my flushed, excited body. The
sensation of all those hands touching my bare skin or through the
butter-soft leather was simply indescribable. My hands were just as
active. There seemed to be a tight circle of tight bodies surrounding
me. If they had other partners, it wasn't apparent; nor did I care. I
was pretty jazzed at that moment, both from the champagne and the
sexual rush.
I don't have any idea how long I was out there, but before I left the
floor, at least two of those boys had cum in their pants. There might
have been more, but I wasn't really sure about the others. One followed
me off the floor. I had intended to go back to the mezzanine to check
on Mr. Platinum Card, but never made it that far. My infatuated dance
partner had me under the stairs - legs wrapped around his waist, arms
around his neck, back pressed against the wall - right about the same
place Mr. Power Tie had taken his untimely wrong step. It was sorta
dark enough in there; I guess people couldn't really see us unless they
were watching REALLY INTENTLY. And if they could hear me screaming
above the din of the music, well...
I strutted proudly into the Ladies' Room. Naturally, every stall was
occupied. I was seeping furiously and HAD to blot!
"Cher-y. Just grab some towels and do your business. What do YOU care
who sees us?"
Us? Who is US? Am I on Candid Camera?
"Us, Chery. You and me. Look in the mirror. There we are."
What you mean "We", Paleface? I looked. There were other girls
scattered around, but none looking my way. I saw only my own
reflection; me, in that exquisite... RED DRESS!
Oh, no; no, no, no, no, NO! This is NOT the Twilight Zone. I am NOT
having a conversation with ..."
"Yes you are. Hi, Chery! Aren't we having a ball tonight?"
Would it look too lame to cover my ears with my hands and go: "La-la-
la-la-la"?
"A ball? I guess that's ONE way to put it."
The girl at the sink next to me stared at me as though I had lost my
mind. Well, hadn't I? I couldn't believe I was about to do this. I kept
my voice down.
"Uh, who ARE you?"
"Cherysse St. Claire, you know damn well who I am! You trust your own
eyes, don't you?"
"I, uh, know what I'm looking at. I'm just not sure I'm seeing what I'm
supposed to be seeing."
"Don't be a Wus, Chery. That's not your style. Look at us. Don't we
look good together? We were MADE for each other!"
I couldn't argue with that. I had some other questions, though.
"Does anyone else... hear you?"
"Of course not, Sweetie! I was made for you, not them. This is just
between you and me; our little secret."
"Oh, I'm so relieved. It only looks like I'm a schizophrenic, having a
conversation with myself. I was worried that people would think I was
REALLY strange."
"Waddaya want? Shall I shake my head and say: 'Awwww, Wilburrrrrr?'"
"Don't crack wise with me, Missy. I'll use you to polish my thigh
boots."
"No you won't. Look at us again. Look closely. Have you ever seen
anything so exquisite in your life?"
"Well, no."
"Have you ever felt THIS SEXY before in your life"
I've felt sexy plenty of times. The boys have thought so, too. But this
sexy?
"No."
"Have you ever been this turned on before in your life? Have you ever
had this many guys wanting to ravish you on the spot?"
"Wait a minute! So YOU are responsible for all this?"
"Responsible? Yeah, right Bimbo; I stuck a gun to your head and made
you do it."
"You know what I mean."
"Listen, Sweetie, I'm not making you do anything you don't already want
to do. I just help you feel better about doing it - kinda like a good
buzz, ya know? I AM you; just more so. Tell me truthfully; are you
having a good time?"
"A good time? I'm having an AWESOME time!"
"Have you ever felt better, more confident, more drop-dead gorgeous
than tonight?"
"No, no, and absolutely not!"
"There, you see? We WERE made for each other. Now, do what ya gotta do.
Fuck what these bitches think. You OWN this joint - and every man in
it!"
"Damn right!"
I stood before the mirror, nonchalantly un-zipped to my waist and
blotted my bottom, stockings and thighs with paper towels. Take THAT,
Bitches! They were nonplussed, to say the least. A stall became
available and I snatched it without a second thought. I drained away
the effluvia of the hard night's partying, blotted again, then stood,
zipped, and flushed. Miraculously, there was still not a single spot on
my dress to betray my harlot's ways. I returned to the mirror, re-
applied my lipstick, did a couple of spritzes of Shalimar, and was
ready to go again. I strutted out proudly, head high, shoulders back,
boobies thrust out and jiggling, hips swaying as if on rails.
OOF! I literally walked into Round Three. Mario was making good on my
earlier offer. He and I collided outside the Ladies' Room. Have you
ever been so close to a guy - his crotch pressed right up against your
pussy - you could actually FEEL him get hard? God, what a turn-on!
"Cher-y. You're not gonna let this one get away, are you? You're still
good for another hard, fast one. So is he."
No argument there, Missy; on either count. I WAS good to go; and
Mario...
We made like Siamese twins, joined at the crotch, all the way upstairs,
past the mezzanine, across the catwalk, into the utility closet in the
corner. It was small and cramped; there was no bare wall to press
against. That isn't necessary with Mario; he is one strong hunk of
manflesh. I wrapped my arms and legs around him tightly, impaling
myself on his shaft. He held me aloft with only his strong arms and
fuckpole. It was good; really, REALLY good! I lost count of the number
of mind-numbing orgasms I had. I just kept milking him, and milking
him, and milking him, making sure I got every precious drop.
Last call came all too soon. Mario returned to his post via the front
staircase. I made my way back to the Main Bar via the back stairs.
Jerry had a nightcap waiting for me. He pursed his lips, barely
stifling his smile, and just tsk-tsk'd with mock disgust.
"Chery, Chery, Chery; if you had any idea what has been said about you
tonight..."
"Did I live up to my reputation?"
"Baby Doll, you EXCEEDED your reputation. Oh, if only I had been a fly
on the wall..."
"Or a mouse in my pocket?
That little voice just had to get in his - HER - two cents' worth.
"Cher-y, you know it's too early to go home. At least, not YOUR home."
When you're right, you're right.
"Better still..."
I reached down behind the bar.
"... there is already a little mouse in YOUR pocket. Wanna see him
grow?"
Clasped lightly within my massaging fingers, Jerry's 'mouse' rapidly
became a raging lion.
"You know, Chery, my apartment has a real good view of the Lake. The
sun will be coming up in about an hour, and when it does..."
I smiled and squeezed gently.
"It's a date, Lover. Give me the address and I will be waiting for you
when you get home."
He gave me the address and the key. It wouldn't have looked good to
kiss him in front of all the others, so I just smiled, winked, and gave
him another little squeeze to give him something to think about as he
raced home. I pivoted and slinked towards the door, hips undulating
sinuously to and fro. We - the dress and I - wanted Jerry and everyone
else to take a good, HARD look.
My car was already waiting out front when I exited the front door. I
hugged Mario and gave him a wink and smile on my way out the sawhorse
turnstile. The valet stood by the driver's door. I tipped him and
flashed a smile. I could see that would just not be enough; this boy's
erection threatened to rip right through his jeans. He was so aroused,
he - it ? was trembling. He held my hand to steady me as I slid
backwards onto the driver's seat. I 'accidentally' dropped my purse on
the ground next to the door.
He squatted to retrieve it and handed it to me. I pulled him close,
squeezed his raging hard-on through his jeans, delicately stuck my
tongue in his ear and whispered: "Come". He did - with a shuddering
vengeance. I kissed him lightly on the lips, swung my legs into the
car, and shut the door. I pulled out - and steered the nose of my car
towards Jerry's neighborhood. Giving the valet a "freebie" was all well
and good, but I needed a little TLC, too - and I knew just where to
find it...
Blaze
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