The Scarlett Lolita: Tales of Cry

Chapter One The night air was filled with jasmine and sewage, wafting from dark alleys. Footsteps echoed as a pair of heels clicked the pavement. Clad in a tight black leather skirt, thigh-high tights and stripper boots, a woman approached the corner and hailed an oncoming cab. She combed a hand through her mane. Straight, long, onyx hair with indigo highlights, curled at the end. It dangled down her backside. A man whistled, as she slid into the cab, her hand fingered a pearl necklace around her neck. The cab driver eyed her through the rear-view mirror. “Where you want to go, sweetheart?” he asked, pursing his lips. She pulled off her sunglasses, revealing deep beryl eyes. She licked her garnet, flavorsome lips. “The Bimbo's Club,” she smirked in a low enticing voice, her cheeks blushed. He took in her corset and long pearl necklace as he pulled away from the curb. The woman gazed through the window as the cab passed highlighted signs. She dug into her purse, pulled out a tube of lipstick and began applying it – a gash of red across her mouth – as the cab stopped. She opened her wallet, and pulled out a twenty. “Here you go, sir,” she handed it to the driver. He took her money, still watching her. She opened the door and stepped out, closing it shut. The cab slid back into the night. She pulled her sunglasses back on, bathed like a great black bird in the florescent glow of a large neon sign. The word "Bimbo's" was lit in pale blue and crimson colors. Loud music blasted from the club. A tall lean bodyguard tipped his hat to her. She ran a manicured nail across her deviously plump lips as she took in the electric energy of the place. The bodyguard lustfully eyed her as he adjusted his pants. He unlocked the mini gate and let her in. Lights pulsated all around. Scented liquor and body sweat mingled in the air. A jungle of patron’s throbbed in a sea of sweat and smell of s*x, thrust against one another in a sporadic mating dance. The woman bent down, adjusting her shoes, her hair hung to the side. A man with salmon-colored hair and a Charlie Chaplin mustache slid up to her and began caressing her ass. She purred, grooving into him. He rotated his hips, grinding into her as the music roared around them. She shook her ass, and popped it like it was hot against his throbbing member. She rotated her ass up higher, grinding deeper into him. The man slapped her rump. She put her finger in her mouth, then dropped to the ground and back up, dancing against his hips. As he grew hard, she turned around and began licking his ear. He moaned as she pushed her ass harder against his hips. Growing frustrated, he pushed her against the wall. She yelped as he slid his hand under her skirt. “What's your name, Doll?” he asked, licking her neck. “Call me your Sexy Silk,” she breathed in deeply, “but I'm Shelly Row.” He bit her skin, rotated his hips deeper into her. “You’re damn sexy, that's for sure,” his breath hot against her skin. He backed her further into a dark corner. Shelly unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled it off, letting it fall to the floor. He lifted up her skirt and lowered her blue thong. Shelly stepped out of it as it fluttered to the ground. The man unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants, unveiled his erect nine-inch c**k. The lights dimmed as a slow song began to play. Shelly pulled him closer and whispered into his ear, “you want to f**k me?” He groaned, fumbled through his pockets for a condom. Shelly jerked out a condom from her boot, opened it with her mouth, and stared into his eyes. Her eyes filled with thirst, as she slid down, and kneeled. He looked down at her as she licked her lips, and took his c**k deeply into her mouth. She rotated her tongue counter clockwise, licking him up and down. She slowly slid the condom onto him as he loudly groaned. Shelly slid up the wall, wrapped her leg around his hip, pulled him in deeper. “I'm not the same girl, and I need some love,” she throatily moaned. Her eyes were glued to his lips as she pulled him closer. He thrust himself into her. She squealed as he pushed into her deeper. Shelly clung to him as he thrust her roughly against the wall. Grunting, he hauled her up higher, spreading both her legs around him. Shelly screamed in his ear. Hearing her joy made him groan as he hit her G-spot repeatedly. His lips quivered as her eyes danced with passion. A bodyguard eyed them from across the room. Shelly winked back at him, blowing a kiss. The man slammed into her one last time before extracting himself. Shelly leaned against the wall, breathing hard. He took off the condom with his seed in it and threw it in the trashcan. The man grinned at Shelly as she was trying to catch her breath. He kissed her blood red lips. She gently bit his bottom lip, and kissed the corner of his mouth. “That was your reminder,” she teased. He gulped, straightening his pants, fumbling with the belt. Shelly picked up her thong, slid it back on. She whipped out her mirror from her purse and fixed her hair as he handed her a business card. “I’d love to see you again,” he whispered desperately. She grinned, taking his card, “because you want some Shelly again?” she teased, “tell me you want a yum-yum again.” He quickly nodded as Shelly slid his card into her purse with a stack of other business cards. The man nervously looked at her, “Shelly will you call me?” The craving was clear in his voice. Fixing her lipstick, she smiled “later…” Her eyes glinted softly as she pushed her skirt down. As she crossed the floor, the bodyguard pulled her to him, thrust his tongue into her mouth, kissing her deeply. She grinded against him, then turned to another man and began kissing him. Her salmon-haired lover with the Charlie Chaplin mustache fumed as he watched her from across the room. Shelly pulled herself from the bodyguard and sauntered out of the club. **** A fat moon hung low in the sky. Men whistled at Shelly as she pulled her coat closer against the night air, her high heels clicking on the pavement. Her breath danced like smoke in the cold as she strutted down the sidewalk – her nocturnal catwalk. Men honked at her. Shelly ignored them as she crossed down a stench filled alley, rich with the odor of food and disposal from nearby restaurants. Cats screeched and dogs barked as Shelly climbed a fire escape to the fourth floor. Huffing, she opened a slanted window and crawled inside. She slung her legs out the window, watching the people below on the street. She dug into her purse for a pack of cigarettes, lit one, shivering at the cold air against her neck. She blew a funnel of smoke as a large silver cat pounced on her. Shelly grinned, tenderly stroking the cat. “I wonder when we’ll ever get out of this dump, Surry,” she asked, blowing out a puff of smoke. The cat purred in contentment as Shelly pulled it onto her lap. Large, dark bricks, muddled with the scent of decay, death and vomit, wafted through the window. Below, homeless people crawled through the trash and broken bottles. Blood spilled on the pavement where a junkie was shooting himself up. A man was passed out dead in a pile of cereal spilling from his bag. Shelly tossed her spent butt to the street, wondering how she lived in such a stylish building in the shadow of a ghetto. “Living well and getting something cheap is fun, isn’t it, Surry?” she giggled. “Maybe one day we can get out of this place,” she glanced around one more time before pulling the cat back inside. Faint sounds of police cars screamed from ten blocks away. A simple wooden table and chair were in the middle of the room. A deck of cards was on the refrigerator. She pulled the fridge open. It was empty, save for a block of moldy cheese and a bottle of vodka. She pulled the bottle out and poured herself a tall glass, swallowed most of it down in one gulp. A queen-sized bed with Egyptian cotton sheets and cream covers commanded the bedroom. Shelly strolled over to her makeshift closet filled with sixty pairs of heels in different colors. She kicked her heels off as Surry jumped on the bed, meowing for attention. She unzipped her corset. It fluttered to the ground. Her busty thirty-six D breasts spilled out. Her n*****s hardened in the cold air. Shelly stepped out of her skirt, kicked it to the side. She went to her vanity where ruby tubes of lipsticks were lined like soldiers on the table. She kissed her mirror, and then licked her lips. Her eyes smirked back from the mirror, “you can't help what you are… a nymph.” From the alley, there was a large crash. She looked out the window to see a car had hit a woman. She turned back to her vanity, pulling out her argentite brush and comb. She started to brush her hair, watching her own image. “So pretty, and so damned by red flags and long nights,” she winked. She continued brushing her hair, counting each stroke. Her lips pouted as she tied her hair up, crawling into bed. A soft plush teddy bear leaned against the headboard. She hugged it close and cried softly against her pillow. Surry snuggled against Shelly. “I sleep with different men every night,” she cuddled against her teddy, crying herself to sleep. **** Easy sounds filled the air, chirping birds and the purr of light morning traffic. Surry jumped onto the windowsill, meowing at crows taunting from the other side of the pane. In the bed, Cimmerian and ashen satin sheets moved against the pale body. The blankets fell from the bed as a body moved underneath them, rising up. Shelly leisurely opened her eyes, yawning. Giggling, she squinted at Surry, clawing at the window, trying to get at the birds. Her eyes fell on a wall clock, shaped like a pair of lips. “f**k! I’m going be late again!” she flew from the bed like it was on fire. Scrambling to the window, she threw it wide to let the cat out. “Go find some breakfast, Surry, Mommy’s late.” Stumbling into the kitchen, she grabbed yesterday’s cold pot of coffee. She splashed some into a chipped Hello Kitty mug, swallowing it in one gulp as she frantically pulled her jeans off a clothesline that dove tailed the kitchen. She sprawled out the door, still pulling her tennis shoes on. She ran down the hallway to the elevator, frantically started stabbing the call button. The doors opened and men pile into the elevator behind, slyly eyeing her. She pulled her hair up into a long ponytail, while hitting the “close” button. “Come on, come on, come on, you prick,” she pleaded. As the doors started to close, a man’s hand suddenly poked in. The doors slid back open. “s**t!” Shelly muttered to herself. A tall man in his late twenties stepped in. Kind hazel eyes framed by a shock of messy auburn hair beamed at her. Her lips moved on their own as she smiled back at him. When they hit the lobby, the door barely opened before she dashed out. The auburn-haired cutie with a name badge on his coat, Kevin Maggoty, watched her fly out the door. He gave her ass a good once over before going in the opposite direction. Shelly ran to the corner, hailing a cab. The cab pulled over, and Shelly jumped in. "Take me to Saint Maria Street and Clover Avenue," Shelly huffed breathlessly. The driver nodded and drove off. She pulled out her mirror and looked at her reflection with a frown. Tilting her head, she desperately started blushing her cheeks. “Maybe they won't notice I'm late again,” she told her own reflection. The driver eyed her from the rear view quizzically. Staring into her eyes, she thought ‘I hope they understand that I just had too much to drink and had another slip.’ The cab slowed in the heavy traffic, due an accident up ahead. She could see her corner just beyond - Clover Ave and Saint Maria St. She pulled out her wallet, showered him with money and jumped out of the cab. People moved out of her way as she slammed down the sidewalk.