Black Stiletto

By Andrea Bellmont

 

Tall, sleek, dark,and slender was the only way to describe Daisy Plume, an exotic dancer.

One night, one of Daisy's regular customers, Ernie Smith, didn't show. In his place came detective Emanuel Ortiz because Ernie had been murdered.

When a fourth victim is found, Daisy is arrested. She's coined the deadliest female serial killer of her time. She's "to die for." 

Better yet, one reporter noted her black stiletto heels as they led her out of the Purple Heel, the club she danced at, and hence, the Black Stiletto was born.

**18 and over, Adult Content****

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bitten Press LLC
• Release date: Oct 28, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386808404

Andrea Bellmont

Andrea Bellmont is a writer of erotica and erotic romance. She dabbles in the paranormal end of the genre and loves her three muses. They're naughty muses whom she blames for her most erotic stories. She's a wife, a mother and still believes a woman should be at all times sexy and self confident. Journey with her, in an adult never land. Andrea Bellmont. Passions Iron Grip and Bonds (Kindle Locations 442-445). Bitten Press.

Book preview

Chapter One

THE STAINLESS STEEL pole glistened in the dim evening lighting of the club, The Purple Heel. As the pole dancer slid down the sleek metal, the entire firm cheeks of her ass were a sight for any man. Firm, large, dark nippled breasts hugged the pole, which slipped between them like a hard cock, arousing and mesmerizing the crowd of men. Her long, smooth legs entwined around the pole as she spun her body down, and when she reached the floor, she spread her thighs wide, exposing the shaved wet lips of her pussy. This is where the money began its flurry as the men waved tens and twenties at her, begging for a taste of what she was willing to show them.

Her skin was the color of coffee, and her hair as black as coal. Her eyes, large light green pools of sadness, set her apart from the others. Daisy Plume told everyone she met she was a dancer, an exotic dancer. That’s the way she described what she did, exotic and dancing, when all she really did, was hug a pole provocatively in a seedy little club downtown.

The Purple Heel catered to old men who didn’t get enough sex at home. These men craved affection and contact, and the girls at the Heel knew how to deliver what they needed.

She had her favorites who came to see her perform. All the girls did. Every dancer relied on the tips to keep them from starving, and Daisy was no different. A few of the dancers came and went, but Jack Smothers treated his few regular girls well. Most of the clubs in the area split the profits fifty-fifty with the girls, including any of the lap dances and little sexual extras they provided. Jack asked for a small portion of their evening’s take under the condition they didn’t let their business agreement with him get around to the other clubs. So, it worked well for all involved.

Daisy’s popularity was star quality. Her tall, well-toned body could slip down a pole like a snake. Her movements were precise and fluent as if she was making love to the pole. She treated her act as if she was dancing Swan Lake. Like the others, she had her regulars, men she gave lap dances to, and they’d show up on payday to watch her slither all over them—her last act of the week bordered on pornographic. Jack allowed the scene against the protests of his other girls because the haul with Daisy’s little performance profited them both.

However, the wedge was growing. The animosity was evident, as he allowed Daisy far more liberties than the others. She took advantage of Jack’s favoritism. The other girls believed she was turned on and a sexual deviant when she hated every aspect of her decadent act in reality. She did it for one reason, money. The money was too good to pass up. One day, Daisy meant to leave The Purple Heel behind, along with the trash and memories. The money she made from this act could make her dreams become a reality.

As a kid, she’d loved ballet and tried hard to dance but could never cut it. Being poor and from an abusive home didn’t help her dreams. She’d tried her best to get out of the ghetto and had been successful. Living in Brooklyn, in an area called Park Slope, was an improvement over where she grew up, in the bowels of the Bowery, Hell’s Kitchen.

So, by day, she acted like the millennials in her neighborhood, drank wine, and loved decorating. She shopped in the best small shops down in the village and loved her lattes. Daisy was pulling off her daytime life; however, at night, she came alive.

Because she danced downtown and was so close to the burned-out areas of the city, she never ran into any of her neighbors at the club. She was grateful for that because the girl who danced naked at night would raise many eyebrows in Park Slope, Brooklyn.

She lived a dualistic life, pole dancing at night and putting her body out there in more than one way. Her last act was always the one she detested. There, she did little dancing and instead played with a huge dildo as hungry eyes watched her push it into her wet folds. There she saw the money, not dollar bills bit fives, tens, and twenties littered the stage. The money had its lure and promised that one day she’d leave that part of her life behind. However, for Daisy, as much as she hated her last dance, there was a part of her that craved the decadence.

Daisy checked the clock on the wall of the dark, dingy dressing room she shared with two other dancers. The revelry of clapping was over, and Diana would be bursting through the door any minute. Then it would be her turn. Time to shut down, do her thing, and make the money she needed to pay her rent and live her privileged little life.

And as she predicted, Diana, in her overstated way, burst through the door. Ugh, how I fucking hate them! she said, flipping off her red high heels.

Daisy gave a slight sadistic sneer. Ain’t that the truth, she added to Diana’s comment.

Honey, they love you, Diana said, plopping down in the chair next to her. We need a fucking shower in this joint. God damn Jack, he’s as cheap as shit. Well, I’m done for the evening, and I got a hot date tonight.

Good for you, Daisy said as she applied the last of her makeup.

He’s not one of these degenerates. I met him at a coffee shop in SoHo. Hoping this date goes well.

I’m sure it will, Daisy said, slipping on the shiny black stilettos. Well, wish me luck.

Daisy, luck has nothing to do with your deviant display out there. I hear Jack might let you put that show on every last act of the night. Better you than me. I can’t wait to get the fuck out of this place and maybe get a real fucking job. Daisy gave her a spiteful laugh. I’ll probably be gone by the time you get back in here. So, see ya tomorrow night.

Daisy stood and took a deep breath. Part of her wanted to slap Diana, but her words spoke a great deal of truth. Diana gave her back a smug grin. Have fun, she said and slipped out the door. Her stomach began to turn, as it always did as she approached the small stage. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Now she’d summon the other part of Daisy, the one who could block out the men, the lights, and the sexual sweat that whiffed through the club as she performed the last act of the night.

HEY HONEY, SHOW ME more pussy, a heavyset man in front yelled. Like most losers who came to the Purple Heel, he was drunk. Except this guy had twenty-dollar bills lining his shirt pocket, and he treated all the girls right; however, Daisy was his main draw. The guy waited all night for the last dance, and he was a constant visitor paying big money for a lap dance. The girls gave up more for a little extra cash, and for big money, he could have two dancers.

Most of the men, who frequented the naughty little club, always had cash and drank a tad more than they should. The girls also noted most of the men were married. The gold or silver bands too tight to remove from their now overweight fingers.

There were three favored dancers at the Purple Heel, Diana, Flossy, and Daisy. Two other girls, Brie and Cookie, were part-time and were really hardened hookers, who hated splitting their take, and their dancing skills left a lot to be desired. Daisy knew that Jack didn’t call them in because he hated their bickering over money. It was his club, and he reasoned that there would be no take without him. His regular girls knew the rules, and he never got an argument.

The music played, ‘She works hard for the Money,’ by Donna Sommers, blasting through the small club as Daisy danced. She slid up and down her pole, her expertise unmatched by any of the other dancers, and her big spender tucked two twenties in her G-string. She smiled seductively at him, and as her body slid down the pole to the floor of the stage, she extended an arm and let her hand rub his crotch.

Daisy, Daddy wants a lap dance later.

Mmm, Ernie, as long as you’re a good boy, I’ll take care of you. Her voice was deep and smooth like the finest burgundy, and she knew how to work the crowd.

He took another twenty-dollar bill and slipped it into her thong, letting a wayward finger touch the crease of her firm ass. It annoyed the shit out of her every time he pulled that crap. She growled back at him, and he smiled stupidly, displaying his almost toothless grim.

She tried not to be too hard on him and tried even harder not to look too long at his stupid grinning face. Not as if the guy was broke. She figured he was just cheap. He reminded her of her father, who also went toothless rather than spend his money on anything considered cosmetic. However, as long as he kept stuffing twenties in her G-string, she could care less what Ernie did otherwise with his money.

Thoughts of her father disturbed her and made her stomach turn. Remembering growing up always caused her anxiety. She’d blocked out much of her childhood. The feeling of being hungry was one of them. Kids should never go hungry. Wasn’t it a parent’s responsibility to take care of their kids? Again, Daisy pushed the dark thoughts of years past from her mind focused on the dance and her customers.

She tried not to make eye contact with any of them, but unfortunately, Ernie was at the top of her list when it came to a good-paying customer.

She continued her erotic gyrations, showing the crowd sexy acrobatics and prime pussy feats. The G-string did little to cover her ass or vagina, but she loved the dancing and always blew precaution the wind.

Her long, sleek, dark body drew in the customers, and her large green eyes mesmerized many. Jack, the owner of the Purple Heel, always walked around telling the other girls how pleased he was with Daisy. His constant adoration pissed her off because he had created a wedge between her and the other girls. It made working with them tense. She acted as if she didn’t give a damn when deep down inside, all she wanted was acceptance. Then there were Jack’s countless attempts at trying to fuck her. But she was good at dodging men, particularly owners.

It was hard to discern her heritage. Her mother was Caucasian, and her father was Indian, Haitian, and Samoan. He’d migrated from India, and his evident moor genes were prominent by the darkness of his skin.  When she