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Sexy Reads – The New Orleans Hothouse

Sexy Reads

Sexy Reads – The New Orleans Hothouse


The barkeep placed ten golden coins on the counter and smiled. “I think you need some relaxation, Mr. Rothstein. A young lady is working the peep show tonight, just for you. It’ll be worth your while, sir. She’s a real beauty, and I swear nobody will watch the two of you.”

I took another sip of my scotch and pushed the glass back to the bartender. “Why not, I got time to kill.” I scooped up the coins and rose from the stool. He pointed to the curtain. “All the way in the back, behind them beads, Mr. Rothstein. The two of you will be alone.”

I strolled over to the curtain, parted it, and walked into a labyrinth of dark corners and empty corners. The freaks had deserted the place, and except for a dribble of what looked like cum on the floor, no one would know about the strange happenings. Silence shrouded the place. No moaning or groaning, grunts or screams. No poor sap going through the motions of having sex with his drunken girlfriend on stained mattress. Otis had painted over the squalor and mopped the floors, leaving them pristine and devoid of semen except for that one spot. I looked down at my wristwatch with a sigh. It would be another fifteen minutes before I met with him.

I stumbled through the dim light. Someone had lit votives to light my way, a polite gesture wasted on me. When I finally reached the darkest part of the club, past the last room, I saw a glass-fronted booth illuminated by a single light bulb. A young woman perched inside. My mysterious date. I couldn’t make her out very well since a mane of glossy black hair obscured her face. When I moved closer, my heart lurched and my head began pounding like a base drum. Yvette sat alone behind the glass.

I hadn’t been wrong about her beauty. Even in the booth’s harsh light, she looked as stunning as she had in her skimpy outfit at the Mason-Dixon Line. Now I could really see her, and she more than passed muster, a voluptuous girl of about nineteen with flawless skin. Yvette sat on a red pillow like a beautiful spider in a glass nest, ready to ensnare some poor sap into her web. Instead of wearing a cheap cocktail dress like the women in the bar, she’d covered her curves with a crimson silk kimono tied at the waist.

What she was doing in a dump like the Lucky 13 mystified me, but my stiffening cock told me the reason didn’t matter. I found myself standing in front of her.

She looked up and we stared at each other for at least a half a minute. Her eyes suddenly flashed, and I knew she hadn’t forgotten the matter of me putting my hand down her dress. A few more bucks should handle it.

“Hey, beautiful, I’m stuck in this shithole with time to kill. The bartender said folks in New Orleans do their best for guests and you’d show me something good. What you going to do for me?”

Yvette didn’t say a word, just stared back at me for a long moment. She finally spoke in deep and smoky tones, possibly from one too many cigarettes, but maybe not. Her teeth were pearly white, her hands free from nicotine stains.

“I could do a lot for a pretty boy like you. I bet your dick is as beautiful as the rest of you. Unzip, daddy and show me what you got.”

What the hell? Who did she think she was? I thought hookers were supposed to be polite. When her beautiful mouth widened into an insolent grin, I felt my anger bubble over.

“Pull out my cock? You want me to beat my meat? Screw you. On the worst day of my life, I could do better than you.”

Yvette sat back in her cushion. “Oh, is that so?”


“Well, you aren’t very polite, especially when a girl is just trying to be friendly. But I’ll forgive you. You look upset. Poor baby, let me make you feel better. C’mon. Don’t be a chicken. Show me your dick.”

“Fuck you, bitch.”

Yvette opened her robe just as I turned away. “Hey, pretty man. Look at this.” She pulled back the crimson silk, slowly parted her legs, and exposed the treasure her creamy thighs concealed: a beautiful rose-colored pussy nesting in black hair. I usually went for chilly beauties, but Yvette’s earthy brazenness excited me. My rod stiffened and pointed at her. My arousal would have been obvious to a blind man.

Her voice teased me. “Daddy, are you still mad at me.”

I couldn’t pull myself away. “No.”

Yvette gave me an earthy cackle. “You were mad. Those eyes of yours flashed amber like you were going to explode.” She gave a toss of her head and smirked. “I’m ready to play and from what’s poking out of your trousers, so are you. Come on, baby. Don’t be afraid. Show mama what you’ve got.”

She licked her full lips when I unbuckled my belt, but before I could unzip my fly, a crimson curtain descended, and she disappeared from view. I yelped in frustration, dug in my pocket for one of the coins, and dropped it into the slot. The drape ascended. Yvette sat back on her pillow, grinning.

“Well, hey, daddy, you still here? Guess you didn’t find something better, did you?”

Yvette put a finger to her mouth, parted her full lips and gave it a slow, sensuous lick. She moved her hand southward, toward another pair of lips. I couldn’t contain myself and unfastened my trousers. They fell around my hips along with my shorts. I grabbed my cock and stroked the shaft. Yvette stared at it for a long moment.

“Well, daddy, you got a pretty one, all big and pink. I like it, sugar.”

Big dicks ran in my family. “Yeah, that’s what they say about us Rothsteins. Big dicks, big wallets.”

“And I bet you love showing both off to all the young ladies. Don’t you, handsome?”

Her grin widened as she slid her moistened finger in a circle around her pussy lips and undulated her hips, the movements slow and deliberate, her voice growling a low moan.

“Daddy, play with that bad boy for me, but do it slow. I like it slow Real slow.”

I groaned and moved my hips in rhythm with hers as if I was inside her.

Purchase The New Orleans Hothouse here at

Image courtesy of Loose Id
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Lee Rene

I’m Lee Rene, a jazz-loving author of dark Young Adult novels. I had the good fortune of being born in sun-kissed Los Angeles. In my past literary life, I worked a lifestyle writer for magazines in Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York and Vancouver as well as entertainment journalist and movie reviewer in print, on-line, and on radio in the Los Angeles area. I’m a student of American history and my works are usually set in the past. It’s ironic that my first published novel is an erotic romance written under my nom de plume, Lee Rene. Although I’ve attempted writing romances in the past, I found my voice in the world of erotic literature. The New Orleans Hothouse is the first of many stories. It’s my sincere wish that lovers of dark romances join me on my journey.



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