She didn't climax with clients. She was too focused on them, too relaxed enough for a climax to rise. She faked orgasms all the time; it was basically her job and she was seriously good at it, not too much, not too little and occasionally shedding some emotional tears from her eyes, so that she could get caught trying to hide from her client. Her moaning was good, as well, which she practiced every day for over two months back when she first began acting as a call girl.
Everything about her sexual performances was pulled apart, examined ruthlessly, assessed for usefulness, then reassembled adding in new skills and seductions. She was, from top to bottom, a contrived lover. Techniques such as pompoir and kabazzah were sought after and learned. She studied fetishes and strove to understand the underlying attractions. She desired a bottom line understanding around what was so powerful inside their experience that they drove men to perform all sorts of strange behavior with their lovers.
Her days were comprised with such endeavors. The time spent on these researches always returned profitable directions and performances for the show. Despite all of this, she knew next to nothing about what she personally enjoyed or what got her off or how her body was aroused. This had been a concern with this relationship continuing to become closer and intimate. Last week, though, most of her concerns were washed away.
Cole had her covered. She could just relax, and let him excite her. She didn't need to know much about the erogenous stimulations of her pussy, because Cole already did. And his fingers, while thick and strong, were also fascinatingly dexterous.
This week, she brought an overnight bag to his house, carrying it in from the taxicab without comment and setting it in his room like an act of defiance.
Just try to stop me from fucking you this time, Cole, her overnight bag challenged.
Her nervousness was extreme, however. While she could perform and seduce, she wasn't sure she remembered how to make love with a man. She feared her call girl mind-set would fall into place, filling the vacuum created by her atrophied sense of worth and realism.
This would still satisfy Cole, which was important, but result in her being left outside of the act -- distancing her from the passion she now craved. She couldn't think of anything to help herself, though. How do you practice being normal?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After spent a period of time on the couch, kissing and becoming together again, they took a short ride out to a mall and watched a decent action movie, and then returned home with take-out bags of Chinese food. Sitting on the couch, they toyed with chopsticks, told jokes, and teased each other viciously.
The déjà vu experiences were far less assaultive these days. The weirdness of them was eroding away, as well. Each continued to report insights to the other, as they were revealed. It just felt like the fair way to handle it -- to let the other person know, that you knew something new about them, something that was probably very personal.
The experiences, as they saw them, felt like exposures of forced intimacy. This was a major challenge for both of them since neither of them had much experience with intimacy and detested being forced to do anything.
They were on their third after-dinner beer when Nicole told him, "I want to make something clear, Cole. If you'll have me, I want to leave the show -- when you are ready. I want to move into your house where brown is the tone spiked with blue. I want to water your dying plants, fix you meals, shower with you, sleep with you, and have sex with you. After these last few weeks, the show has nothing to offer me. Nothing. I do, however, want to know what you will do for employment after I quit. Am I leaving you in a spot?"
He searched her face as she said these words, and searched her expression now. "No, you won't be leaving me in a spot. I have savings and there are always jobs with the brotherhood. I could probably even acquire a real job. Maybe. Well, probably not without some favors called in since I've only had one real job in my whole life."
The visual intimacy she received regarding this job of Cole's was shocking to her. "Shoe sales?" she barked, nearly spilling her beer when she was suddenly submerged into a mall shop scene of young Cole on his knees before a woman, helping her try on shoes. He was pissed, because this was the twelfth pair the woman had tried on -- having no clue how sexually aroused the woman was at the sight of him down there. Nicole could read her. She wondered if the Cole she knew now could read her.
"I hated that job," Cole spat to her from his position on the couch.
Nicole laughed, her mirth becoming warm in her belly, "You had no idea what was going on, did you?"
"What?"
"The women!" she pushed, "They were all over you. Hell, you could have charged three dollars for fetching shoes and they would have paid. The woman I saw you with, the twelve shoe woman? Red hair? Large breasts? Probably thirty. She would have paid dearly to have you come home with her. She was about to cum in the store!" she continued to giggle and Cole took a lonely noodle from their pile of Chinese wrappers and tossed it into her hair.
"Hey," she complained.
"Hey yourself," he chided. "I was fifteen for crying out loud. Between a naked woman and the keys to a bike for an hour, I would have chosen the bike every time counting myself lucky."
She rubbed his shoulder and then kissed the side of his neck, "Don't keep me waiting like this, Cole. Do you want me? Could you want me? Is it still something we need to wait for?"
"Yes, I want you,” he told her clearly. After some thoughtful moments he said, “I take it, the faster we move you out, the better, right? I mean, once the news is clear…" he offered, never really understanding the politics of her life.
"Gabriel, of course, will want to hurt me if I leave him. I don't think he'll physically hurt me. He'll trash my apartment and break all my pretty things, like they mean anything to me now. He'll try to find out who I'm moving on to, so he can threaten and coerce me into coming back. He'll really be pissed if I try to take his clients. That's where the money is, but since I'm not taking anything, he'll likely just throw a fit and seek out some mean, nasty, little revenge for leaving, and that will be it. I'm not his slave for Christ's sake."
"Gabriel? That's the first time I've heard that name from you." Cole said, paying close attention to what was on the horizon of their future days.
"Gabriel Morelli. He's my pimp, Cole. The man in charge of the stable I'm in. Top of the food chain. My manager, Antonio, deals with finding new clients and keeping my security available. The finances are boring, so I won't lay that out, but Gabriel gets a large cut from my fees."
"How much are we talking about, for your fees?" Cole asked, and she heard in his voice risk calculation, not voyeuristic curiosity, so she told him.
Cole’s whole being seemed to drop into deep thought, "So, you don't have any agreement? No debt to pay off? No baggage you are leaving unclaimed? Nothing like that?"
"No, I don't. A lot of the girls, even the call girls, get hooked up on smack or some other filth in their veins. They wind up owing Gabriel in spite of the money they are pulling down, which, unfortunately, begins to become much less as the smack takes hold.
"That shit is powdered death. I've watched beautiful, intelligent, skilled women, transformed into corner smack whores in months because of heroin. I’ve heard, but placed blinders around the possibility of it being true, that Gabriel intentionally gets some women addicted to heroin so that he can break down their wills and control them easier, that he forces them to shoot up."
Her insides turned into watery disgust and revulsion at the idea of this really happening. "But you are right to ask," Nicole continued. "If I owed Gabriel anything, this would be a whole different story. I'd have to clear my debt, of course, which is always tricky. There are always residual fees, as he likes to call them. He likes us to owe him, but I don't. I'm clean and clear of any holds, and have money of my own.
"The apartment," she explained, "is in a building Gabriel and some partners own. They'll evict me as soon as they can without much concern f
or things like laws or contracts or leases. So, basically, on Thursday when I don't show up, if you want to do it this week, he'll trash whatever I couldn't take -- which, honestly, Cole, I don't give a shit about. I want some of my clothing, some of my shoes, my jewelry, and the stash I have of just-in-case money, with my laptop. That's it. Quick and dirty."
"May I ask how much that stash amounts to?" Cole asked.
"Twenty grand in hundreds, fifties, and twenties," she told him without hesitation.
He nodded. "Caution would suggest next week and, after my last brush against something that should've gone down easy, I would like to ask that we tip our hats to caution. So, next week, when I arrive at your place to drop you off for the evening, we'll both bag and haul your things to the limo and bring it all over here. Then I'll drop the limo off and ride home.
"With a week's notice, I can get Rat and a few of the other guys to help us haul things while keeping an eye on anyone trying to keep an eye on us. You mentioned the building is theirs. I'm guessing security is theirs, as well. I doubt we'll be able to make more than two trips before someone is rolling up to stop you or hassle you."
"Trucks would be better, Cole. No one would know I was running to you then," she suggested.
He agreed with that, on the belief that the less anyone knew about where she was running, the better.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They continued to discuss the details of the move, refining it, pressing some issues, and letting others take care of themselves. Nicole was more excited than she could ever remember being. This was life, real life, and she cared!
"Am I going to be a burden on you, Cole? I mean, financially?" Nicole asked, trying to feel out his current financial situation. Hers was good, considering she wasn't attempting to retire in style, just live in the ‘burbs with her handsome man and ride his bike whenever time allowed.
"No, I'm good and I have stashes, too, so it would probably be wise to re-stash your just-in-case money somewhere you can get a hold of it. I doubt that we'll need to dip any time soon. Of course, I don't live above my means. Are you going to miss the luxurious life?"
"Not at all," she sighed and leaned against him. "I'm so into being your woman, Cole. I'm so glad you asked me that day to ride with you. This is the life I want. And your house is where I want to live," she told him.
"Welcome then, ma'am. I do hope you have a pleasant stay," he said with a slow country voice.
"Well thank you kind, sir. I believe I will if I can ever get that man of mine to take me to bed," she replied all Southern and sash. Then she laughed at him.
Cole reached over and pulled her across his lap laying a smack solidly on her ass with the flat of his hand.
She squealed with laughter and mock insult while kicking her legs, "Cole! Don't you dare spank me!" The smack was loud, but it didn’t hurt at all. She hoped that was the result he was after.
Then he began to handle her and with deft motions and surprising speed; he removed her skirt unzipped and pulled down her panties to her knees. The feeling of being so easily unwrapped like this was unnerving and exhilarating at the same time.
She cried out and struggled to get away. She even slapped at his arms and wiggled fiercely in his grasp. She may have slowed him, certainly she was annoying him, but moments later, while struggling for all she was worth, she lost her blouse and bra. Now nude, with her panties around her knees, she was feeling oddly ecstatic and competitive, as well as defiant about the ease he was getting what he wanted and doing what he wanted.
She was about to bite his arm when she was suddenly being lifted up in his arms as he rose with her from the couch. He did this with ease, showing no outward sign of her causing him a burden. Once standing, he stripped her panties down her legs by first tossing her body over his shoulder and then sliding them the rest of the way down, while she kicked and screamed curses, and spanked at his ass.
"Cole! You brute! Put me down!" she yelled, and then with begging capitulations she tried, "Please Cole. I can't look sexy for you like this!"
"You would look sexy in burlap, riding a pig through the wetlands," he told her as he repositioned her into the cradle of his arms as if she weighed little more than the Sunday paper.
"Cole! This is our first time! This is very undignified," she complained, pushing at his chest. "Down! Let me walk! I want to go the room for crying out loud! I want you in there with me! Why can’t you just let me walk?"
As he crossed the threshold of his bedroom with her and before she could say anything, she was tossed into the air to land with bounces that flopped her in rag-doll ways on the king-size mattress.
"Cole! I'm so going to get you for this!" she giggled as she got her body under control and then with a blur of speed, she bolted from the bed, heading back for the open door -- her pampered crème skin glowing with excursion.
She had no idea large man like Cole could move as fast as he did or with such physical grace, and control. He not only caught her, he caught her around the waist and spun her up into the air where she floated for a moment with a scream, and then swooped her into and arch that flowed with her falling direction and landed her back on the bed.
"If you do that again," he warned with casual authority, "I'll find every ticklish spot you have and make you pee yourself."
That threat really did shock her. "You wouldn't dare!" she gasped in low, disbelieving denial.
"Oh, yes I would. I'm not exactly refined, but I do love a good tickle," he nodded and stripped his shirt.
Suddenly seeing him like this took most of the fun out of trying to run. She bit her lip and was considering another dash when he pulled his pants apart and slid them down his long legs. Then Cole was naked, tan, built, and his cock was reaching full arousal before her, which took up most of her concentration. After a few indulgent moments, she glanced at the door again, judging her chances.
"Go ahead," he said, giving a hinting glance at the door. "I dare you. I triple dirty dog dare you to try it. I’m not into seeing women pee, but in this case, I feel it might be oddly fulfilling."
She looked at the door again licking her upper lip line. He was further away from it now, deeper in the room. She might make it out to the living room before he caught up with her.
Tension vibrated her back and legs with pent up energy, ready to explode her out of bed.
Would he really make me pee? How much tickling is that? Minutes? Dear God, hours? As she appraised his body and wondered at the suffrage endured during an hour long tickling, she decided if she was caught and the tickling started, there would be no chance of her escaping until he was done -- not from those hands, powered by those arms. It would be over. All over but the dire-laughter -- and the wet spot of course.
"What the hell does that mean?" she challenged, sounding more defiant than she felt. "Dirty triple scoop pansy ass … what was the rest?"
Then Cole rushed her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
She squealed, trying to get her body to shift her center of gravity so she could flee, but failed to be fast enough to fly away. She clawed desperately across the mattress. A hand was suddenly clamped around her left calf and then her right ankle was clasped in his other hand.
She lunged her body toward the headboard and just as she did, he pulled and lifted her legs off the mattress. She was airborne, a shriek of surprise bursting from her breasts, as Cole pulled her backward toward the edge the bed where he was standing, letting go so that she belly flopped onto the mattress again.
"Cole! You let me go! What are you going to do to me!?" she laughed, going into a wildcat frenzy of arms, and legs while whipping her bright blonde hair around.
"Well, for starters, I intend to fuck you silly," he told her.
She instantly calmed down, "Oh, well, if that's what you want to do," she giggled and leapt up to wrap her arms around his neck, struggling to pull him into the bed, "Get in here, you big tease!"
In a lover's tangle, they hit the mattress together and
she squirmed, and writhed until she was on top of him, and engulfing his cock with her mouth.
She loved this playtime he started, absolutely loved it. Did he know? Could he feel how concerned she was about her own sexuality and what her atrophied self could offer him?
After that rumpus playtime, though, she was immersed into bubbling clouds of hyper joy. Playing, and running, and defying him made the green glowing power of her fears turn into will-o-wisps, which are only dangerous if you follow them.
She only sucked on his cock for perhaps five or six minutes just to bring him to a solid hardness. The thickness of his cock was a bit disconcerting and had her biting her lip when she thought about him pounding into her. She straddled him while mentally and spiritually opening herself to large-scale newness. His cock, she theorized, was going to bring arousal differently that she was accustomed to. It was both thicker and longer than she was experienced with. Such potential for new forms of stimulation would most likely reveal some form of new responsiveness in her.
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