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Bad Boys Incorporated
by
Kim Wilkerson
Bad boys had universal appeal. There was no doubt about it. Whatever age, whatever their appearance, whatever their attitude – if they were bad they were attractive. That's what Louise thought any way. It had always been the case for her. What was puzzling though, was the older she got, the weaker the magnetic draw became. It hadn't stopped her falling for bad boys or preferring them, but in order to meet her criteria a prerequisite was a criminal history. The more dangerous, the better.
As a teenager smoking and doing doughnuts in a second-hand convertible in the empty shopping mall was satisfactory to reel her into the role of the mistreated girlfriend. She'd been sexually active a year before it was legal for her to do so. It'd been with a senior at school who paraded as a rock 'n' roll celebrity. His hair was greasy, brown to shoulder length. He was lanky with a skinny build and spotty face.
The fact that he shared cigarettes with her and played a star-shaped metallic blue electric guitar in a local heavy metal band made him a teenage dream. On reflection he was a hideous choice to lose her virginity to. There hadn't been anything romantic about the relationship, let alone the sex. It was perfunctory pneumatic-drill pumping. He thought he was Mr Lover Lover, but Louise left disappointed not distraught. That allegedly major event done, paved a way for her to pursue a higher standard of bad boys.
Originally she'd loved the chase. She'd shamelessly hunt the boys that caught her eye, offering them herself and the promise of sex on a plate. They'd snapped it up. Louise was very good-looking. Mixed-race, her black French father and ex-model white mother bestowed on her plentiful genetic gifts. Smooth coffee-coloured skin, full lips, darkest brown feline eyes, black wavy hair reaching her waist, a slim figure complimented by the curves of womanhood.
If she'd wanted to follow in her mother's footsteps she'd possibly have made a decent career from it. Louise had other plans – certainly any dreams of utilizing her phenomenal features were put on hold as her hormones raged through her teen years.
By the time she was eighteen, she'd dropped out of performing arts college. Her parents may have accepted the rash, impulsive move if it had been for a boy in college with an ounce of artistic flair, but that wasn't Louise's style.
Studiously avoiding classes by spending the majority of the day down at the local pub in Camden Town, Louise caught the eye of an alleged poet. He wasn't Lou's type. There was no sign of talent, he wasn't handsome, he didn't smoke and he didn't boast of any illegal antics. For the first time, instead of hurling herself at a bad boy, she had a man chasing her.
He wasn't a boy. At twenty-five he was man. Admittedly he was boyish to look at, but catching sight of his licence she learned he was seven years her senior. He was barely five foot seven. Louise was the same height in bare feet. The four-inch heels were sacrificed for ballet pumps in order that she not be perceived as Amazonian in stature next to the strange bohemian man.
His skin was pale, pallid with a grey tinge and lacked colour or energy. He wore the same black trilby daily. He wore the same black Doc Martens daily. The jeans and t-shirts may have been different or fresh but they appeared the same to her each day she saw him. A standard uniform of dark blue denim jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt. The black cardigan was definitely well-worn and rarely washed. His black hair hung wispy at the top of his shirt's collar. A heavy fringe, his hair cut looked as if it'd grown out some months back and he hadn't bothered to cut or style it since.
Instead of being used for sex, she was learning to accustom herself to a situation requiring an effort beyond the purely physical. As Louise loitered round the bar, leading a few of her college friends astray, he'd submitted to her unrelenting begging for an alcoholic drink. She produced the plea to every man at the bar. Mostly they took her up on it. Those that continued to pay for the service would often be rewarded at last orders with consenting access to her body.
There were those of course that'd be inadvertently robbed blind. She made no deals, but allowed them to assume they were on a promise. If Louise didn't deliver and refused to go home there could be trouble if it was the wrong kind of man. As a regular she had the weight of the landlord behind her. He didn't approve of her antics and definitely would have disciplined her severely if she was his daughter playing truant and running wild. But she was a punter that bought in regular money – admittedly not from her own purse. Her raw, young, uninhibited sexual style convinced many men to stay on treating her. Their presence in the bar prolonged with the wayward and wanton Louise. Drinking alone they'd have left far earlier.
Derek though, enchanted by her youth and beauty, had no desire to fuck her. He wanted to possess her. He wanted to dominate her. He'd told her these things the first night when she asked if he wanted a blow job. He declined the offer, rebuffing her gently saying he wasn't seeking a random one night stand.
The rejection cut deep. It was a first. His words were like a stinging slap. She couldn't believe anyone would turn her down. It hadn't happened before. It forced her to think about how she was behaving and acting. Determined to find out why, she waited at the pub for him to return.
Inundated with offers of drinks and invitations to party privately by far more handsome men, she found herself declining – uninterested in their advances or money.
Derek's comeback was a ten day wait. When he sauntered in, she wasn't sure whether to approach him or ignore him. Her directness had not been successful. Having only ever relied on her natural gorgeousness, she was at a loss as to how to behave. She sat quietly in a booth, sipping a pint and reading the complete works of Shakespeare. It was a compulsory book on her reading list at college.
'Can I join you?' asked Derek.
Raising her eyes and fluttering her eye-lids, she feigned surprise.
'Of course. Long time, no see stranger.'
'You've been hoping to see me?' he asked.
'Maybe. Maybe not.'
'Still playing silly school-girl games I see.'
His patronizing tone annoyed her severely. If he wasn't interested, why didn't he bugger off? Why taunt her?
'Not at all. I'm just saying I hadn't seen you in a while.'
'Yet I've seen you every day.'
'What are you a stalker?' she sneered, part of her frightened he was.
'No. It's just that my business is safer conducted outside the pub and not in it.'
'What is your business then? Selling illegal DVDs or replica designer watches?'
His lips curled into a smile.
'No. Not those things.'
She was filled with curiosity but had no idea how to delve deeper in a subtle way.
'Whatever!'
Her comment sounded childish and demonstrated a lack of wit. She berated herself.
'How's the work of Bill going?'
'Who?'
'Bill?'
'I don't know a Bill,' she snapped, knowing he was about to refer to something she should have cottoned onto quicker.
'Bill. Will. William Shakespeare.'
'Why do you have to be clever?'
'I wasn't aware I was,' he drawled, happy to see her squirming in discomfort.
'It's tiresome.'
'Okay. I'll leave you to it.'
He pulled his trilby low over his brow, hiding his hazel eyes.
'I didn't say you had to go.'
The words tumbled out of her mouth. For a second Derek saw a teenager, not a slut. Her fingers were on the cuff of his cardigan. His eyes glanced down at them. She stopped her tugging to drop feeble grip on him.
'You want me to get us a drink and I'll sit with you while you read?'
'I'd like that,' she said meekly.
Der
ek ordered himself a neat vodka and returned with a pint of shandy. Sipping from the pint glass, Louise hoped her relief wasn't painted over her face. The lemonade made the drink tolerable and tastier.
'You’re up at the performing arts college right?'
'I am,' she admitted.
'You guys performing Shakespeare?'
'No. I'm reading the sonnets.'
'Sweet.'
Louise had no idea whether he was referring to her or the sonnets.
They talked some more. They talked the entire night. They talked for three days and evenings on the go. On the third evening, he held her hand as they walked out after the illegal lock-in at the pub after hours.
'You coming to mine?' he asked.
Nodding shyly, she agreed. The night-bus to North London was a half hour wait and the walk from the station to his home seemed just as long. He put a finger to his lips, as he rummaged in his pockets to find the keys. Jangling in the still of the night, the rattling of metal seemed to echo in the neighbourhood.
'And here we are,' he whispered.
Taking her hand, he led her down to the renovated basement which had been converted into a den. There was a double-bed and en-suite, a sofa, TV and X-box. A few guitars and electric keyboard. Shelves full of books.
'You rent this place?' she asked, studying everything the space divulged in relation to Derek.
'No. I live with my parents,' he chuckled.
'Guess poets don't make a lot of money.'
'Most don't. But that's not why I choose to live here.'
'Then why?'
He kissed her.
Her lips had tasted many but his were soft. They seemed to move in motion with hers. Tenderly, they stood kissing. Continuing to kiss they collapsed on the bed. Sitting, as his tongue entered her mouth to tease her tonsils, they fell on the mattress.
Derek was pleased. He had the most gorgeous girl he'd ever laid eyes on in his bedroom. Not wanting to startle her like a fawn in the forest, he continued kissing, but kept his hands to himself. It wasn't until he felt her hand slide under his t-shirt and cardigan, that he gave himself permission to go the whole way with her.
Lying back, he let her push his shirt up, her hands roaming his slim but un-toned torso. As expected, she was heading straight for the buckle on his belt. She wrestled it for a while. Frustrated as his hard-on was straining to be freed he was inclined to take over. He remembered her age and let her direct the course of events. As the leather released its pressure on his waist, he could breathe a little easier. Surely having overcome that obstacle, the button on his jeans and zipper fly would be less arduous for her.
Louise was worn out just from undoing the belt. Seeing the bulge of his crotch was exciting. He was twenty-five but there was barely a hair on his body, not even a trail running from navel to pubis. Tugging the button, and unfastening the zip she was thrilled to see the outline of a chubby cock visible on his grey boxers.
Choosing to rub it with her palm, his moaning was almost musical to her ears. It had been an effort to convince him she was worth bedding, her performance needed to match. Fingertips pulling on the elastic of his underpants she revealed his prick. It was unclean and as natural as his body odour was. Some women may have been repulsed, but the rawness of him delighted her.
Wrapping her lips around the head of his dick, something sour and off hit her the buds on her tongue. Licking the rod clean was dirty and delicious. Condemned for whorish behaviour by straight-laced society, she felt as though she was a whore of Royalty.
Seeing the stubby shaft she wanted to get on top. Standing she undid her own jeans and slipped them down. Her long, toned, brown legs had Derek raising himself on his elbows. The black of the French knickers emphasized her colouring. Peeling them down as graciously as a high class escort, his hand went to his prick to work it as she undressed completely.
Familiar with his member, his expert hand pleasured himself with his idyllic speed and grip, as she took off her designer t-shirt to reveal a matching bra. Unclasping it, her pert, orange-sized bosoms dropped slightly. He knew her figure was worth keeping in the wank bank in years to come. He might never get so lucky with a young, innocent, teen in the future.
Those that relied on sex were easy to manipulate. Used to having men beg for their company, they respected those that didn't. Here was a girl that could grace the cover of Vogue, begging to be fucked by him.
She straddled him to sink onto his cock. Laying back he watched her ride him lustily. She was arching her back hoping for deeper penetration. His five and a half inches ensured the porn industry wouldn't welcome him with open arms. It was her determination to be screwed satisfactorily by her that sent him into a delirium. Her breasts jiggling, he tweaked her large, dark nipples. Gasping she rebounded furiously on his rod.
'Squat on it and bounce,' he directed.
Getting on her haunches, she let him hold the base of his prick as she squatted to bob up and down on it. Her rapid speed demonstrated her need for him. He bucked his hips occasionally to plough as deep as he could. Those rare moments he stabbed, she'd grunt contentedly. There wasn't much more to do.
He figured he should attempt to make her climax and placed a hand on her trimmed triangle. His thumb went over the edge of her mound, seeking her clit. Locating the spot, he pressed it like a button. She wasn't moaning and groaning or clenching. Frustrated and resigned that this might not be her best sexual experience, he persisted in caressing her bud. Tracing his fingers on it, the exertion of pressure and the lube of her own juice stimulated her enough to have her close to orgasm.
Lowering herself, she shoved his shirt up to lay on top of him. The feel of her tight but soft skin, sweaty and stuck to his own was soothing. His hands went to her back. Noticing her tilt her pelvis he realised she was rolling her hips not for increased penetration but so her clit would rub on his pubic bone. The gyrating of her hips was slow and deliberate.
Soon enough her body was convulsing on his dick. He bucked his hips hoping to reach his own peak. The pick up of physical effort from her, had her springing on him again as she orgasmed. The contractions of her vagina occasionally squeezed his chubby cock when buried inside.
As he repeatedly told her he was coming, she leaped off him to watch an enormous release of semen shoot over his stomach. She rubbed it into his white tummy, then licked his shaft clean. Her tongue running from testicles to the tip, swirling and twirling the modest length of it. She was sweet but ultimately a slut. A sweet, slut worth keeping though; at least for a while.
Louise stayed with Derek for eighteen months, convincing herself he was the one. Two birthdays passed and two Christmases, but no marriage proposals came. Determined to hang in there even after she finally convinced him sex was more appealing to her if he was fully naked. He was no Adonis but cute in an elfin way. Straddling him on the sofa, as he was glued to the X box, she managed to get him out of his trademark white v-neck shirt and black cardigan. She discovered the veins in his arms were darkened.
When asked about the train tracks on his arms, he'd laughed at her endearing innocence. She was not nearly as worldly as she liked to believe herself to be. He explained they were a result of injecting drugs – his choice was heroin. Shocked, after digging around on the internet and Wikipedia she realised the heroin accounted for his laid back, easygoing, unaffected nature.
Quizzing him as to how he could afford the habit, he revealed he sold other street drugs, less harmful and more popular to support the his addiction. The enormous amount of money he earned, left him enough to ensure Louise had a comfortable social life with a generous allowance for her passion for fashion.
Louise didn't want to pull the plug on the romance. Neither had Derek. The police did it for them. She thought he'd get off with a caution of warning, but at nineteen and a half she knew nothing of Derek's history. There'd been too many warnings and a suspended jail sentence for his drug dealing.
The next time he was busted, Louise was in the pu
b keeping his pint cool as he finished supplying his regulars. A copper had been off-duty on the premises and walked into the garden area to witness the transactional exchange. Busted, Derek was taken in. His bail wasn't met. By the time he made it to court he was facing life imprisonment and a fine for supply. Derek's lawyer made a strong case claiming the drugs were for personal use, which included partying with his friends who were regulars at the pub. It was a weak story but by pleading guilty and not having to go to court the sentence was reduced to five years.
Louise promised to wait. For six months she went to visit him weekly, for three months she went fortnightly, for the last three months she went monthly, then stopped abruptly. Another four years was too much and too hard for the twenty year old to handle. With Derek behind bars she was free to slip out of the relationship.
The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 37 - 11 Steamingly Hot Erotica Books For Women Page 16