by C. Hallman
“Remember what I want you to do next?” he suddenly asks.
I nod, chewing on my bottom lip nervously before opening my mouth. “I want you…” I start with good intentions but choke on the last few words.
“Go on, beg for my cock. Say the words, sugar.”
“I want your… cock.”
“I like how you play innocent”—he smirks—“as if you never had a cock in your mouth before.”
God, he has no idea how much I’m not playing.
“Where do you want my cock?”
I swallow, and my tongue gets stuck to the roof of my mouth because there is no saliva left. It’s so fucking dry, I can barely speak.
“I don’t know. Wherever you want to put it.”
With a loud groan, he tips his head back. “Fuck, my dick is so hard for you. Why don’t you get on your knees and get it out so you can see for yourself.”
Careful so as not to trip over my own two feet, I step out of the pile of discarded clothes and move between his legs. Lowering myself to the floor, I get on my knees in front of him.
Hesitantly, I reach for the zipper on his pants. Unable to avoid it, my fingers brush against his bulge, drawing another pained groan from his chest.
I pull the zipper down and undo the button. All that remains between me and his cock is the black fabric of his boxers. Dipping my finger into the waistband, I pull his boxers down, and his cock springs free.
It’s even bigger than I thought. Thick veins are corded around the shaft, the mushroom-looking head is an angry purple color, and there is a shiny wet spot at the very tip.
“I want your sweet lips wrapped around it.” His low and gravelly voice vibrates through my whole body.
Placing one hand on his knee, I lift my other one to his lap. He hisses when I wrap my fingers around the base of his shaft and lean in. I shift my weight, trying to scoot closer. The unforgiving cold concrete under my knees is a stark contrast to the warm and smooth skin of the dick in my hand.
“Open up, sugar.”
I do as he says and open my mouth. Sticking out my tongue, I press it to the underside of his cock and close my lips around the tip. He tastes like he smells… musky, like the earth, untamed and wild.
“Fucking Christ, you’re killing me,” he groans and places both hands on each side of my face. His large, calloused palms rub against my skin as he drags his thumbs across my cheekbones gently.
Before I can even think about objecting, he pulls my head toward him, filling my mouth with enough of his huge cock to cause my gag reflex to kick in.
Instinctively, I try to pull away. Placing my hands on his knees, I shove at him, but he only tightens his grip on me.
“No backing out now. I’m too far gone to let you stop. You’re going to suck this cock until I come down your pretty little throat.”
Panic slithers up my spine as he takes control of my head, using my mouth for his pleasure. He starts out with shallow thrusts but quickly speeds up and goes deeper with every push. I gag around his length, but that only seems to egg him on further. Blinking away the tears, I watch his face closely as it twists in pleasure. He obviously enjoys this display of power because he’s reveling in the way he has full control of me.
During his relentless assault, saliva starts running down my chin, and tears fall from the corners of my eyes. His thrusts become violent, and each one ends with the tip of his cock bumping against the back of my throat. My vision becomes blurry from both the tears and the lack of air. I let my eyes flutter shut.
“Yes,” he grunts. “Close your eyes and keep them closed.”
I follow his command. Squeezing my eyes shut, I concentrate on keeping my throat lax.
“I bet your cunt is nice and wet by now, wishing I would shove my cock in your tight hole.” At his words, I squeeze my legs together. I want to shake my head but realize shamefully that there is in fact moisture between my folds.
“I’m sorry to disappoint your pussy, but I don’t fuck girls like you.”
I flinch at his words, which deem it a reminder of what exactly we are doing here. I’m offering my body for him to use me as he pleases. That’s all this is and all it will ever be.
Relaxing my throat as much as I can, I let him do just that… use me.
After a few more brutal thrusts, he stills. His cock swells impossibly large, and a warm substance spills into the back of my throat. He holds me there for another moment, cutting off my air supply and making my head swim from the lack of oxygen.
When he finally lets go of me, I suck in air like I desperately need it. As I catch my breath, I watch his face in wonder, mesmerized by the display of absolute bliss. His head is tipped back, his eyes are closed, and his face is relaxed, making him look a few years younger. Something tells me he doesn't let himself experience this kind of pleasure often.
An odd sense of pride fills me. I made that happen. I made him feel like this.
That misplaced pride is quickly forgotten when he opens his eyes, and the haze of post-orgasm elation slips from his expression.
“That was really fucking good, but it’s time for me to leave,” he explains and starts tucking his half-hard cock back into his pants.
The salty taste he left behind on my tongue turns bitter at the realization of what I’ve just done. No matter how much I need this money, and no matter the reason, I still became a prostitute tonight.
Lost in thought, I flinch when he reaches out for me. Grabbing me under my arms, he lifts me up like an adult would a child. My legs are stiff as he comes to a stand and makes me stand in front of him. I’m still completely naked while he is completely clothed.
“Here.” He shoves something at me, and when I lower my eyes, I realize it’s a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills. “Take it,” he urges.
My hand moves on its own, and I grab the wad of cash without a word.
“I’ll see you around.” And with that, he turns and leaves. I don’t watch him walk out, but I hear the door open and shut. The air shifts with the absence of his body. The room suddenly feels larger, emptier, and colder. The only sounds that remain are the soft music in the background and the heavy beating of my heart.
I stand there for another moment, wearing nothing but a pair of heels with who knows how many thousands of dollars in my hand. Shame threatens to swallow me whole, and I know if I don’t move soon, I will be here all night.
Shaking my head, I snap out of it. Putting the cash on the side table next to his half-finished drink, I gather my clothes from the floor and dress in a hurry. I quickly count the cash, which adds up to be eight thousand dollars.
Who carries that kind of cash on them?
A guy who came to a club to buy sex. The question is, why did he give me so much and ask for so little in return? Dumbfounded, I look around the room that holds a large selection of sex toys and furniture.
All thoughts leave my mind momentarily when I catch my reflection in the mirror over the bar. Black mascara streaks down my cheek, my hair is unruly, and my dress is rumpled. I look like the way I feel. Used.
Using some napkins and water, I remove the smeared mascara as best as I can before running my fingers through my hair like a comb. Only when I look somewhat presentable do I dare to leave the room and make my way downstairs. I somehow hold on to the belief that no one will know what I just did. But as I step into the staircase, Toni and Bruno—two of our bouncers— both look at me with an unmistakable comprehension in their eyes.
Making my legs move faster, I hurry down the stairs just to come to a sudden halt when Lucian steps into my way.
“Were you with a guy up there?” He points at the top of the stairs like he doesn't already know the answer.
“You don’t have to rub it in my face, okay? You were right. I fucking did it.”
“I don’t give a shit about that, Monroe. Were you with a guy who had a red ribbon tied around his wrist?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Shit, did he hurt you?�
�� I’m surprised by the genuine concern in his voice.
“No, why?”
Lucian looks around, making sure no one is listening to our conversation. “He killed someone in the side alley before going up with you.”
All air wooshes from my lungs. My head spins, and my stomach churns as I try to process Lucian’s words.
“You must be mistaken. It’s not true.”
“Monroe, the red ribbon means he works for the Lombardis. Do you know who they are?” He pauses, probably waiting for me to answer, but when I don’t, he continues. “They are bad news. They are the mob, Monroe. You can be glad you made it out of that room unharmed.”
The stack of money in my bra suddenly feels like a thousand-pound weight. Fuck, what did I do? I let a guy pay me for a blow job.
A guy who works for the mob. A killer. I almost gave my virginity to him.
And I don’t even know his fucking name.
3
Alaric
I don't get hung up on pussy.
It's one of my rules and a way for me to keep my head clear. I fuck women once, and that's fucking it. Relationships are for the weak. My dick, however, is not.
Yet a few days later, I find myself unable to think about anything but the dark-haired vixen who sucked my cock so clumsily it felt like it was her first time. If I didn't know any better, I'd be convinced she was new at this shit. But the fact that she was so eager to take my money makes me think otherwise. She needed that cash.
Over the past few days, curiosity has started blooming in my mind. I'm wondering what she's going to spend the money on. Probably expensive bags, clothes, whatever the fuck girls like her buy. I do my best to push Monroe out of my head and away from my mind. Yet my thoughts keep circling back to her, imagining her life and wondering what she does when she isn't mixing drinks at Purgatory.
I fight it. I do everything I can to get her out of my head, but Monroe holds on for dear life. Four days after our fucked-up little encounter, I've finally had enough. I'm going to give in. I'm going to find her and make sure she's not being a dumb little bitch with the money I gave her.
Finding her is easy enough. With just a couple of calls, I have her address.
I've made a business of staying in the shadows. My nondescript sedan means I remain unnoticed as I turn onto her street, and I don’t draw any extra attention from passersby. It's dark outside, dark and cool as the evening turns into night.
Monroe lives in a tiny house, one in a row of many on her street. She must share it with someone else, another girl who seems to be better off than Monroe. My little victim lives in the basement with a separate entrance. Her apartment looks fucking tiny. I'm guessing she makes a decent earning at Purgatory and could afford rent at a better place, so why the fuck is she living in this shit hole?
The girl is intriguing. My curiosity has piqued yet again, and I watch her come back home from a shift at Purgatory after midnight. She takes the basement entrance and lights a single bulb in her apartment. I watch her strip from her signature black dress and put on an oversized shirt to sleep in. My hands form fists, and I mutter a curse word under my breath. The girl isn't careful enough. She doesn't even shut the curtains to prevent some fucking creep from watching her change.
She's innocent.
So fucking different than me. I've been living in the darkness for as long as I can fucking remember. But not her, not Monroe. She's a creature that thrives in the light.
I told myself before I got here that I'd lose interest in her. But the opposite is happening now. I'm becoming more and more intrigued by Monroe, and it fucking pisses me off. I bury my nails into the skin of my palm, gritting my teeth. I don't have time for this shit.
And there's something else. Something that's calling me forward, telling me to leave my car and break into her shabby apartment. I want to watch her. I want to examine her.
Monroe is like a kill. I prepare for that the same way. By studying my victim's habits. Except I have no intention of hurting Monroe. Not unless she fucking begs for it.
Even though I know it's a bad idea, I get out of my car. I can't stay the fuck away. Something's pulling me to her, like an invisible string drawing me closer, nearer.
I take the stairs leading down to the basement entrance. There's still a light on inside even though there hasn't been any movement in a while. I grin at the thought. Seems like sugar's afraid of the dark because she leaves a light on at nighttime. Poor naïve little girl. If only she knew real monsters don't need the darkness to ruin her life...
I watch the window to make sure there's no movement, no sound. Once I'm sure she's asleep, I try the front door.
Locked.
But it's not as if that's going to keep me out.
Examining the small entrance, I take notice of a few empty flowerpots. It takes me less than a minute to find the spare key under one of them, and my lips press together into a painful line. Monroe doesn't know the first thing about taking care of herself, and it pisses me the fuck off.
Unlocking the front door, I place the key back where I found it and enter her apartment.
It's small. She's done her best to make the place look better, but there are things even Monroe can't fix, no matter how determined she is. Why the fuck does she live in this cramped and dingy place? Why the fuck doesn't she rent a nicer apartment?
Determined to get to the bottom of this, I start going through her things. Her bedroom door is closed at the end of the hallway. The temptation to go in there is strong, but I'm still resisting it. I'm saving the best for last.
The rest of the tiny apartment is even worse. A shitty, small bathroom with a rusty bathtub. A larger space for a minuscule kitchen with a single barstool at the counter. There's a laptop on the counter. No couch, no TV.
I approach the bedroom door. It's closed, but when I try the handle, I find it unlocked. I'm really fucking pushing it right now. If she wakes up, I'm going to have to hurt her. Yet I can't resist. I can't walk away. I need to see her again.
My fingers wrap around the cold doorknob. I twist it. Push it open.
Her bedroom's taken up by a small bed and a dresser. Light from the streetlight illuminates the small room through the window. Monroe's lying on the bed, covered with a thin, threadbare blanket. She's wearing that oversized shirt she put on earlier and no fucking panties. I can tell because her ass is peeking out. Firm, pale globes of skin draw my gaze and make me grit my fucking teeth.
Monroe's more complicated than I first gave her credit for. This apartment speaks of a story, something she's hiding, something she's doing. And I'm going to figure out what the fuck it is.
I stand frozen to the spot as she stirs in her sleep, but she doesn't wake up. She just lies on her back, her legs spread to give me a view of her perfect, shaved little pussy.
My mouth waters just as my phone goes off.
"Fuck," I hiss, checking to make sure she's still sleeping. She doesn't move. Her eyes flutter, but her breathing remains slow. She's asleep.
I'm resisting every urge in my body to touch her. My fingers itch to push up her shirt and touch her bare skin, but I fight the instinct. Instead, I palm the bulge in my pants, rubbing my hardened cock through the fabric of my black slacks.
Her lips are slightly parted. She looks so innocent like this. Ripe for the taking. But Monroe is hiding things. I know that already, and I'm determined to uncover what it is.
The inescapable lust forces me to pull down the zipper of my pants. I massage the bulge through the silky fabric of my boxers. I want so much more.
With a hiss, I pull out my cock, tapping my fingers on the soaked tip. I'm leaking already. I want nothing more than to wake up Monroe and have her suck the seed right out of my goddamn dick. But I fight the urge to do it. I have to.
I have no business getting involved with someone, least of all a little whore like Monroe. The memory of giving her that money is too fresh. To her, I'm a client and nothing fucking else. And if I did want to star
t something with her... it would be dangerous for her. I have a lot of fucking enemies, and I don't want the waitress's blood on my hands.
Right now, though, her blood is the least of my problems. I'm more worried about my own. About the fact that my cock is swollen, ready to fucking burst with the weight of cum in my balls. I want to spill it all over her. I want to watch her wake up and realize she's soaked in my fucking seed.
The thought consumes me, and I grit my teeth, jerking my cock, fast and relentless. I'm getting harder, the veins of my cock angrily pulsing with blood and unspilled seed.
My mind is racing. I don't let shit like this happen. I don't get hard-ons for little sluts who'll suck anybody's cock for a couple of hundred bucks. Yet I'm fucking enthralled, enticed by this vixen.
"Fuck," I mutter again. "Fuck, sugar."
My motions become faster. I stroke myself, bringing myself closer to an inescapable orgasm. I know I'm going to fucking come before it even happens. And the moment it does, I stop fucking holding back.
Positioning my cock over Monroe's sleeping form, I jerk myself faster and fucking faster. With a groan, I massage the tip of my cock right over her face. Just inches away from her parted, sweet mouth.
The first rope of cum is unexpected. It spurts out, landing on Monroe's innocent face. She stirs in her sleep but doesn't wake up. I keep fucking jerking because it's too late to stop now. I'm too far fucking gone.
Monroe's tongue darts out between her lips. In her sleep, she lets out the smallest of moans and licks the droplets of cum from her mouth. I groan and keep fucking jerking. Another rope of cum spurts from my tip, landing on her shirt. Then more on her thighs. I position my cock so it goes all over her, licking my lips and fighting the urge to wake her up and make her clean herself while I continue to stroke myself.
I'm in-fucking-satiable.
And my phone's going off again.
With a hissed curse on my lips, I pull out my lit-up cell. A restricted number. Fuck.
I have to go. I have work to do. When the Lombardis need a kill, this is how they get in contact. Soon enough, I'll get a text in code with my victim and location. I haven't prepared for this because it's supposed to be my night off. Yet I can't say no, not to these men.