Trail of Sin

by Ray Gordon

  ‘What are you doing?’ I gasped, lowering my skirt as he grinned at me.

  ‘Are your parents out?’ he asked, winking at me.

  ‘Yes, they . . . they went out,’ I stammered.

  ‘You were playing with your pussy, weren’t you?’ he said.

  ‘No, I . . . I have to water the plants.’

  ‘You’re a sweet little thing, Ali. I’ve watched you for a long time, thinking, imagining, picturing . . .’ Thrusting his hand up my skirt, Simon pressed his fingertips into the soft material of my knickers. ‘Beautiful,’ he said as I stepped back and held my hand to my mouth.

  ‘Please,’ I cried, a look of horror in my wide eyes. ‘What are you –’

  ‘Playing with your pussy behind the shed?’ he cut in, a cruel smirk on his face. ‘You wouldn’t want me to tell your parents, would you?’

  ‘No, no, I was just –’

  ‘Take your T-shirt off,’ he ordered me. ‘If you don’t, I’ll tell your parents what you were doing behind the shed.’

  As I pulled my T-shirt over my head, I wondered again which sister I was supposed to be. I thought it might be fun to allow him to fuck me and then have him believe that I really was the innocent sister. I’d thought that I must have been crazy to believe that I could get away with this. But Simon must have been really mad to believe that I was my own sister. Were identical twins truly identical? I wondered as he gazed at my bra. Mannerisms, the voice . . . were they identical in every way?

  I protested as Simon ordered me to remove my bra. I reached behind my back, then hesitated. I said that I had to get back to work, that my parents would be home at any time . . . He grinned and again ordered me to remove my bra. Unhooking the garment, allowing the cups to fall away from my teenage breasts, I hung my head as if in shame. He reached out, stroking my ripe nipples with the back of his hand and remarking on the beauty of my small tits.

  ‘Now take your skirt off,’ he told me.

  ‘I . . . I have to go to work,’ I stammered.

  ‘You are at work,’ Simon quipped, kneeling in front of me. ‘Take your skirt off, Ali. I want to see your wet knickers.’

  I unfastened my skirt and watched his eyes widen as it fell down my legs and crumpled around my ankles. He gazed longingly at my white cotton knickers, licking his lips as he ordered me to pull them down and show him my cunt. Complying, I knew that I couldn’t play the role of Ali the innocent as my pussy was hairless. He stroked my lips, running a finger up and down the length of my sex slit and licking his lips.

  ‘You’ve shaved,’ Simon muttered, leaning forward and kissing the fleshy swell of my naked lips. ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘I . . . I’ve always shaved,’ I said shakily.

  ‘I knew that you were a naughty little girl, Ali. Have you ever been fucked?’

  ‘No, no, I . . .’

  ‘You mean to say that no huge knob has ever slipped between those sweet little pussy lips and fucked you?’

  ‘Please – I have to go to work.’

  ‘There’s plenty of time. I just want to look at you first.’

  Licking my sex slit before reaching behind my naked body and clutching my firm buttocks, Simon pushed his tongue into my vaginal hole and sucked out my hot milk. Maybe I wasn’t crazy, I reflected as my clitoris swelled and my womb contracted. One hundred pounds for a quick fuck behind the garden shed was easy money that I wouldn’t have to share with Jackie. Although I was in business with the girl, I thought it might be a good idea to have one or two private clients. Especially if all I had to do with Simon was meet him at the end of the garden occasionally.

  Following his orders, I turned round and leaned against the shed. Standing with my feet wide apart and my naked buttocks jutting out, I breathed heavily as he ran his tongue up and down my anal crease. My clothes strewn over the grass, my next-door neighbour’s tongue teasing the delicate brown tissue encircling my tight bottom-hole, I couldn’t help think – yet again – how much I’d changed since Ali the slut had arrived on the scene. From an innocent and extremely naive prude, I’d been transformed into a filthy little whore. But, no matter what I labelled myself, I was earning real money.

  ‘Bend over and touch your toes,’ Simon ordered me.

  ‘I must go to work,’ I whimpered.

  ‘Do it, or I’ll tell your parents that I’ve seen you masturbating with a cucumber.’

  I heard Simon’s trouser zip rasping down as I touched my toes. Looking up between my naked thighs as he dropped his trousers, I watched as he grabbed his solid cock by the root and pressed his purple knob between the well-salivated lips of my vagina. Another fuck, another wad of cash, I thought happily as he drove the entire length of his fleshy rod deep into my tightening sex sheath. Another rock-hard cock, another load of fresh spunk . . . This was my life now.

  ‘Slut,’ Simon breathed as he grabbed my hips and repeatedly battered my ripe cervix with his swollen knob. ‘Dirty, filthy little whore. You love it, don’t you? Tell me how much you like being fucked.’

  ‘I . . . I like it,’ I stammered as my naked body rocked back and forth.

  ‘Beg me to fuck your little cunt harder.’

  ‘Please, fuck me harder.’

  ‘Your little cunt,’ he insisted. ‘Beg me to fuck your little cunt harder.’

  ‘Please, fuck my little cunt harder.’

  Simon was loving the game – I knew this as I watched his swinging balls pummelling my hairless mons. His sex-slimed shaft repeatedly emerging from and driving back into my tight duct, my inner lips rolling back and forth along his veined shaft – he gasped and increased his fucking rhythm. He was about to pump out his spunk, I thought as my clitoris began to pulsate against his thrusting cock shaft. His lower belly slapped the rounded cheeks of my naked buttocks while the squelching of my vaginal juices mingled with his gasps and he finally flooded my contracting sex sheath with his male cream.

  My orgasm erupted and my erect clitoris pulsated wildly. I whimpered and trembled as my young body flopped back and forth like a shaken rag doll. My blonde hair hung like a curtain of gold silk, trailing over the grass, and I closed my eyes as my vaginal cavern overflowed and streams of creamy spunk coursed down my inner thighs. I could feel Simon’s cock-head driving deep into my spasming cunt, as if his knob was pummelling my stomach while he fucked me. My orgasm shook me to the core. Another hundred pounds, I thought happily as his sperm-flow stemmed and his cock finally began to deflate.

  ‘I’ll be fucking you again,’ Simon said, tugging his trousers up as I stood upright and faced him. ‘That sweet little cunt of yours needs to be shafted regularly.’

  ‘No,’ I murmured, grabbing my clothes. ‘I . . . I have to go now.’

  As he tossed a wad of notes onto the ground, Simon grinned at me. ‘I’ll ring you,’ he said. ‘Keep your cunt shaved for me.’

  As he disappeared back into the bushes, I dressed hurriedly and grabbed the cash. Too close to home? I asked myself as I headed back to my house. I closed the back door behind me and I went upstairs to take a shower. Too close to home or not, the money for ten minutes of crude sex behind the shed was amazing. I sat on my bed and gazed at the pile of cash that I’d earned since I’d ventured into prostitution. If I carried on like this I’d be able to buy a flat, I mused. There’d be no need to rent a place.

  My phone rang. I hid the money behind the wardrobe and took the call.

  ‘Is that Ali?’ a female voice asked me.

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘My name’s also Ali.’

  ‘Oh, er . . . Hi,’ I stammered as my heart banged hard against my chest.

  ‘I’ve been hearing things about you.’

  ‘Yes, I . . . I’ve heard things about you, too.’

  ‘I’ve seen the photographs that Don took of you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You might look like me, but I’m not your sister.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘I don’t have a sister. And I don’t lik
e you pushing yourself into my life.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t . . . People mixed us up and I –’

  ‘I’ve heard that you’ve changed your hair colour and your clothes to look like me and I don’t like it. Just keep out of my life, OK?’

  ‘Can we meet?’ I asked her. ‘Please, if we could just meet and –’

  ‘I told you, I don’t have a sister.’

  ‘Please, Ali . . .’

  I flopped onto my bed as she hung up and I wondered who had given her my mobile number. It must have been John, I decided. Simon didn’t know the girl, so it must have been John. Ringing the dial-back number, I wasn’t surprised to find that she’d blocked her number. Would I ever get to meet her? I wondered. Did I want to meet her? At least she’d made contact, even if it was only to tell me to keep out of her life. Still, I was beginning to feel annoyed. I should have told her to keep out of my life, I thought angrily. Who the hell did she think she was?

  Although I felt that I was making a big mistake, I went to the pub that evening. I sat on a bar stool wearing my miniskirt, a flimsy crop-top and my leather boots. As I flashed my knickers and sipped a gin and tonic, I looked like Ali the slut. I was Ali the slut. If the other Ali came in, if she had a problem with me, then it was down to her to sort it out. I couldn’t help it if I had a twin sister who looked like me. It wasn’t my fault that I’d been mistaken for another girl. I wasn’t going to hide, I decided, downing my drink and ordering another one.

  ‘You look good,’ Simon said as he walked up to the bar and grinned at me.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I asked him.

  ‘Like most people, I’ve come here for a drink. You did well this afternoon, Ali. You looked just like –’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I cut in, deciding to confuse him.

  ‘When I saw you earlier, you looked just like –’

  ‘You must have seen my sister,’ I said. ‘I hope you weren’t rude to her.’

  ‘But . . . I thought . . .’ he stammered.

  ‘I’ve decided not to play the part of my sister,’ I said. ‘It would be too risky.’

  ‘Oh, er . . . right.’ Simon ordered a pint of lager and fiddled with a beer mat. ‘Well then, I saw your sister this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh? What was she up to?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing. She was just sitting in the garden.’

  ‘I don’t see much of her,’ I sighed. ‘We might be identical sisters, but we’re nothing like each other. She’s a virgin, did I tell you?’

  ‘Yes, yes – you did mention it.’

  ‘The last time I saw her, she said that she wanted to be more like me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I happened to mention that I shaved my pussy and she said that she’d do the same. God knows why she wants to do that because she’ll never be like me.’

  ‘Oh, right. So, are you meeting anyone this evening?’

  ‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘So it might be best if you made yourself scarce.’

  He downed his beer and placed the glass back on the bar. ‘Well, I’ll ring you some time.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Er . . . bye, then.’

  As Simon left the pub, I almost burst out laughing. He must have been totally stupid to believe that he’d fucked Ali the innocent behind the shed. Didn’t he realise that he’d been conned? He must have realised that there was only one Ali. The trouble was, there really were two Alis, and the other one might walk into the pub at any time. I’d confront her, I decided. I wouldn’t take any nonsense from her, and I certainly wouldn’t allow her to threaten me.

  As I fiddled with my long blonde hair I wondered what Simon would say the next time he saw Ali the prude in the garden. He’d blackmailed her, I reflected. He’d threatened to tell her parents that she’d been masturbating in the garden. He’d used blackmail to fuck her, and now he was probably worrying himself silly. His problem was that his cock ruled his head. If he was so stupid as to believe that Ali the prude would have succumbed to blackmail and allowed him to fuck her . . . Maybe she would, though? I thought. If she believed that her parents would think she was a slut if they discovered that she masturbated, perhaps she would give in to blackmail.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you here,’ Barry said as he leaned on the bar beside me.

  ‘Why’s that?’ I asked him.

  ‘After the row we had last night . . . I thought you’d gone back to Birmingham.’

  ‘I’m here, Barry. So I can’t be in Birmingham, can I?’

  ‘Look, Ali . . . I didn’t mean what I said about your sister. OK, so I fucked her. But I only did that because you’d left me. I mean, I’m not going to remain celibate just because you don’t want me.’

  ‘The things you said . . .’ I began, trying not to put my foot in it.

  ‘OK, OK – so I said that she was better than you. I was only joking. Besides, I haven’t seen her since.’

  ‘Perhaps she thought you were no good in bed.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Barry sighed. ‘I wish I hadn’t told you about it. I only mentioned it because you said that she was trying to take your place.’

  ‘Yes, well . . . She is, isn’t she? I mean, she’s fucked you and –’

  ‘That’s all she’s done, Ali. Anyway, I don’t know why you’re so bothered about her. OK, so she looks identical to you. So what?’

  ‘I don’t have a sister, Barry. Whoever this girl is . . .’

  ‘You said yourself that it was quite possible. You said that you’d never met your mother, so you could have a twin.’ He ordered himself a drink and sat on the stool beside me. ‘Want one?’ he asked me.

  ‘Gin and tonic,’ I said, wondering whether the slut would have added the word ‘please’.

  ‘And all that stuff about Don,’ Barry continued. ‘If this girl wants to do porn shots, then why should that bother you?’

  ‘Because people will think it’s me, Barry. I don’t like the idea.’

  ‘You’ve never bothered about what people might think. I know you’re on the game, so there’s no point in denying it.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘One minute you’re making out that you don’t like the idea of porn, and then you charge men for sex. I don’t think you know what you want, Ali.’

  ‘What do you think I should do about this girl, then?’ I asked him, trying to glean more information.

  ‘I think you should either meet her, or forget about her. After what you were saying last night . . . Are you going to find a flat here, or go to Birmingham?’

  ‘I don’t know yet,’ I sighed. ‘I don’t know what to do. If the other Ali came in here now, what do you think I should say to her?’

  ‘God knows,’ he replied, with a chuckle. ‘It would be amazing to see you both standing side by side.’

  ‘Confusing, more like. You know me well enough, Barry. What do you reckon I’d do?’

  ‘I reckon you’d be pleased to meet her. As you said last night, it’s not her fault that you look like each other. She might be blaming you for the confusion.’

  As he sipped his beer, I wondered whether the other Ali would walk into the pub. I’d be in trouble if she did, I thought anxiously. Barry thought that I was the slut, his ex-girlfriend, and if she walked in . . . At least I’d learned something about my twin. According to Barry, she’d said that it was possible that she had a sister. But I still wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to meet her. Maybe I should never have been the prude, I thought. Maybe Ali the innocent should have been a second slut. I was confusing myself, I knew.

  Barry finished his drink. ‘I’d better go,’ he sighed. ‘I’ll see you around sometime.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you will,’ I said, wondering whether to smile at him.

  ‘You know where I am if you want me.’

  As I watched him leave the pub I felt sorry for him. With his dark hair and deep-set eyes, he was good-looking. He was also good in bed, I remembered. But I
didn’t want Ali the prude to get involved with him. She’d already been to his flat and . . . It was best to keep Ali the prude at home for a while, I decided. The pub was empty and I thought it might be best if I went home. There was no point in sitting there alone all evening, but I reckoned I’d have one more drink before I left.

  After an hour – and another three drinks – I was feeling somewhat tipsy. I needed some excitement and thought about going home through the park in the hope that my blow-job man might be there waiting for me. I also wondered whether to ring Jackie and get her to come to the pub. I began to feel despondent because I didn’t know what to do. I’d had so much excitement and sex recently that I felt as if I was coming down from a high. Was I hooked on crude sex? I wondered.

  ‘Well, if it’s not little Ali,’ a man said as he wandered into the pub and joined me at the bar.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ I said, wondering who the hell he was. In his thirties and with blond hair, he wasn’t bad-looking but he wasn’t my type. ‘How are you doing?’ I asked him.

  ‘I’m doing fine,’ he replied.

  ‘The usual, Mick?’ the barman asked.

  ‘Oh, go on, then.’

  ‘So, Mick,’ I said. ‘What have you been up to?’

  ‘Oh, this and that. By the way, the flat is free.’

  ‘The flat?’ I echoed.

  ‘My flat, Ali. The one I let out.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’

  ‘The people moved out yesterday so it’s yours – if you want it?’

  ‘Well, I . . .’

  ‘I know you haven’t seen it yet. But if you’re still looking for a place it’s yours.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Five hundred a month. You’d have to find someone to share with. If you can’t afford it, I mean.’

  ‘Yes, I have a friend who might . . . Where is the flat?’

  ‘Barnham Road, number five. It’s furnished, but feel free to chuck stuff out and move your own gear in,’ Mick said.