by Lily Harlem
Rubbing his hand over his stubbled jawline, he moved to the couch and sank his long frame into it. His knees came up higher than the end of the cushions. He considered me with his flashing dark gaze. “What do I want?” he repeated. “Why, whore, I think I already told you what I wanted.”
Chapter Three
Oh fuck, surely not that speech about fucking my cunt and then my ass. “I don’t think you could afford that,” I answered sassily, both thrilled and appalled at the suggestion. No one had ever fucked my ass before.
“I think you’ll find I can.” He plucked his wallet from his pocket and flashed a thick wad of notes my way. “I think you’ll find I can afford anything you have to offer.”
I tried to hide a visible gulp. My cunt was creaming, my whole pelvis contracting as lust, need and fear tangled in a confusing soup of emotions.
“Take off your clothes,” he said.
Shaking my head, I said, “No, not until we strike the deal.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Ah yes, the deal. Okay, I’ll tell you the deal, but there’s no point arguing. I deal for a living.”
“What do you do, Jovica?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Ah, you know my name, clever little whore.”
“I heard you, when you answered your phone.” I studied my scarlet fingernails, feigning boredom with the whole conversation.
“And do you like my name?” he asked.
“Yes, it suits you.”
“Mmm, I am rather partial to that one, it has a nice ring to it, reminds me of home.”
That one?
“Where’s home?”
He wagged his finger at me and stood. “Oh no, too many questions.”
“You know so much about me.”
He huffed. “I know your slutty fantasies make you put yourself in danger, that you give great head and have a shiny, bare pussy. Other than that I know nothing, but feel free to go ahead and tell me.”
I tilted my chin and kept my lips clamped. I was a whore, his whore, that was our game. I wasn’t Karen the superefficient receptionist with the chintzy apartment and the little black book full of nice, all-American men to call on for dates. I was a dirty, low-moraled whore who would do anything for a buck no matter how degrading.
“You see,” he said, stepping close, crooking his knuckle beneath my chin and tilting my head, “you don’t want to spoil the fantasy by telling me anything about your life and I’m not going to tell you anything about mine…” He leaned low so his lips were only a whisper from mine and his ruggedly handsome face filled my vision. “’Cause knowing any shit about me, quite honestly, is just too damn dangerous.”
I trembled beneath his touch. I’d never been so turned-on. There was something about Jovica that checked all the nasty boxes of my salacious desires. He was bad, his voice oozed mysterious menace, and he was right, I knew nothing about him. The risk of being here with him alone, in this room, where no one would ever think to look for me was huge. It was forcing adrenaline into my system. But far from flight or fight, it just made me desperate for the action to begin.
“One hundred,” he said, smoothing his hand gently over my cheek and slotting his fingers into the hair above my ear. “One hundred for one hour.”
“Two.”
“I told you, I’m not bargaining. One hundred for one hour of fucking. That’s the only deal there is.”
Perfect.
The touch of his calloused palm was electric. My nipples tensed and my whole scalp tingled.
“Okay, one hundred. But condoms, you have to wear a condom.”
“You really think I’d go bareback into your fetid cunt?” he asked softly, sweetly, as though he’d just offered me a hot chocolate with marshmallows and sugar sprinkles.
I pursed my lips, thrilling at the way his crude but gently spoken words cheapened me so much further than if he’d barked them at me.
He twitched his mouth as if he knew he’d said the right thing the right way. Then he let go of my cheek and swiped his thick, pink tongue over the pads of both his thumbs. “Close your eyes.”
I did as instructed. There was a sudden damp pressure on my lids and his knuckles brushed my cheeks. He tugged at my eyelashes, spreading and smearing my abundant black mascara down my face. I looked up at him when he’d finished, knowing I must look like a panda. He cupped the back of my skull with one hand and with the other dragged a thumb over my scarlet lips, pulling them uncomfortably and smearing the sticky, glossy lipstick over my skin.
Next he ran his fingers into my hair and mussed it up, yanking and teasing the hair-sprayed curls. Nibbling at his bottom lip, he took hold of the thin shoulder straps of my vest top. One in each fist.
Next thing I knew, I was jostled hard and staggering to maintain my footing.
“Hey,” I said, as he ripped the thin cotton down over my sternum, revealing my modest, creamy breasts.
“Too fucking perfect,” he muttered, gripping a breast in each hand.
He began to knead, and again I was aware of the roughness of his calluses. I sucked in a breath. Being handled with no tenderness or finesse was exquisite. We weren’t lovers or even two people indulging in a one-night stand. This was business. He was paying to touch me. To grope my breasts.
He stooped and suckled my right nipple. My taut bud strained for more, and instinctively I reached for his head and arched into him. His short haircut was silky smooth when I ran my palm down over it, though dragging up it was cactus sharp.
Holding back a groan of pleasure, because that just didn’t seem a whore thing to do, I watched him move across my chest to lick and suck on the other nipple. The stubble on his chin scratched my skin deliciously and left a heated trail.
Suddenly there was pain, hard, nasty pain on the rise of my breast. He’d created suction with his mouth, a deep and profound pull that would leave a bruising mark. He moved along an inch, repeated the action amidst small sucking noises, and drew on my tender flesh again. Pulling me deep into his hot, wet mouth.
Whimpering, I tried to move away, but he clamped his arms around me and pinned me close so I stayed there, taking what my client gave me. Surrendering to the discomfort even as it moved to my other breast and up to my collarbone.
“Much better,” he said, straightening.
His lips were shiny and wet and his eyes glistened as he looked down at my chest. I followed his gaze. My nipples were rosy, taut peaks and my skin had flushed red from his chin. There were several big mauve blotches where he’d drawn the blood to the surface. I would be branded for days to come—by him.
“You looked too damn clean and perfect.”
Swallowing tightly, I slipped the torn vest down my arms and let it land on the floor.
“And the rest,” he said, nodding at my skirt.
I kicked off my sandals and wriggled down the skirt. Looped my tiny black panties over my feet and added them to the meager pile. I stood before him, totally, trashily naked and ridiculously hyped up for the sex that was coming.
“Go put some porn on,” he said, unhooking his belt. “Something really filthy.”
Not what I’d expected. I thought I was the star of the show. But I did as he asked and moved to the low table. The first DVD my hands fell on was titled Up Hill. I shoved it into the player next to the TV and hit play.
Turning, I watched Jovica undress. His pants landed on the floor near me, as did his t-shirt. His boots slid off with two quiet bangs, then he shucked off navy boxer briefs to reveal his semi-hard cock.
For a long moment we shared delicious eye contact. The anticipation of what we were going to do actually simmered in the air between us. Then he looked down, took his cock in his hand and began to pump. My attention drifted over his body. He was like a warrior, the muscles I’d surmised were lean were also sculpted and bronzed. A haze of dark hair covered the angles of his pecs and faded to sparseness over his defined, flat abdomen. His physical perfection was magnificent and a sharp contrast to the rankness of his ho
me. There was only one flaw on his body, as far as I could see—a shiny silvery scar on his right thigh. It was about three inches long, clear of hair and slightly raised. Briefly I wondered what caused it.
“Come here,” he said as he sat on the edge of the couch and glanced between me and the TV.
I walked over to him and he tugged my wrists until my bare butt touched the table in front of him. I sat obediently, knowing that the wetness of my pussy would be smearing on the wood, and watched him jerking his cock. The head was thick and swollen now, the veins on the shaft bulging.
Suddenly he released his dick and it bobbed from his tangle of black pubic hair, reaching right up to his navel. He scooped a pen from amongst the DVDs and smiled at me. It wasn’t a kind smile, or a fond one. It was lecherous, knowing. There was something definitely dangerous about it.
“You’re such a horny little bitch,” he said in the sultry, quiet voice that went straight to my clit. “A real sleazy fucking whore. I could invite a whole fucking squadron around here and you’d let them all fuck you, wouldn’t you? Take them in every fucking hole until you were so full of their cum that it poured from you whenever you moved for weeks afterwards.”
The vulgar, humiliating words were like oysters and strawberries to me. An aphrodisiac made rank and disgusting. How he knew his arrogant, debasing conversation would have my clit twitching and swelling I didn’t know. But one thing was for sure, I wasn’t complaining.
He tugged off the lid of the pen with his teeth and leaned forward. The soft black tip touched between the notches of my collarbones, just below the hollow of my throat. Carefully he wrote the letter “W”. The ink was thick and smelled strong. Beneath it he wrote “H” then “O”, “R”, “E”.
I had a nasty feeling that it was ink of the staying-on-skin-for-some-time kind. But that didn’t bother me. The thrill of seeing the word “WHORE” scrawled down my already used and abused chest, from my throat to my stomach was divine and stole the moment.
“Whore,” he said, tossing the pen and lid to one side. “Suck my fucking cock, now.”
He leaned back and hastily I dropped to all fours between his spread thighs, grateful that the real action had begun. Hungrily I lunged for his cock and took the head into my mouth. Again his flavor thrilled me, salty and earthy and so damn male.
He made an approving groan and pushed my head down into his lap, forcing me to take him to the back of my throat. I willed my gag reflex under control and was thankful when he let me set up a rhythm of my own, sucking up and sliding down his shaft using my tongue to hug him and my lips to create a tight band of pressure. It meant I could breathe.
As the people in the porno movie began to moan and pant behind me, I arched my spine and thrust my bare butt high, offering him a good view of my whore’s ass. I figured he’d like that as well as the fucking on TV.
I bobbed my head, steadily taking his glans deeper and deeper into my throat. My cheeks bulged and his warm breaths washing over my back increased in depth and speed. A drip of pre-cum seeped from his slit. My pussy was sopping, my clit swollen and needy. I thought about fretting myself off while I gave my client head but resisted. This wasn’t about my pleasure. It was about Jovica’s. He was a paying customer.
“Ah shit,” he said, suddenly shoving me forward.
I was forced to release his cock, and he fisted it with one hand as he scooped me up and threw me down onto the sofa. I landed on my back, one foot on the floor, one on the cushions, the wind knocked from my lungs.
He aimed his cock at my chest, pumping it hard and fast. Suddenly he stilled, his body taut and tense. Then jets of warm, white semen slapped down onto the black writing on my sternum. More and more came, and I lifted up off the sofa to meet each delicious arc of cum.
“Ah fuck, yes,” he muttered. Then his voice changed. It became a little deeper, and he said something in a language I’d never heard before. In that moment I would have given anything to know what the softly lilting words meant. He could have said anything, anything at all, for I knew how sugary sweet he could utter the vilest of endearments.
As his cock softened, he stared at my seriously messed-up chest. I flattened my palm and rubbed the sticky cum over my breasts, swirling it around each hard nipple, into the hickies and over that word. The letters smudged slightly, and the ink leaked over my skin the way I was sure my mascara and lipstick had.
He watched my movements as if mesmerized.
My pussy was thrumming. I could take no more. God only knew how long it would be ‘til he got it up again. I slid my other hand over my belly, slipped fingers through my naked, velvety-soft vulva, and sought out my clit.
“No,” he said, dropping over me and snatching my wrist away.
He shimmied down my body, shoving at my thighs and burying his head in my pussy. I opened my mouth to call out but no sound emerged. The pressure and sensation were instant as he lapped wetly, flicking his tongue around and over my clit.
“Oh yes,” I groaned as the first wave of orgasm approached. I’d been hovering for so long—hours, days, weeks, forever for this. It gripped me, flew me up on a plane of bliss, and at that precise moment of ecstasy he shoved two, maybe three fingers into my squelching pussy, filling me wonderfully.
My entire spine bowed off the sofa as wild spasms consumed me. I clenched his fingers as I delighted in becoming a panting, gasping wreck for several exquisite seconds.
As my breaths came back under control, he lifted up over me. We were face-to-face. But he didn’t move his fingers, he kept them lodged high inside me, allowing me to gently spasm around them as I came down from my high.
I placed my hands on his cheeks, and the next thing I knew he was kissing me, filling me up with my own musky flavor along with tobacco and his earthy, meaty tang. His tongue was wide and pliant as it swept over my teeth and into my mouth. His lips were soft and expert as they caressed mine and his breaths were gentle on my cheek.
I arched into him and our chests met, mine cooling now and the semen crusting and tugging at my skin. He deepened the kiss, letting out a small moan, and I whimpered as his rough chin abraded mine.
What was I doing?
“No,” I said, shoving at his shoulders. “No, whores don’t kiss. Get off me.”
He stared into my eyes, unblinking.
His cell rang.
Withdrawing from me and lifting up, he reached for it out of his pants pocket and answered it in a language that sounded like the same foreign language he’d used earlier as he’d come.
Watching his body unfold and his back straighten, I shifted up on the sofa. My heart was still hammering and a wetness between my legs slid onto my thighs. The couple on TV were really going for it. The sound was low so their moans and shouts were muffled, he was ramming his dick into her pussy each time the swing she was strapped to vaulted to him.
After a long conversation, Jovica finally finished his call and tossed his phone on the sofa. Something in his expression told me the exchange had not gone well. He leaned down and placed his thumb and fingers either on side of my mouth. Squeezed so hard that I had no choice but to open up.
“If I want to fucking kiss you I will, whore. You’re mine to do whatever the hell I want with.” He ducked his head and plundered his tongue between my lips.
I gasped and jerked as he filled my mouth with hard, determined passion.
“Now lie over this table,” he said, releasing me. With one deft movement, he swept the DVDs and other odds and ends off the table onto the floor. They clattered and landed haphazardly. An ashtray spread its dusty grime. “Get your slutty pussy in the air so I can fuck it.”
Scrabbling forward, I sprawled across the cool table. My breasts squashed flat and my hands curled over the edge facing the TV. I didn’t want to kiss him so this position, on my knees, ass up, was perfect; it was this impersonal aspect of sex that excited me. The absolute absence of emotion and connection of hearts and souls turned me on so damn much. I just wanted him t
o fuck me, however he wanted to. If it gave me pleasure it would be a bonus on top of payment. Or so I told myself, because I knew damn well being penetrated by Jovica would give me extreme pleasure.
He sat on the sofa behind me and ran his fingers up the backs of my calves, into the crease of my bent knees and onto the sensitive skin of my thighs. A new couple on TV were reaching their climax. The camera had panned in on their slickly swollen genitals.
My own sticky groin was aflame as Jovica deftly parted my labia and drove inside me again. I bucked for more and he gave it, another finger. “A whore’s cunt,” he muttered huskily, “so fucking slack.”
I groaned and rested my cheek on the tacky surface of the table. My pussy wasn’t slack. I hadn’t actually been with a man for several months. Not since I’d finally acknowledged my whore fantasy and set about finding a suitable client. So it did occur to me, at this moment, that accommodating Jovica’s big cock might be a struggle initially.
“You’re dripping,” he said, still thrusting his fingers. He was right, my pussy was clicking wetly and moisture seeped down my leg in trickles. “So fucking wet it’s like a tap has been turned on inside you.” He churned his fingers, sweeping them around and flicking over my pulpy G-spot.
As I trembled for more I was aware of him moving over me, his chest hair tickling my shoulder blades. “You’re the juiciest whore I’ve ever been with,” he muttered by my ear. “Hot and juicy and stinking.”
I moaned and writhed, loving the dirty talk and the shunting of his fingers.
“I’m going to fuck you now, fuck you until you can’t even remember your own damn name.”
My pleasure was mounting but I wasn’t too far gone to forget the one thing I’d insisted on. “Condom, please, condom.”
“Absolutely, you think I want your nasty germs on my dick, huh?”
Chapter Four
