by Nicole Fox
“Do you know what it’s like to be a whore?” she hissed. I did not reply. I could not reply. Sensing this, she continued. “To be bought and sold? To be paraded around. No one cares about you, or your thoughts, or your feelings. Just your body. Do you know what that’s like?”
No, was what I should have said, but instead I frowned petulantly and muttered, “I care what you think, Honi.”
Honi bared her teeth in a snarl, as if she was about to say something. Instead, she took a violent drag on her cigarette, realized it was out, and tossed it angrily into the gloom below. Down, down, down, three stories it fell, and when it landed there was a loud, Clap!
“What was that?” she gasped, suddenly frightened. I hushed her with a glance.
Carefully, I leaned down and wiggled my way over to the other side of the roof and peered into the main driveway.
“Cops!” I exclaimed. “Three of them, parked out front!”
I squinted, tucking my honey-blonde hair behind my ears as I struggled to make out their faces. “Wait a minute …” I murmured. “Those men look familiar. They look like …”
“Come on, Farrah!” Honi squealed, seizing my hand and pulling me back. There was real terror in her voice. “Let’s get out of here!”
I nodded agreement, and together we began our careful climb back down to the window. Just then, however, Aunt Venus’s face burst out. She looked calm, but the cold pallor of her skin implied that something terrible was going on.
“Farrah!” she cried. “Thank God you’re out here! And Honi, too!”
“Aunt Venus, what’s going on?” I demanded. I was about to climb down beside her, but she stopped me with her hand.
“There’s no time to explain!” she said. “Here, take this!”
From her voluminous robes, beautiful as folded butterfly wings, she pulled a sealed envelope and thrust it into my hands. Inside, I could feel the tiny outline of a data storage drive.
“This contains all our records, Farrah,” she said. “Our clients, payments, everything.”
I stared at the envelope in confusion. “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about? What you said earlier?”
She nodded, then sighed deeply. I know there was more to say, but she did not think there was time to say it. She kept on glancing over her shoulder, back into the room beyond.
“I want you to take this to your father’s old motorcycle club,” she said. She glanced over at Honi, who was immobilized with fear. “Take Honi, too, as a … as a gesture of goodwill.”
Those words seemed to cost her terribly to say, and it occurred to me, not for the last time, that Aunt Venus was a woman used to making hard decisions.
Distantly, I could hear the sounds of glass breaking, and the screams of the whores interrupted in their beds.
“But, why, Aunt Venus?” I started, but she swept my question aside.
“Now get out of here!” she ordered. “Climb onto the next roof and sneak down the stairs to Giorgio’s restaurant. He knows better than to give you a hard time. Got it?”
“But—”
“Got it?”
I sighed. “Yes, Aunt.”
“Good. Now, go!”
Just then, I heard the sound of a wooden door being kicked inward. Venus whirled, and at once her voice lost its frantic intensity. Sweet and oily, I heard her simper, “Well, hello officers …”
I wanted to leap down after her, to defend her, but Honi grabbed my arm.
“You heard her!” she hissed. “Come on!”
You can say what you like about women in Honi’s profession, but you had to give her this: she had good, strong legs, and it was easy for her to clamber across the gabled roof and leap across the gap onto the next building. While I lacked experience like hers, I worked out hard at the gym everyday while I was at college, so I was only a split second behind her. I could not hear Aunt Venus or the police any longer, and, though I did not yet know why, I felt my heart breaking.
With a wrestled bolt and a scream of rust, we fled down next door’s hidden stairwell and disappeared into the evening gloom.
Chapter Two
Connor
There is a single, beautiful moment after a long night of hot and dirty sex where you wake up slowly, your dick half-hard but satisfied, and you dare to think, for a half a second, that the slut you’d been boning had the good sense to get up before you and sneak out into the night.
Either she was gone, and that beautiful moment got to turn into a beautiful day – you know the type, riding around on your motorcycle in the hot tropical sun, perhaps pulling a few dangerous gigs for the good of the club, until finally ending up in the same dive bar where you’d started, ready to pick up a new slut.
Or, she was still there, and you were in for a hell of a fucking day.
I felt myself waking up, enjoying those last few seconds where I could be alone in bed. I reached down and gave my cock a squeeze, feeling the lazy hardness of morning wood emerging. I thought about the night before.
That raven-haired girl.
I’d met her last week at one of the many bars frequented by the Devil’s Wings. As an established lieutenant of the club, I had absolutely no problem picking up the slut.
I was sure my shaggy-yet-silken brown hair and biceps like Virginia hams didn’t hurt, either.
Anyway, I was there ten minutes, ripping with my buddies about our president’s latest venture in stupidity. Normally, I would have punished disrespect for our leader, but boy, did Jorge Montengo deserve it.
“Did you hear,” my buddy Joey whispered to me, “that he split half his fucking share from the last heist with that whore? And for what?”
“So she’ll suck his cock harder,” I shrugged back, feeling cynical. Joey, however, continued to press.
“And he shut down my car idea again,” he complained. “If only he’d look long enough past the fucking chop-shop to realize the money making potential here …”
“And look up from that ho’s pussy long enough to dry his mouth—”
“Hello, boys,” a voice like warm oil sifting through water interrupted. We looked up, twin grins of lust appearing on our faces as the raven-haired girl gazed down at us. Her tits, pushed up hard by her lacey black bra, and the winking of her thighs as she shifted and flexed, might as well have shouted to the world: “I want some motorcycle cock!”
Joey and I looked at each other, but I acted first.
“Let me buy you a drink,” I said, gesturing her to sit down. She was well worth that, I supposed. Ten dollars of liquor in exchange for some fresh pussy. Fair fucking deal.
Within minutes, her hand had been creeping up the inside of my leather pants, while my eyes constantly dove down her cleavage as if drawn by gravity. We chatted, of course, but I couldn’t tell you now a damn thing we spoke about. What was important was the palpable heat radiating from between her legs. I could have roasted a fucking marshmallow.
Within an hour, she was on the back of my bike, and I was taking her to the club house. President Montengo had fucked up a lot of things, but he at least made sure that the bedrooms were fully equipped: lube, condoms, porn, toys. The works.
She complained a bit when I tore her clothes off. Not because I’d hurt her, or she did not like the roughness, but because “that outfit was expensive.” I told her to shut her whore mouth and take it like the slut she was.
Predictably, she complied.
I fucked her for an hour, then, growing bored with her caterwauling, I blew my load, rolled over, and went to sleep.
When she didn’t have the decency to disappear that next morning, I should have known she was a dud. I wanted to shout at her, “What the hell gave you the impression that I wanted you to stay?” But I didn’t. I was a gentleman: kind but firm. I led her out, and promised myself that I would not be calling her again.
Me and the guys often complained that our president spent too much time, “Thinking with his dick.” Well, I’m here to officially say that I have done t
hat as well. And man, did I pay the price.
I called her again. I was bored. I was horny. It was two a.m. on a Wednesday night, possibly the dreariest time in existence. It was a time fitting for an easy slut like her. At the third ring she picked up, and a half an hour later she had called a taxi over.
I tell you this because I want you to know what kind of woman I was used to dealing with. I demanded pussy, and she fucking paid to get a ride over!
My god, I loved the Devil’s Wings. There was so much power in it. Power and pussy.
By the time she arrived, I was feeling both dominating and lazy as a cat. I decided in an instant that she should do all the work. Why the hell should I waste my time and energy trying to impress her? She’d already proved she was desperate for anything.
So she blew me. She rode me. She strip-teased me. And I sat back, enjoying myself and flicking ash from a lazy cigarette onto the tray. After half the night of pleasuring me, I climaxed, and she collapsed with exhaustion and rolled over to sleep.
If I was smart, I would have kicked her out then and there. But I felt bad, and vaguely grateful for her hard work. Her thighs and tits were red from rubbing, and I could see sweat on her eager, butterfly brow. So I let her stay, assuming she’d know to be out by morning.
You’re an idiot, Connor. A fucking idiot.
I breathed in and breathed out, smelling the permanent scent of sex that lives in the MC beds, rolled onto my side, and opened my eyes.
Goddamn it!
There she was, looking less than sexy with her mouth open in a snore and her raven-black hair dampened and dulled by the morning. Though she was naked, and her body was hot as ever, I felt my morning wood automatically disappear.
I didn’t want sex. I wanted her out.
As I went to wake her up and tell her so, I realized that I didn’t know her name. “Hey … you!” I said instead, thumping her shoulder. “You! Hey, you! Wake up!”
Her eyes flickered open, slowly, affectionately. Bovine-like. She gazed at me and smiled.
“Good morning, champ,” she said.
‘Champ?’ I thought. ‘What am I, six?’
“Hey, uh … babe,” I responded, avoiding her name. “I thought I made it clear last time, that this isn’t a serious thing.”
She puckered her lips into a baby’s pout. “Of course you did!” she said. “I just thought you’d like some more of this when you woke up!”
She thrust her hips at me. Like the untamed animal it was, my cock perked up at the motion, but I squashed the thought.
No, I told myself. Already she is getting too invested. If you fuck her again, you’ll make it worse.
If cocks could sigh, mine would have done so then.
“Look … baby,” I continued. Some of me wished I remembered her name, while most of me knew that even that would make things worse. “I have a lot of important duties around here. I can’t spend all morning looking after you.”
“Oh, I don’t need looking after!” she exclaimed, rising up and brushing her hair with her fingers. “Is there anywhere we can get breakfast around here?”
I grunted in annoyance. Was I really going to have to spell it out for her?
“Baby, I have things to do! Heists to pull, club girls to initiate. You know the drill …”
“Club girls?” In an instant, her playful, childish posture was gone. Her eyes crackled with menace, and she glared down at me, poised like a snake about to strike.
I also sat up. “Yes, club girls,” I said. “It’s important to the club to maintain a source of pleasure for the men, and—”
“Club girls?” She practically screamed it this time. “But, Connor! I thought we had something special!”
I cocked my eyebrow at her.
“And what exactly made you think that?” I demanded. Anger rippled through me. Why did these women always end up like this! I was always clear from the start: I was in it for the pussy. To think otherwise was just plain stupid.
“Well, we kissed, and we had sex, and we … made love!”
I rolled my eyes. “Honey, if you think that is making love, you’ve lived a damn sorry life.”
She recoiled as if I had slapped her. I could see tears forming in her eyes, but I found I didn’t care. You live the life of a biker, you get used to stupid tears.
“Look,” I said. “I’ve been clear from the start. I never once lied or tricked you about what this was. If you thought otherwise, it’s your own damn fault. Now get out.”
I could tell I’d stung her, but just then my phone rang from the nightstand. A clear reminder that I had more important things to do than deal with this bitch.
“Hello, Madam Venus,” I declared as I answered the phone, instantly polite. I heard the sugary voice of our nearby brothel owner crackling over the phone. The connection was bad, and I could barely make out what she was saying.
“Oh, no, I’m sorry, Madam Venus,” I said. “The president isn’t answering his phone? No, I’ll be sure to contact him immediately …Yes … I know … Don’t worry, Madam Venus, we hold you in the highest esteem … I’ll have him contact you immediately …Yes … Thank you … Goodbye.”
I hung up and turned around, only to wince when I saw that the raven-haired slut was, in fact, still there.
“Madam Venus?” she growled. “Madam? As in, a woman?”
I stared at her. “Yes, of course a fucking woman. There are plenty of woman in this business. Now, I’ll not say it again. Get the fuck out of here—”
“A woman!” She practically howled in rage. “Fuck! You!”
And with that, she reached out and slapped me.
I blinked. It didn’t hurt. It had all the strength of a butterfly being blown into my cheek by a breeze. But still, she had tried to hurt me. Rage filled me, and I leapt from the bed.
“Get out!” I roared, my junk waving in the morning air. “Get out of here, you crazy bitch! Out!”
I grabbed her arm and flung her from the bed. She landed on her feet and gazed at me with an animal intensity. Then, with a grin, she reached over to the lamp which helped to light the fuck-room, seized it, and hurled it to the floor.
It struck the tiles and shattered into a million fucking pieces.
“You asshole, Connor!” she cried, now flinging herself to the doorknob and out the door. I charged after her, naked as the day I was born, and heard another smash as something else was broken.
“Get out, you cunt!” I cried, dodging barefoot past the broken mess that used to be a computer monitor. “Get out!”
And she did, whirling like a destructive dervish as she did. Glass shattered. Important papers were swept to the floor. And all the while she swore and spit like an angry cat, until she was, at last, shunted out the door.
I slammed it, glaring out after her, my butt cheeks flexed in righteous indignation, my cock thrust forward.
And that was, of course, how President Fucking Montengo found me, strolling in with his latest hooker on his arm.
Chapter Three
Farrah
We could hear gunshots in the distance. At least, I thought they were gunshots. It could be so hard to tell in this city, where engines and triggers ran hot. I closed my eyes, wincing as the sounds thundered through the streets, and prayed, prayed, prayed that they weren’t being fired at the Birth of Venus.
“Your aunt will be okay,” I heard Honi gasp beside me. She was struggling to run in her ridiculous shoes. “She’s a smart woman. She’ll be fine.”
Yes, she was a smart woman. Smart enough to make me run, when I should have stayed behind.
I felt tears prick my eyes, and an overwhelming guilt assailed me.
“Oh, don’t worry so much,” Honi snapped impatiently as we rounded into a dark alley and threw our hands to our knees, taking a break. “There wasn’t anything at that fucking whorehouse worth saving, anyway.”
I whirled to her, feeling my self-defense training kicking in. But this time, I wasn’t interested in defense.
I wanted pure offense.
My forearm slammed into her throat, pinning her against the wall.
“That whorehouse,” I hissed, “saved us. It saved you. It saved me. And it saved Aunt Venus. You know what whoring was like before Aunt Venus created the house. You’ve heard her stories. She created a paradise for those women!”
Honi blinked at me, tears in her eyes, and the sight of them made me release her. She slid down to the damp pavement with nothing but her thin stockings to protect her from its chill.
