by Paulie Celt
She crossed to the wash-basin and twisted the cold water tap, scooping up handfuls of the refreshing liquid and splashing it on her face. A relieved sigh released from her lips and peppered the curtains with specks of transparency. Both her hands found the sides of the sink and she rested her svelte weight against it, taking long, deep breaths. Her heartbeat abated and the pressure in her temples eased a little.
Long moments passed, with just the constant hiss of water and its gurgling retreat down the plug hole, to distract her meditation.
Her eyelids remaining closed, the orbs flicked and jetted around the sockets, as Susan pulsed her lips in inaudible words. Smiling at the outcome of her thoughts, she returned her gaze to the real world, searched the strange room for a towel and, upon finding it, used it to dab the moisture from her face and hands. She removed her coat, folding it over one arm. Her hand whipped to the pocket and clutched the handle. Perfect. She released the object, turned on her heels, and headed back downstairs.
Simon sat on the edge of the sofa, a large tumbler balancing on the arm, next to his wallet. The amber liquid inside glowed under the ceiling lights. He smiled. “Thought you'd got lost. I was about to call a search and rescue team.” He chuckled and grabbed for the drink as it threatened to topple from the jiggling of his amusement.
Susan faked a smile and rushed back to the opposite side of the sofa. She eased her coat down over the arm, careful to place it with the right pocket up. Perfect. The younger woman sank into the plush comfort of the couch and exhaled through flared nostrils. She watched him out of the corner of her vision.
The punter inched closer to his companion and chewed on the inside of his lip. His eyes jerked uneasy in the sockets. The bulge at the front of his trousers strained through the material.
The prostitute gazed down at the floor and, upon noticing a scuff mark on the top of one shoe, she tensed the muscle at one side of her face. She rubbed the soiled footwear against the clothing on the back of her other limb. It came back cleaner. Her features relaxed, apart from the sleekit movement of her eyes, as they continued to steal a peak at the owner of the house. Just in case.
The meaty hand prodded through the air and landed on her thigh again. His fingers squeezed the soft, pliable flesh through her leggings. He slid higher and stroked with gentle pressure.
Susan clammed up. Her knees drew toward each other, as if trying to protect what lay between them. She lowered her eyelids to half mast and her teeth found the back of one lip, gnawing at the now sensitive skin.
He spoke in a low, guttural tone. “How much would it cost for you to stay the night?” His probing digits stiffened as if bracing themselves for the answer.
As the rest of her body froze solid. She widened her eyes. Long seconds passed before she released the grip of her bite, and opened her mouth to talk. She paused. With a glance to the side, she scanned the bump on the pocket of her coat and turned to face Simon. “Three hundred more.” Her lids relaxed a little, as she pursed her lips and began to chew at the inside of her cheek.
He didn't speak. His hand moved and the tip of one finger teased down to the back of her thigh. The sloppy, wet sound of his lips and tongue, caressing each other, filled the room. He leaned across until his head hung a mere few inches from hers and his breathing intensified in volume and in frequency. “OK.”
She dug the back of her head into the cushion behind, as the overbearing aroma of whisky seeped into her tastebuds. Her lips curled and recoiled in protest. She managed a simple, “OK.”
He grinned. “Are you sure you don't want something to eat or drink? Something to warm you up?”
“No. I'm fine.” Her words jabbed through her lips and negated any counter argument.
He made the final push and brushed the heat of his lips against the younger woman's cold cheek.
“No.” She pulled back and fixed his gaze. “No kissing.”
“How about if I pay extra?”
She considered the offer as her eyes drifted and found nothing in particular.
Simon clutched his wallet and popped it open.
“Another hundred.” She turned back to face him.
His fingers searched through the contents of the wallet and picked out more currency. He held it out in front of him.
Susan plucked the notes from his grip and scanned the corners, before lifting her jacket and storing the money in the correct pocket. The beginnings of a smile crossed her lips. Five hundred and twenty in total. She twisted back to face the middle-aged man and relaxed just enough to enjoy the plush comfort where she sat.
Simon returned to the job at hand. He groped and caressed the younger woman's limb. His breathing returned to a rasp and pulsated through his nostrils as the growth in his groin flexed against the tight material of his trousers.
A low sigh penetrated Susan's ears and it took a second before her head cocked and her eyes stretched, surprised to hear it as her own. Taking a mind of its own, the prostitute's pubis pushed down into the sofa and rolled forward, missing the older man's straying digits by the merest of measurements. Her cheeks reddened.
His breath catching in his throat and helped each time he swallowed, Simon leaned his lips forward and kissed at the jawline of his guest.
She didn't fight it this time. Instead, she closed her eyes and took a long, exquisite suck of air into her body, pausing for a few seconds as her chest pushed out, her nipples rubbing at the taut material of her top. She released the breath and listened as it soaked through her throat and parted lips. A tingle resonated between her thighs and twitched as a probing digit brushed against it for a split second. She chased it with her hips.
He kissed across the growing warmth of her cheek, his tongue sneaking through his lips to taste her skin.
Susan sank her tongue into the back of her mouth and gathered saliva. She rolled it around her lips with its tip moistening them for what lay ahead.
His lips brushed, ever so slow, across hers. The very tip of his tongue teased the edges and promised, once or twice, to squirm into the wetness beyond. His breathing reached fever pitch, through his flaring nostrils. His hand swirled around her thigh and up over her stomach.
The young woman groaned into his mouth, urging his hand back between her legs, without words. She rose her bottom up off the cushion when it didn't happen, as if chasing the touch. Her lips hung loose and writhed as she kissed back with featherlight effort.
Moving his hand across the slim, soft tummy of Susan, Simon slipped the tip of two fingers down under her sweatshirt, stroking across the hot, bare flesh beneath. He sucked on her top lip with gentle care, as one of the exploring appendages found the tight crevice of her belly button.
They sighed in unison. The sound lingered in the room for long, indeterminable seconds.
Using the rest of his hand, he slid the hem of the young woman's top higher. His remaining fingers and palm hugged at the revealed flesh of her tummy.
Susan drew up one arm from her side and reached it across the broad, strong back of the man who would be her lover for the night. Her small fingers prodded and poked through his dark grey shirt and savoured in the tense terrain of muscle they found. She kissed back harder, her shoes digging into the carpet below and one heel catching in the plush texture. It loosened from her bare foot and she slid the smooth flesh of her sole across its side. The new sensitivity sparked a muffled gasp from her throat.
Simon pulled back a little. He teased her lips with the tip of his tongue and leaned back every time she swam her head forward to continue the kiss. His fingers worked higher and found the front strap of her bra, stroking it from one cup to the other.
The prostitute slid her eyelids open and chased his mouth, her lips parted in anticipation and her tongue lying in waiting on the edge of her bottom lip. Her sex tingled behind her clothing.
A sly smile snaking across his lips, the older man sneaked his other hand down over his hips and rubbed the palm over his erection. It surged behind his trousers a
nd the outline grew thicker and more pronounced. A sigh erupted from his throat and the warm air embraced his lover's fragile neck. His eyelids hung down, lazy, revealing just a slit of white behind them.
The tingle between Susan's legs moistened and she pressed her knees hard together, one thigh twitching against the other as she flexed the muscles closest to where she needed the contact most.
With one extended finger, Simon traced a path along the hem of the younger woman's bra, along the bottom of one cup, around its side and down the slope which held her cleavage in place. He continued back to where he began, before doing the same on the other side. His teeth clamped down on the fleshy pad of his bottom lip, trapping it in place, as his rapid breathing grunted through his bite.
In one fluid motion, Susan swung her hips and threw one leg across his thighs. She pushed her bodyweight up with one elbow and slid her torso over, on top of his. Her breathing came in short, needful spurts. She pushed her pelvis down and gasped aloud as the rigid lump of his erection nestled against her pubis.
Simon closed his eyes and wrapped his overbearing arms around the petite prostitute's back and up to the back of her neck, pulling her close to kiss her face in a frenzy. His lips ran over her cheek and found the liquescent gap between hers. His tongue swirled and swooped around the flesh on the inside of her cheeks, before flirting with the writhing tip of its counterpart and teasing along its length.
She ground her groin harder, faster. Her moans and groans mingled in the wet kiss. She groped both hands through the air and raced them to the buttons on the front of Simon's shirt. Her fingers tore at them and pulled the material apart to reveal a bare chest. She worked her digits inside and twirled them in the sparse hair they found. The sensation within her sex intensified, her lack of panties forcing the coarse material of her leggings to bunch up and stimulate her wanton clitoris.
He prodded his hands down and forced them into her armpits. Using his immense strength, the punter lifted the vulnerable form of his paid-for date off his lap and sat her beside him.
Susan locked up. Her eyes searched his for an explanation. Her lustful breath raged in her throat.
“Let's go upstairs.” His smile returned as he pushed himself up off the sofa and led the way.
She kicked off her other shoe and leaned down to pick them both up. Her bare feet sank into the soft comfort of the carpet for a few steps, before she paused, looked back and raced back to pick up her coat. She patted the hard object inside one pocket and followed the owner of the house upstairs.
The middle aged man scuttled along the hall on the second floor of the house. He stopped at a closed door at the end of the corridor, wrapping his fingers around its handle and lowering the brass appendage to cross the threshold of the main bedroom. He flicked a switch, once inside, and saturated the sleeping quarters with light.
Susan stepped inside, scanning the room and its contents. She crossed to a bedside table on the left side of the bed and turned to face her host. “Is it OK if I take this side?”, she asked, pointing to her chosen spot. She changed the grip on the coat, pinching its collar between her thumb and forefinger and hovering it over the piece of furniture. The grip of her other hand released and her shoes fell to the floor with muffled thuds.
Simon stood at the bottom of the bed, removing a thick banded watch from his wrist. “Yeah, that's fine honey.” He threw the timepiece on top of a chest of drawers, the light glinting off a mirror and twinkling on the silver strap. “I'm just going to shower. Make yourself at home.” He reached up to a portable TV, braced on a wall unit and switched it on. “I won't be long.”
The young woman placed her coat down with care. She hopped up on the side of the king-sized bed and her gaze lowered to her feet which dangled at least six inches from the floor. The pink varnish on her toenails contrasted the pale grey carpet beneath. She reached back her palms onto the surface of the deep, solid mattress and arched her back, letting her head roll back until her eyes lined up with the ceiling. They closed and a contented sigh soothed from her lips.
A low, liquid hiss meandered in from the room next door, and a muffled clunk chimed out, like a shower door closing.
Susan wrestled her body up until her back edged against the headboard, her legs stretching out along the length of the bed and sinking into the top of the cream coloured duvet. She scanned the room one more time and nibbled at the back of one lip. Leaning to one side, she reached inside the coat pocket and retrieved the knife. The blade shone bright, its edge reflecting the light from the bulb above in shards. She gazed along the metallic sheen and the her knuckles turned white as her grip tightened around the handle.
The shower continued to hiss through the adjoining wall.
Susan swerved her hips and pulled up the pillow under her head. She searched the revealed space and hovered the weapon in mid-air. Perfect. With eased and accurate movement, she turned and sneaked the blade of the knife into the narrow space between the mattress and headboard. She replaced the pillow and inched closer to the middle of the bed. Her eyes glanced back and appraised the handiwork. Perfect.
The hissing shut off, accompanied with a loud clank in an unseen pipe, somewhere nearby.
Susan relaxed into the bedding and allowed herself to view the silent images on the TV screen. She sighed through relaxed lips and they vibrated against each other, as a well dressed reporter interviewed Manchester United fans outside their football ground.
Along the bottom of the picture, in bold font, the gist of the story unfolded. Takeover bid collapses amid prolonged injury woes. Live at Old Trafford.Various members of the public dressed in red replica shirts gave their opinions under the night sky.
Susan shook her head and turned to face the door. Waiting.
Footsteps in the hallway approached the doorway to the main bedroom before their owner padded inside. He fidgeted with the wrists of his dressing gown and smiled towards the occupant of his bed. The tip of his tongue writhed around the white gleam of his teeth.
A strong waft of minty toothpaste refreshed Susan's senses. She gorged the sweet air in through her nasal passages and licked her lips. “I need... “ She stalled. Her lids blinked as if cleaning off the previous attempt, and she spoke again. “Do you mind if I shower? I'm... “ Her words drifted off, before returning with focus. “I'm soaked through.” She offered her best attempt at a smile.
“Yeah, of course. The water's still hot.” The older man crossed to the edge of the chest of drawers and lifted a towel from the side. He dried his hair, still facing his guest. “Sorry, I don't have any girlie shampoos or anything like that. But you're welcome to use anything you find.” His features twitched an apologetic smile.
“Thanks.” Her smile stretched into her cheeks and she straightened it out with unnatural abruptness. She pushed herself down off the bed and plodded out through the hallway to the bathroom.
She closed the bathroom door behind her and rushed the lock into place. Her toes squirmed against the chill of the linoleum floor and she hopped from foot to foot. The shower door lay open, its glass panel still steamed from prior use. She stretched one arm through the opening and pressed the biggest button on the panel.
The water erupted from the many perforations in the shower-head and splattered against the porcelain floor, hissing in her ears like an infuriated librarian shushing a disrespecting school child. She turned back toward the sink.
The freezing cold water from the tap stabbed at her small hands as she scooped it up to her lips and drank like a deer by the river. She guzzled for long moments, stopping just to take a breath, every so often. Her body signalled satiation with an audible burp which rose above the splashing of the shower. The event forced half a chuckle from the young woman, as she twisted the tap until the flow stopped. She returned to the shower.
Pressing the bare sole of one foot to the floor of the shower, Susan winced a little, a shiver travailing the length of her spine and releasing from her body from between her chattering te
eth. She pulled her sweatshirt over her head and peeled her leggings down over her thighs, knees and ankles. Her bra unclasped between her expert fingers and unwrapped from her shoulders and chest. She discarded the clothing in a pile behind the door. Her stare rested on the entrance a little too long. Peeling her gaze from the handle, she turned away. Her lids blinked and she tiptoed into the soothing spray of hot water.
The shower did its job, leaving the young woman with a renewed vibrance to her skin, as she stepped through the rickety doorway and dabbed a large towel over her face and neck. She set about drying the rest of her body and her eyes slumbered behind lazy lids at the comfort of the luxurious embrace of the soft material as it wrapped around her flesh. She walked back to the sink while drying along the length of her hair.
Her eyes spotted the white cabinet on the wall and she pulled at the handle with one hand to peer inside. She plucked a tube of toothpaste from a shelf and untwisted the cap. Her fingers lingered over one of the bright coloured brushes, deciding against it at the last second. She squeezed at the receptacle and raised the minty contents to her lips, allowing it to squirm onto her tongue in a thick blob.
Her tastebuds exploded and sent a tightening shock wave through the muscles in her face. She swished and swirled the goo around her mouth, before cupping water in her palms and cleansing with a round of raucous gargles and spits into the basin.
A resounding rattle rumbled through the room.
Susan jolted as a gasp racked her upper body. She turned on a sixpence, her eyes threatening to explode from their sockets. Her bottom lip quivered, a white glob of toothpaste still clinging to the skin. She locked her vision on the door just as it stopped shaking. She refused to blink.
“Is everything OK in there?”
Her shoulders dropped and the momentum almost carried through her legs. She reached out a hand and clasped to the first thing she found. Her knuckles glared almost the same colour as the porcelain they gripped, as she struggled to keep her standing. She mouthed silent expletives between long, desperate breaths, as she fought back the machine gun behind her ribs. Her eyes watered, and she blinked hard.
