by Evelyn Glass
“Ooh!” she squeals, waking up a little more, but her eyes still closed most of the time. Blood swirls down the drain, her skin washing clean, turning her back into a sweet, young girl. But girl…she was old enough to get given away to pay off some debts, and she’s sweet to look at. The kind of girl whores wish they could look like, and spend plenty of years trying to pretend they are. Lookin’ at her naked, tight body is gettin’ me damned hard anyway, so I lean forward, take the shower gel, and get my hands lathered up. “Ah, Chance…”
I rub my hands over her breasts, rubbin’ the shower gel in. Her breasts are fuckin’ fine to the touch, fleshy and juicy and pert as fuck. I keep rubbin’ ’em, watching as her mouth makes a cute O. Don’t know if she’s makin’ that face at what I’m doin’ or somethin’ she’s dreamin’ about, and truth be told, I don’t give a damn. I push her tits together, and then rub the gel over the rest of her body, paying special attention to her ass. I lean her forward a little, so her ass sticks out. It’s a fine ass, an ass made for spankin’, the sort of ass I could imagine drilling into as she moans like she’s bought and paid for. Once I’ve covered her, I turn her back around—she mumbles, but follows my movements—and then I reach down and cup her cunt. She makes another moanin’ sound at this, and even rocks in my grasp a little, pressing her clit into my hand. I rub it for a few minutes, likin’ the way it makes her arch her back and gasp, but mostly just likin’ how tight and fresh it feels, a proper tight cunt. I think what’d be like to thrust into a cunt like that.
Finally, I take my hands away and let the shower wash the lather away. When the last of the blood is gone, I help her from the shower.
“You’re naughty,” she murmurs. “That…ooh…you’re bad.”
I towel her off, makin’ her giggle some more when I rub her tits and her ass, and then take her into the bedroom. She’s conscious, but still sleepy, still lolling in my arms. I find a baggy T-shirt and some sweatpants for her, pull ’em on, and then sit her on the edge of the bed. Maybe the gentlemanly thing to do would be to give the woman the bed, but when you live the hitman’s life, you’ve always gotta be thinkin’ of the practical thing, not the gentlemanly thing. And the practical thing here is that I need the rest that comes with the bed. If someone bashes through that door, I’ve gotta be as well-rested as I can so I can defend us. If there’s killin’ to be done in the morning, I don’t wanna be all achy and shit from the floor. So I go to the drawers and pull out all the blankets, making her a pallet on the floor, and then toss a pillow from the bed down there.
I help her to it, lay her down, and then place her head on the pillow. All through this, she moves with sleepy motion, but she keeps murmuring nonsense at me.
When she’s settled, I go to the window, take my pistol, and sit on the sill glancing out of the curtains. I’ve never been one for protecting a woman. I usually meet some whore, fuck her until I’m drained, and then discard her before even learning her name. But with Becky, I don’t know, it’s like I wanna do both. Fuck her brains out like a whore and protect her. I don’t fuckin’ know why. Maybe it’s just thinkin’ of her in that warehouse with those crazy fucks. Maybe it’s ’cause I’ve never had to kill a woman. The woman thing is a funny one. I never gave it any thought before tonight, never made any special big deal about it, but now I think on it, I must’ve always had somethin’ in me that was against the idea. There’s been a couple’a times when one of my marks’ whores saw me clip him, and by rights I should’ve killed her, and yet all I did was say some scary shit and leave, reckoning she wouldn’t say a word. I never told any of the Family about it, so I must’ve known it was wrong.
Is there somethin’ in this cold dead black place I used to call a heart? Is there really somethin’ left in there? Or is just that she’s got a cute face, a cute ass, cute tits and a cute cunt? I really have no goddamn idea.
When it’s two o’clock in the morning and no one’s attacked us, I take the bed, glad I made her sleep on the floor.
I need the rest.
Chapter Seven
Becky
I wake lying on the floor, murky autumn sunlight coming through the curtains. It takes a moment for the events of last night to become real. So for a few blessed moments, I just lie here, telling myself I’m aching because of the way I slept—in my own bed, in my own bedroom—and that today I’m going down to the studio and to do some painting. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, and then I’ll go down to the local college and ask about details for enrolling in an arts course. I’ll quit my job at the bakery—part-time now anyway since Dad promised me to that old perverted man Julian—and become an art student. Maybe I’ll become an illustrator…
Then I hear the shower in the next room and I remember that all of that is a pipe dream, remember what happened last night, a night which seemed to last for years. I roll over, working out the kinks in my body, and then remind myself that it’s better to be achy lying on blankets in a motel room than being achy lying on a cold concrete floor. Closing my eyes, I find myself reliving the moments of last night, which I immediately push away. I focus on other things instead, like how Chance touched me last night.
Did he know I was awake? Did he think I wouldn’t remember? I should be outraged. I really should be outraged. Part of me is. How dare he! And yet another part—a part I wasn’t sure existed until last night, when that random, crazed lust came over me—loves that he wasn’t sure if I was awake when he did it. He just did it. I remember how his hands felt on my body, efficient, grabbing, but I also heard him growling from the back of his throat. He was loving it, loving how I felt. I remember when he grabbed my pussy, his palm pressing into my clit, the pleasure moving through me. Without giving it any thought, I lie back down and slide my hand under the sweatpants. I’m not wearing any underwear. When my fingers find my pussy, they instantly get wet. I’m soaked just thinking about the way he touched me.
I remember how he turned me around, and how I followed his movements because I was so tired it was either that or stumble to my knees, and he just bent me forward and smoothed his hand over my ass, lathering the shower gel into it, but really just massaging it for his own pleasure. I remember how, as he was rubbing it, sometimes his finger would slide in between my ass cheeks and brush against my pussy. I suck my fingers, making them wet, and then slide two of my fingers deep into my wet pussy, blotting out the memories of last night, all of them except his hands all over my body. I keep thinking: He just touched me. He just touched me and didn’t care how I felt about it. I should hate him for that, but I find it incredibly sexy, me just bending and twisting for him, him just taking what he wants. I was putting on a show for him without even really trying.
I slide my fingers in and out of my pussy fast, loving how hot and wet it is already, far hotter and wetter than it’s been for any other man, in fantasy or reality. Then I slide my fingers out and press them against my clit, closing my eyes tight and focusing all my attention on remembering the feeling of him just casually cupping my pussy. I try and picture it: muscle-bound, serious-looking Chance with his hand casually pressed against my clit, growling with lust without even realizing it, not giving a damn if I even know what he’s doing. It’s so dirty, so bad, so wrong, that I—And then I feel the orgasm gathering and I know I can’t stop, even if I want to. Even if any moment Chance could walk in on me…maybe I want him to walk in on me.
I twist and writhe in the blankets, causing them to wrap around me, causing them to swaddle me. The pressure in my clit mounts, feeling like a wave of pleasure gathering just beyond my fingertips, waiting to be released. He touched me, groped me, rubbed my ass and grabbed my tits, all whilst I was semi-conscious. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong, and yet it feels to right, right, right…Arching my hips, the orgasm hits me. I rub my fingers with mad speed, pumping my arm, dragging my fingers up and down my pussy, the friction so hot now I feel like I’m on fire. I picture one image: me, bent forward, with Chance’s palm pressed against my clit, imagining that my fingers a
re his fingers. The pressure mounts—and then the pleasure is released, surging through me, causing my legs to vibrate spasmodically, euphoria flooding my head and making everything else disappear for a few precious seconds. I sink into the pleasure, burning, blankets sticking with sweat to my skin. And then, slowly, it abates, and I’m left lying on the blankets, panting.
After a moment, I lean up and look at the bathroom door. It seems like hours have passed lost in the pleasure, but the shower is still on, the door still closed. I disentangle myself from the blankets, removing my hand from my pussy, and try and figure out exactly what the hell is going on with me. Sitting up, leaning against the wall, I bring my knees to my chest and just sit here thinking, all whilst I hear Chance washing himself in the next room, my mind straying to what he might look like naked…
No, I tell myself. No. What the hell did I just do? I’ve touched myself before, of course, and I’ve even had a few men touch me, but that was before I was promised to Julian. But I’ve never imagined I would be into kinky stuff like a man fondling me when I was almost passed out. I wouldn’t be, I reason, if it was anybody other than Chance. But he saved me and—well, he’s handsome and sexy in a dark, kinda scary way. He reminds me of a jaguar, the way his movements are like stalking, big-cat movements, the way his eyes are full of violence and pain and yet, I’m sure, a little humanity, in that speck of blue in the dark brown. I’ve felt lust before, many times, but it’s always been tame, regular, vanilla lust. Never anything like this. I try and figure this out for a long time, why it would turn me on so much, but I just can’t settle on an answer. Maybe things like that can’t be properly answered, anyway. Maybe there are things going on in my body that just can’t be explained.
So my mind turns to other things, like how Dad sold me to Julian so that he could take my virginity. The thought makes me sick the more I think about it. I wonder, since Chance is a Family man, if I’ll now be turned back to the Family, to Dad, and he’ll give me back to Julian. Julian gave me to those men, I’m sure, but maybe he’ll want to have me to himself now his first plan—whatever sick plan that was—has failed. Julian is a disgusting old man and only wants me because I’m the typical Good Girl, because I’m a virgin. Ever since I was promised to him a few months ago, all I’ve heard from Dad is that I better not be partying, I better not be seeing boys, I better still be a virgin. Basically, I better spend the rest of my life being the Good Girl or there will be trouble.
I remember coming home tipsy one evening and Dad waiting in his armchair, staring at the door, drinking a glass of whisky. He’s never hit me, but that night I thought he might. “Where’ve you been, out drinking with your whore friends?” When I lied and said no, he jumped to his feet and ranted and raved and broke drawers and roared at me that the Capo won’t want damaged goods, that I have to stay safe, have to remain the Good Girl, until the twisted wedding day. Sitting here, head still light with the release of my orgasm, I realize the only way to truly mess up Dad’s plans, Julian’s plans, is to stop being the Good Girl. Maybe this is just an excuse to act in a way I’d never normally act, or maybe nineteen is just too old to be pushing away lust at every turn, I don’t know. All I know is I’m sick and tired of people telling me how to behave!
Even so, I feel scared as I stand up and go to Chance’s bed. What if he thinks I look silly? What if he laughs at me? What if he knows about Julian wanting me because I’m a virgin? What if I really did dream last night and he has no interest in me in that way? I’m so nervous my mouth goes dry, my legs begin to shake, but I’ve spent so long letting my nerves, Dad’s expectations, the Capo’s disgusting desires get the better of me, I think it’s time I acted on my own desires—even if my own desires might be as confusing as all the rest of it.
I mean to arrange myself on his bed in some sexy way, maybe take off my clothes and lay a blanket over me like they do in the movies, or maybe get under the covers and strip naked and wait for him to join me. I stand near the bed for several minutes thinking about the best way to arrange myself. I’ve never done anything like this before. Sure, I fooled around with boys, but it’s always been the awkward spontaneity of teenagers, never a performance like this. I feel stupid as I lie down on the bed, on my side, staring at the bathroom door. I’m about to get undress and pull the blanket over me—which Chance has left crumpled up in the corner of the mattress—when I hear the shower cut off and Chance’s footsteps coming toward the door. This is my chance, I tell myself, my chance not to play by anybody’s rules but my own. It doesn’t matter if I’m scared; scared is better than numb.
The door creaks open and Chance walks in with just a towel wrapped around his waist. If I had any doubts about my attraction toward him, they’re gone now. His chest is covered in scars, crisscrossed all over him, his bulging pectoral muscles overlaid with them, his flat sheet of abs stenciled with even more. Even his massive arm muscles have got a couple. All of them are old, pale. Most of all I notice the way his cock, when he looks at me even with my clothes on, goes instantly hard, pitching the towel up, an urgent throbbing tent of blue fabric.
He offers me a cocky grin, or Chance’s version of a cocky grin, which is still somehow serious and deadly. “So,” he says, “You wanna thank me for savin’ you? Is that it?”
He must just think it’s a joke, because he makes as though to go to the corner of the room, where the clothes are. But I don’t want him dressed! I leap across the room, startling him and myself, and then wrap my arms around his shoulders and lean in for a kiss. Pressing my lips against his, I reach down and grab his cock, the towel falling away. His cock is pleasantly large, and already rock-hard for me.
Chapter Eight
Chance
I didn’t expect a sarcastic comment to get her over here like a horny slut, all gagging and moaning for me to fuck her. But I’m not about to turn down the piece of ass I was admirin’ so much last night. She starts kissin’ me, but I’ve never been the kissin’ type, so I just grab her and lift her off her feet. She makes that cute O with her mouth again, letting out a squeal of surprise. The T-shirt she’s wearing is baggy and so are the sweatpants. I ain’t interested in either. I toss her down on the bed. She bounces up and down on the mattress, giggling, but also moaning. I’m so fuckin’ horny right now I hardly know what sound she’s making. All I know is my cock is so hard it might explode if I don’t bury it in that perfect tight cunt. She doesn’t ask me to stop or nothin’, so I reckon she doesn’t mind if I take the lead.
I’m so hungry for her I end up tearing her T-shirt away from her, ripping the fabric. I yank her sweatpants off so both of us are naked. She’s lying there, on her back, lookin’ up at me with that cute, naïve expression. I reach down and grab her by the hips, flip her over so that her legs are pointing straight down, her tits pressed into the mattress, her ass peachy as fuck with her legs like that.
“Stay like that,” I tell her, hardly able to form words. Fuck, but I’m mad with lust. Don’t reckon I’ve ever been this horny in my life. She shivers, craning her neck and lookin’ at me with a face like she’s scared and wantin’ it at the same time. Her cheeks are all flushed.
I lean over her, looking down at that perfect ass, a shadowed spot between her ass and where her legs are closed just beggin’ for my hard cock to slide into it. Pressing my hand down on her back—pushin’ her into the mattress, squashing her—I slide my cock inside of her. She’s damn tight, holy fuckin’ Christ, the tightest cunt I’ve ever slid into in my life. I feel her opening around my cock, actually fuckin’ opening like a fist going soft as I press into her. She gasps, but I barely hear it. All I know right now is the look of her tiny, peachy ass twitching and shifting as my massive cock slides inside of her. I’m shocked that she can take it all, right up to the balls, that there’s that much space in a cunt that tight. Her hole is hot around my cock, hot and wet, the sweetest fuckin’ feelin’ there is.
Then, when I slide out of her, I can’t think anymore. I can’t think about anyt
hing. I look down at her ass cheeks, my abs pressing into them with each thrust. There’s somethin’ beautiful about that, the way they’re peachy one second and then flat and fleshy the next. I drill into her, not wanting to wait and take it slow, just wanting to fuck her as hard as I can. She moans, bouncing, but I can’t pay much attention to that. I’m too captivated by that tight ass, this tight, tight cunt. I fuck her harder, harder, so hard that the bed begins to scream like it’s gonna break, so hard that she buries her face in the sheets and cries out. She reaches back and grabs my hips, her hand clawing at me as I drill her tight cunt. I’m like an animal. I can’t think. All I see, all that exists, is that tight cunt and those ass cheeks. Propping myself up with one hand, I reach down and start massaging her ass cheeks, grabbing the flesh, bringing my finger near the hole and rubbing around it. Then she twists her body around, moves her hand to my finger, and gives it a nudge.
This girl’s a dirty little whore…I push my forefinger into her asshole up to the first knuckle. She’s so tight I can feel my finger through the skin of her cunt, against my cock, like I’m jerkin’ myself at the same time as fuckin’ her. I can’t think. All I can do is drill into her. I slide all the way out once, aim, and then fall onto her with all my weight and strength, with so much force that the whole fuckin’ bed-frame just collapses, the legs snapping, sending us toppling down to the floor. But that don’t stop me. Nothin’ can stop me. I don’t know how long I fuck her, but all at once I feel the tip of my cock start to tingle like crazy, getting hotter the more I plunge balls-deep into this perfect cunt. I pound into her some more, and then the tinglin’ gets too much and I lean forward, pressing both my hands down on her ass cheeks, and come for the longest time I’ve ever come before, fuckin’ emptying myself into her hole.
