by Cook, Lori
How long? She had no idea. His hands dug even deeper into her ass, and he pulled her a little further down onto him. Then he finally slid his tongue inside her. She spread her legs until they could go no further, feeling her ass stretch and her crotch open up to him at its fullest.
His tongue was soon prodding and pushing the walls of her pussy, the heat from his mouth and lips heavy on the flesh all around her sex. He was sucking her in, loving the feeling of her in his mouth. You can’t fake that. You can’t do it for the camera. He adored the taste and smell of her, the softness of her against his mouth. And the thought of it almost made her come.
After what seemed like an age, he drew his tongue all the way up her sex, keeping the pressure steady, as if her was slowly eating her alive. He was using both his lips on her now, lapping up the juice, swallowing it down and moaning to himself.
He couldn’t pull her ass any further apart, so he pulled her down closer still, until his mouth, wide open and greedy for her, covered the whole of her sex. His tongue ploughed up and down her, making little swirling, darting motions as it went, pushing into the creases between the folds of her lips, then suddenly losing itself deep inside.
She was bucking hard, and he had to hold her tight to keep her sex rooted to his face. Whenever he moved up to suck her clit she exploded, half suffocating him, her ass pushing into him so hard that he had to gasp for air.
His cock was all the way inside her mouth, but she was hardly conscious of it. He didn’t seem to care either. He was getting off on her pussy alone; that much was clear. Meanwhile, she had begun to lose sensation in her legs, and she was a mass of shivering mini-orgasms and sudden flashes of irresistible pain that sent her body rigid, bringing tears to her eyes.
She found herself talking. Telling him to stop? To carry on? He was going faster and faster, tongue-fucking her with such ferocity that it felt as if he was going to split her in two.
“Now,” she said, forcing herself out from underneath him. “Do it now or I’m gonna die.”
For a second or two he seemed confused, as if he’d been dragged from the best, wettest dream of his life. The taste of her pussy was heavy in his mouth, and he was visibly trembling, his cock rock hard, glistening and ready.
He pushed her over, grabbing a rubber from somewhere or other, then knelt behind her. He took her hard. No gentleness, no pretence. He entered her all the way, his hips slapping into her rear end, ramming hard into her from the start.
“Now, now, now...” she said, her arms sinking down onto the bed, her face pushed into the quilt.
With each thrust she felt the tension spread from her groin and up into her stomach, burning hot and uncontrollable. He was withdrawing his cock almost completely with each stroke, and each time he reentered her she gasped with the physical shock of it. She could hear the crackle of their juices, and she imagined the wings of her beautiful pink butterfly forced open again and again. And she loved it.
His hands were squeezing her ass, sinking into the flesh as if he wanted to tear her apart, as if his desire for her could only be satisfied if he opened her up entirely and entered her in every possible way.
She could feel his balls slamming into her belly as he thrust faster and faster, a low growl coming from his throat. He was pumping her so hard that all she felt was a massive buzzing, burning sensation within.
She cried to herself with giddy whelps of pain as the fire inside her escalated. She knew exactly how to end it, too. Squeezing her eyes closed, she waited for him, her body shaking uncontrollably as the flood of pain-pleasure became so intense it felt as if something must have broken inside her.
When he came he emitted a long series of “oooh” sounds, his fucking gradually slowing down. But the big, hard thrusts continued. He was still loving it, riding through his ejaculation, letting her know just how much he was still lusting for her. There was no quick exit, though. He didn’t want to stop.
As his strokes got slower, he seemed to quiver, bringing himself to more and more peaks of pleasure as he drove himself back into her, again and again.
Now, she told herself.
She reached down, her hand trembling, and found her clit. He was slowing down now. By the time she’d started working the tip of her finger into it she knew she was almost there.
Just a handful of seconds later she screamed, burying her mouth deep into the bed as she came. She jerked backwards, smashing her ass into him.
But instead of stopping, she forced her finger to keep pushing the little button, taking herself higher and higher, her face screwed up in agony. With the other hand she reached back and spread her pussy. Not that he needed an invitation. He was turned on by her orgasms. He took his cock in his hand and rubbed the head against her gaping sex, watching with amazement as she fingered herself.
With one final effort, he pushed himself back into. Her legs went into one last, blinding spasm. Then her body flopped down onto the bed. It was over.
She twisted and turned, both her fists pushing down into her crotch, as if protecting herself from further pleasure, the physical limits of her lust already reached.
He looked down at her, there on the bed in front of him. Then, overcome by exhaustion, he dropped down next to her, not quite believing what he’d just experienced.
His face was lightly covered in sweat, and he felt the cool air on his skin. That had been incredible, he told himself, a smile spreading across his face. She was amazing. The best pickup, the very best ever. Period. And it wasn’t over yet. In twenty minutes he’d be good to go again. And with this one, he was gonna take it as far as it would go.
He must have dozed off. When he awoke, she was straddling him, moving her hips very slowly up and down. She’d gotten another rubber onto him, and even now, as he opened his eyes, he could feel his cock stiff and hard inside her.
She looked down at him.
“Just a little post-coital TLC,” she whispered. “Close your eyes. I need to come again. Let me screw you back to sleep, baby.”
She wasn’t lying. The afterglow of her orgasms had persisted as she lay there and rested on the bed. And now, with those little irregular waves of pleasure continuing deep inside her, she was going to have him again.
She rocked backwards and forwards, remembering how he’d entered her with big, forceful thrusts, and the way he’d squeezed and pummeled her ass, sucking her pussy until it felt like it was disintegrating. But most of all she remembered that beautiful penis.
You have one lovely cock, Brad! she said to herself. What was next for me, Bad Daddy? What would you have done to me?
On she went, rising up and letting herself sink down onto him, feeling his hotness push into her, and imagining that fat purple head full of blood, quivering and straining, sending him out of his mind.
She wanted to suck him off again, to feel him deep in her mouth. But there wasn’t time. The Cardinal would be waiting, and his patience wasn’t infinite.
Brad was drifting between ecstasy and sleep, a strange, angelic look on his face.
She slid carefully off him and took his cock in her hand, rubbing its thick head against her pussy one last time, up over the clitoris and all the way down again. Shuddering, she let it rest against her sex.
Then she reached down onto the floor beside the bed and got a small aluminum box from her jacket pocket. It was about the size of a pack of cigarettes. She weighed it in her hand for a second, then opened it.
The room filled immediately with a sour, chemical smell. He murmured, opening his eyes to find a damp cloth covering his mouth and nose.
He shook his head, wide-eyed, arms rising up. But she held the cloth there with both hands, pushing down with all her weight.
One, two, three seconds, and his arms dropped.
He was out cold.
Chapter Three
“All set?” the Cardinal asks.
She nods, the heavy door of the black Mercedes clunking shut behind her as she sits in the passenger seat.
They’ll be in Phoenix in ninety minutes, and a few hours after that they’ll be two time zones away. Nobody will ever know they’ve been here.
As they drive, she looks in the mirror, watching as the small, single-story building they’ve just left recedes into the distance. She has no idea who owns it. The Cardinal had found it, telling her that nobody ever came there. The place smelled of decay, as if it had been abandoned years ago. Even after they’d fixed it up inside a bit, the stink of old dust and neglect was pungent in the air. Not that it mattered. You can’t smell dust on-line...
His eyes open a fraction. There’s a tiny dot of red light.
Immediately, a wave of exhaustion washes over him. His eyes close. That light? What was it?
There’s a fuzziness to his thoughts, like a bad hangover, but without the headache. He forces himself to look again. His eyelids feel heavy, as if there are stones sitting on them. The red light is still hovering in the air, high up in front of him.
The fuzziness dispels quickly as panic sets in. Where the hell is he? He twists his head, finds it difficult to move. Tries a shoulder. A leg. He can’t.
His body jerks as the panic intensifies. He feels the restraints on various points of his body. He is tied to a bed, and he can’t move.
And he can hear his own voice.
What the f...?
His own voice?
Definitely. Groaning. Wincing. Crying...
To his right, three feet away, is a small, beat-up table. On the table is a laptop, and it’s playing a video. The video is of him and Carol in the hotel room. It’s the second camera, the one that took in the whole bed and nothing else.
As he strains to focus, he sees his stiffened penis disappear into her mouth. He hears his own wince of delight, and on the screen he sees himself arch his back, both hands up behind his head.
God, he remembers her doing that to him. For a second or two he’s lost in the memory of it, transfixed by the vision of such recent pleasure, now right before his eyes. He feels his cock twitch as he sees himself thrusting in and out of her mouth, and he notices that she’s reaching down and playing with her pussy as she sucks him off; she was really into it, he tells himself, just amazingly horny, the best pickup...
Jesus! Where am I?
He looks around the room. Light comes from a large window on one side, which has a stained bed sheet draped across it. The place is old and run down, like a shed that no one’s used for a couple of decades. The bed he’s on is hard and narrow, although the sheet itself is brilliant white, crisp, shop-fresh. The bands which keep him there are thick, rounded leather, and seem to puncture the mattress itself, running right through and under the frame of the bed. Ankles, knees, wrists, and neck. He’s not getting out of this on his own.
He turns his attention back to the laptop. He can hear his own groans escalating, and he can see his rigid penis dripping with her saliva, a sticky purple rod that she clearly loves having in her mouth, grasping it at the base and steering it in and out, her tongue going wild.
He looks around, at the window, at the cracked walls, the dust everywhere … It’s a game. It’s gotta be. What is this place? Her basement? No; the window. A shed, then? She must have drugged him and somehow got him into her shed. Dirty bitch. The video? How did she get that? She must have known about the cameras in the hotel room...
Then, as his on-screen moans reach a crescendo, he realizes something: his face is visible on the video footage. She whips his cock out of her mouth just in time. He ejaculates violently, three great squirts of white semen shooting onto the carpet, his face twisted in agony, and more come running down her hand and the shaft of his cock.
The sordid bitch! She’ll be coming in through the door at any moment, he tells himself, as he feels his cock stiffening. She’s gonna come in and have her fill again. The thought of it makes him as hard as hell, yet nervous at the same time.
“Hello?” he says. “Hello? Are you there?”
Nothing.
He shouts again, louder. Still nothing.
He lies there, breathing a little heavily, his heartbeat heavy in his chest. Over on the laptop he’s now kneeling in front of her, sucking her tits. She’s got her eyes closed as he works on them gently.
“Carol? Yo, Carol!”
He pauses, waits for any sign of life, the sound of a door, footsteps, anything.
“I get it, OK! I’m ready, for christsake, I’m ready for you! Let’s do it!”
Nothing.
There’s just the sound of the two of them on the hotel bed, the faint click of saliva as he sucks her nipples, and her light, fluttering breaths as she coos and sighs in appreciation.
Then he remembers the little red light high up on the wall opposite. He struggles to make it out, but after a while he thinks he sees a video camera.
“Hey, you!” he says, looking right at the source of the red light. “Stop your games and get in here.” He looks down, sees his erection start to fade slightly. “Now, baby. I’m ready for you, I’m...”
Not a sound.
He twists his head. Smells the ancient dust in the air.
There’s something wrong.
He listens hard, trying to block out the sound of the video. There’s nothing. No traffic noise, no dogs barking in the distance, nothing. All he has for company is the video of the two of them screwing. His best pickup ever.
The bastard! She’s trying to scare him, he tells himself. Must be a turn-on for her...
He struggles to stay calm, looking at the laptop and watching as he lies on his back and she straddles him. His hands grip her butt cheeks hard, pulling them apart to reveal her soft, glorious pussy, glistening with juice.
His penis is hard again now. He can’t help it. He watches, desperate to jack off, twisting in his restraints, knowing that there’s no way he can get an arm loose.
His erection is aching as he stares at the screen, watching himself lapping her fantastic sex, his fingers digging deep into her butt cheeks...
And she’s watching me, he tells himself, glancing from time to time at the tiny red light high on the wall. Damn it! She’s watching as I lie here in helpless agony. And she’s enjoying every second of it!
But he is wrong. She will never see him again. At this precise moment she is walking through the sliding doors of yet another airport, her job done.
Several million others, though, would see him. Because the footage from that camera was being streamed live into BAD-DADDY-PICKUP.COM. People across the globe would witness the events in that abandoned shack in the Arizona desert.
They would watch, mesmerized, confused and horrified, staring at their screens, unable to look away, the pickup master writhing in agony and fear. But also in ecstasy. Because it had been, without a doubt, his best pickup ever.
It would also be Bad Daddy’s last post.
Chapter Four
They said good-bye at Phoenix Airport.
“Anywhere nice?” the Cardinal asked, already looking around, keen to be off.
“Not sure, might go to Europe for a while,” she said.
“Venice is nice this time of year.”
Carol smiled. He was right. She’d spent enough time in Venice to know when to go and when there were just too many tourists and too much rain.
“Well, I’ll be in touch,” he said.
A brief nod and he was off in the direction of the British Airways lounge.
She looked down. In her hand was a ticket to New York. A few days in the Big Apple?
No, she didn’t feel like it. Not the place to relax. There’s a certain mind-set that you need to really enjoy New York. It’s a combination of childlike enthusiasm and a selfish, no-nonsense kind of determination. W
herever you decide to go, MOMA, the Village Vanguard, some tiny Ethiopian restaurant that only the very most knowledgeable food nut would know about... Whatever you do, you have to go there with a sort of irrepressible eagerness, a willingness to ignore everything other than your own goals. Damn the traffic, the lines, the prices; take no heed of other people, crowding you out, everyone noisy and unapologetic. New York requires more than simply your presence. It demands your acquiescence, your willing surrender.
The East Coast would have to wait. She thought about Brad, left in the desert, squealing at his own sex video. That image of him was playing on her mind. She knew he deserved it. She also knew that he wouldn’t die. With the Cardinal, the punishment was always exactly proportionate to the crime. In a day or two a call would be made to the local sheriff’s office, and sometime later a very tired, frightened Bad Daddy would be led out into the sunlight, wondering what the hell had just happened to him, and with no idea how he was going to explain it to the smirking sheriff.
She let the idea go, sensing in herself a sudden physical lethargy. Was it a dip in her blood sugar? Perhaps, or just the inevitable drop in spirits following a job which, if she were to be honest, had been pure pleasure.
One way or the other, then, she didn’t feel like having fun. So she turned and looked for the cabs, deciding to do what she always did when she felt a little down and deflated: hole-up somewhere expensive and blow a couple of grand on room service.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right,” she said, twenty minutes later, having asked for a smoking room and remembering that most five-star hotels are smoke-free these days.
“Luggage?” the young girl on the desk asked.
“Just this,” Carol said, indicating a small titanium case beside her on the floor. “And can you send up some cranberry juice and some chilled Vodka—Stolichnaya blue if possible—plus seafood, crayfish, lobster, whatever you’ve got.”
