


Pretty Baby

by slyc_willie



Category: Novels and Novellas
Published: 2006-11-21
Updated: 2006-12-21
Packaged: 2017-04-24 21:52:17
Chapters: 6
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/pretty-baby-ch-01
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=748325&page=submissions
Summary: <p>1. She was born to please you.</p>
<p>2. Alyssa is inducted into a new life.</p>
<p>3. Alyssa learns that passion carries a price.</p>
<p>4. Alyssa's moving on - and moving up.</p>
<p>5. The greatest love can spawn the greatest evil.</p>
<p>6. Alyssa returns - and must make a choice.</p>
Erotica Tags: Blackmail, Court, Drama, Motel, Novels and Novellas, Oral
Average Rating: 4.78





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Pretty Baby Ch. 01

Pretty Baby Ch. 02

Pretty Baby Ch. 03

Pretty Baby Ch. 04

Pretty Baby Ch. 05

Pretty Baby Ch. 06




        Pretty Baby Ch. 01


_The journey begins._  
  
**Part One: From Innocence Born**  
  
The summer between high school graduation and my first semester of college, I
took a job in the mall at a casual-dining restaurant. I had never waited
tables before, but caught on pretty quickly. I had always been friendly and a
little outgoing, and even though I had rarely spent too much time around guys
(I attended an all-girl Catholic high school), I wasn't too awkward at
flirting and got better as time went on.  
  
Being young, blonde, pretty and slender, and blessed with my father's good
work ethic, I did well at my new job. I made some friends, earned some regular
guests (we don't call them 'customers' in the restaurant biz) and made more
money than I thought I would. Like a lot of kids, I was clueless about how
much money a waiter or waitress could make, and was pretty impressed the first
time I took home a hundred bucks after a five-hour shift.  
  
The money helped a lot, since my parents didn't have much money to throw
around. They paid my tuition, but it was up to me to pay for everything else.
Not wanting to stay at home (it was too far from school), I got a little
efficiency apartment of my own, and my bills and all other incidental costs
ate up most of what I made.  
  
By the time classes started and I bought all my books and school supplies, I
realized I wasn't making as much money as I thought I was. I wanted to buy a
car, since I hated getting up two hours early just to take the bus to school,
but dreaded the prospect of a car payment and insurance and gas and . . . .  
  
_Anyway_.  
  
It was just a couple of weeks into the fall semester. I had fallen into a
routine of going to class during the day, then heading to the mall and hanging
out for a couple of hours, having lunch, window-shopping and reading books at
the Barnes &amp; Noble, before reporting to work at four o'clock. I worked
five days a week, Wednesday through Sunday, mostly night shifts. While I
enjoyed the occasional hundred-dollar night, most days I usually made about
half that. Still, waiting tables was better than standing behind a counter and
asking 'you want regular or curly-fries?'  
  
On this particular day – a Wednesday, I remember – I sat at a table in the
mall's food court around two in the afternoon, reading my notes from class and
munching on chicken fried rice. The dress code at the restaurant called for
blue jeans and a yellow polo shirt with the company logo on it. The jeans I
was wearing; the shirt and my balled-up apron were stuffed in my backpack, as
always, and I wore a simple green tank. I was just another girl in the crowd,
I figured.  
  
At one point, I looked up, cracking my neck and popping my back as I twisted
in my chair. Going over the basics of economics had become repetitive, to the
point where I wasn't even ingesting the words I had jotted down or those
printed in the text book. I needed a break, a diversion . . . .  
  
I saw them standing by the little hallway in the food court that lead to the
bathrooms. A tall, skinny blonde guy and a shorter, if equally skinny
Hispanic. I didn't think either of them were more than a few years older than
I. They wore nice clothes, sported expensive watches and had good hair cuts.
_Regular studs_, I thought. I had seen a lot of guys like that since I started
waiting tables. They always flirted with me.  
  
But these guys weren't flirting. They were staring. And grinning. And not
exactly in a 'hey, you're pretty cute' kind of way. It was more like a 'I
wanna do dirty, disgusting things with you' kind of way.  
  
I looked away from them, dropping my head and staring down at my plate. I
didn't like the way they were _leering _at me (that was a word my father
always used when describing 'disreputable' boys). I felt suddenly self-
conscious in my tight jeans and tank. I only wore clothes like that because
that's what all the other girls wore, and I wanted to blend in. Suddenly, I
wished I had on a big, loose sweater and an ankle-length skirt.  
  
The guys I worked with – all of them older than me – flirted with me a lot,
and I always flirted back, but it was all harmless. Having had practically no
experience with boys – beyond a little kissing and some touchy-feely at inter-
school dances – I was nervous about dating. My strong Christian background
compelled me to think of sex as nothing more than a means of procreation, not
something to be indulged in casually. I always figured that I would lose my
virginity on my wedding night and be a good wife and mother, just like my mom.  
  
So, while inexperienced, I wasn't naïve, and I could pretty much tell what
those two boys were thinking. That made me feel both mad, and . . . and
something else. Something that made my face warm and brought a little tingle
to my crotch, right on that little button that I sometimes rubbed at night,
alone in my room, thinking about Leonardo DiCaprio. _God, was he sexy _. . . .  
  
After an eternity and a half, I looked back up and saw that the boys had left.
_Thank God_. I really had to go to the bathroom – I was dancing in the plastic
chair – but I had been afraid to get up while the boys were standing by the
hallway to the restrooms. Seizing my chance, I grabbed my bag and quick-
stepped down the corridor, pushing open the door to the ladies' room and
finding an unoccupied stall.  
  
I sighed as I relieved myself, wiped, flushed, washed my hands in the sink and
applied some powder. I prided myself on my appearance. I had practically
flawless skin and knew that most guys considered me a 'hottie.' My blonde hair
was long, straight, and very fine, reaching almost to my waist. I always
thought my hips were too narrow, and I didn't like my pear-shaped breasts with
their big, puffy areolas. I felt suddenly self-conscious in my tight shirt.
Even with my bra, my nipples showed.  
  
I checked the time on my cell phone – I had about an hour before I had to get
to work – and figured I would head down to the Kincaid Gallery and look at
some of the pieces by the Master of Light that I could not yet afford.  
  
I stepped out into the hallway . . . and there they were. The same two guys,
flanking the hall just before it angled back toward the food court. They
looked like they had been waiting for me, considering their lecherous grins
and they way they nodded to each other.  
  
I swallowed nervously, my heart hammering. Shouldering my backpack, I started
to walk between them—  
  
"Hey, honey."  
  
I froze, automatically looking to the Hispanic guy. I knew instantly that I
should not have done that. I should have kept going. Salvation was a turn of
the heel and thirty feet away. I could hear the buzz of a dozen conversations
in the food court, mingled with the tinny music wafting out from hidden
speakers. I could find safety and anonymity in the crowd. But here, in this
hallway, it was just me and these two boys.  
  
I met the Hispanic guy's eyes. He wasn't much taller than me, maybe five-
seven, and he had that overly self-confident look that always kind of bothered
me. 'Smooth,' was the term. I hated smooth.  
  
"What's your name, baby?" he asked.  
  
I knew I should have just kept going. What could they really do, anyway? But
there was something about him – or maybe something about me – that kept me
rooted to the floor. "Alyssa," I said, and nervousness spiked again,
especially when I caught the tall blonde guy from the corner of my eye,
stepping closer. "U-um, I gotta get going. M-my boyfriend's waiting for me."  
  
The Hispanic guy chuckled. "Your boyfriend, huh?"  
  
I swallowed again, my mouth dry. I wished I hadn't left my Diet Coke on the
table. "Uh-huh."  
  
"So what'cha gonna go do with your boyfriend, huh?" he asked, sliding closer.  
  
"N-nothing," I said, dumbly. My heart was pounding, my mind filled with awful
images of pain and blood and screaming. Still, I was conscious of a sense of
arousal, of a growing dampness between my legs. I never felt that except late
at night, in my bed, looking at 'Leo's' gorgeous pictures in _YM _or _People_.
Why the hell was I feeling it now?  
  
_Oh Mary, Mother of Grace . . . ._  
  
"'Nothing?'" quipped the Hispanic guy. My eyes danced for a moment to the tall
blonde, who looked me over the way a scientist inspects his latest lab
specimen. He smiled thinly, licking his lips.  
  
"W-well—"  
  
"I bet Mr. Jackson could give you something to do."  
  
I turned back to the Hispanic guy, frowning. "Who?"  
  
They both laughed, their voices echoing a moment in the empty hall. "Mr.
Jackson," repeated the Hispanic guy, pulling his hand from his pocket. He held
a twenty-dollar bill in his hand. "Don't you know our tenth president?"  
  
I frowned. I had always been a good student, and knew my history. "He was the
seventh," I corrected him.  
  
He chuckled, glancing to his friend. "Hey, she's a smart one," he said.  
  
The blonde sneered. "Smart and hot," he returned.  
  
Now I was feeling really nervous. I didn't have to have graduated summa cum
laude to know what these guys wanted. But I felt like I couldn't get away. The
blonde guy was behind me, the Hispanic blocking my escape to the food court.
Unless I screamed for help, or someone else came down the hall – and at three
o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon, traffic in the mall was light, I knew – I
was on my own.  
  
"Hear that?" asked the Hispanic guy. "My friend Rick thinks you're hot. So do
I."  
  
Dread filled me. "Please, I gotta get to work," I pleaded.  
  
The Hispanic guy reached out and nudged my chin with his fingers. I flinched
at his touch. "What time you gotta be at work?"  
  
"R-right now," I said. "I'm gonna be late!"  
  
He chuckled. "Mr. Jackson says it's okay to be late," he said, looking me over
like a toy he couldn't wait to play with. He pulled another twenty from his
pocket. "In fact, he says it twice."  
  
I was scared, mortified, and trapped. Rationally, I know I could have called
for help, or broke into a run and escaped them. But at the moment, I felt
cornered and unable to do anything other than go along with what they wanted.  
  
"Wh-what do you want?" I asked, not looking at his face, my eyes dropping to
his Tommy Hilfiger shirt.  
  
He grinned, cast his eyes around briefly, then leaned close. "I want you to
suck my dick," he said in a rude whisper.  
  
I trembled, and winced. But as those words filtered through my mind . . .
_'suck my dick' _. . . I felt the dampness between my thighs growing, becoming
a trickle that soaked into my panties. I suddenly imagined wrapping my mouth
around a stiff, warm penis. I hated to admit it, but I was getting turned on.  
  
I fought the feeling down and forced myself to meet his lecherous gaze.
"N-no," I said, but I sounded much less adamant than I had wanted to.  
  
He looked amused. 'Rick' chuckled behind me, and reached out to touch my hair.
I recoiled, stepped away, and Mr. Suck My Dick grabbed my arm. "Hey, baby,
don't be like that," he said in a suave tone, pulling me against him. I
whimpered, struggled with less effort than I should have. "No need to get
nasty, right?"  
  
I caught the undertone in his voice right away. I realized I had two options:
give in, do what they wanted, or resist, and be raped. I whimpered again.  
  
"Hey, Miguel, I think she gets it now," said Rick.  
  
Miguel chuckled, and jerked me close, breathing in my ear before his tongue
flicked out to lick it. I whimpered. The heat and moisture in my panties was
growing. "Yeah, you get it, baby, don't you? Hey, it's no big deal. Not like
you never gone down before, right? And we're gonna pay you, anyway . . . ."  
  
He trailed off as he dragged me to the men's room. I stumbled beside him,
meekly giving in, even as I felt myself getting more and more turned on. I had
never done anything sexual in my life aside from kissing and touching a boy's
leg. Once, and only once, I had touched a penis through thick layers of denim.  
  
I had always been nervous and skittish when it came to any kind of physical
intimacy. Secretly, I had always wanted to experience the many varied and
pleasurable ways of having sex, and when my older brother still lived at home,
I had sneaked peeks at his collection of dirty magazines. Some had been very
explicit, showing young girls with their mouths wrapped around penises and
dripping with thick white fluid. My fantasies of Leonardo DiCaprio always
ended with feeling that same stuff dripping down my chin. I always wondered
what it tasted like.  
  
And, now, suddenly, in a way I had never expected, I was about to find out.  
  
I was pulled through the door of the men's room, across grimy tile, to the
last of three stalls. Miguel pushed me down – not too rough, but firmly – onto
the closed toilet lid and unzipped his fly. I stared at his crotch, breathing
hard in both fear and anticipation. I was about to see a real penis for the
first time, I realized.  
  
And there it was. Sticking out through his fly. Stiff, brown, curved upward
and a little to the right, with a dark, spade-shaped head and a little oozing
slit that glistened with clear fluid. Miguel dug into his jeans and pulled out
his hairy testicles as well, making them bunch up around the base of his
penis.  
  
"For forty bucks, _chica_," he said, taking my hand and slapping the money
into my palm. He reached for my head with both hands and pulling me toward his
musky groin. "You better go all the way."  
  
_Go all the way_? I wondered, even as his cock slipped into my mouth. _What
does that mean?_  
  
"Oh, baby, yeahhhh," he moaned, moving his hips, sliding his penis in and out
of my mouth. I had never tasted a penis before, and had no frame of reference
for the salty, sweet, musky flavor that soaked into my senses, nor the way
that stiff tube of flesh rubbed against my tongue and the roof of my mouth. I
tasted something sweet and oily on my tongue. Inexperienced as I was, I
clamped down and sucked hard.  
  
"Ouch!" Miguel grunted, jerking back. His cock popped out of my mouth, shiny
and wet. My lips dripped with saliva. I realized with wonder that my mouth was
watering.  
  
"Damn, girl!" he exclaimed, staring down at me in consternation. "This ain't
your momma's tit! Suck it soft, okay? And don't use your teeth! Shit! Ain't
you never give a blow job before?"  
  
_'Blow job_.' The term seemed alien, even though I had heard it before, of
course. I blushed, feeling embarrassed, as if I was somehow less than a woman
for being so inexperienced. "Sorry," I said, and licked my lips. "I'll do
better."  
  
It amazes me now, how eager I was to satisfy this man. Had things gone sour, I
could have been bent over the toilet and screaming in pain as I bled all over
his cock. But that thought did not enter my mind at the time. I only wanted to
be good at what I was doing . . . and what I was doing was sucking the first
penis my tongue had ever tasted.  
  
"You better, baby," he groaned, and thrust back into my mouth. I tasted him
again, felt his length between my lips, his fleshy weight on my tongue. I
opened my jaw, locked my lips around the warm, pulsing shaft, and rubbed my
tongue back and forth against the underside. I felt more of that oily fluid
leak out. I discovered that I liked the flavor.  
  
"Oh, baby . . . ." Miguel moaned, running his fingers through my hair. He
stood still, and I took that as encouragement. My body tingled as he massaged
my scalp – it reminded me, strangely, of when my mom used to wash my hair –
and I heard myself moan. Mimicking what I had seen in my brother's porn
magazines, I glided my lips back and forth, sucking gently but firmly,
swirling my tongue round and round and round . . . .  
  
The sensation, and the knowledge, that I had a penis in my mouth – _I'm
sucking dick! Giving a blow job! _– thrilled me in ways I had never
anticipated. The moistness in my panties became a river of my own sweet nectar
as I worked on his shaft. There came that slow tingling rise of what I had
always thought of as 'buzzing,' since I always felt a long, static sensation
whenever I came. And I wasn't even touching myself!  
  
I felt every little pulse and jerk and throb of Miguel's erection, loved the
taste of that sweet fluid that dripped out onto my eager tongue. Wanting more,
I slipped back until just the spongy head was in my mouth, and brought up my
hand. Miguel shuddered in pleasure, gripping my head tighter in his hands as I
squeezed and stroked his shaft. I moaned at receiving yet more of that candy-
like cream.  
  
_This doesn't taste bad at all_, I thought, sucking harder and harder, pulling
on Miguel's tense cock, squeezing the base with my hand as I pumped my mouth
back and forth. _Why have I always heard that cum tastes nasty? This stuff is
sweet! I could lick it up all day—_  
  
And then Miguel was shaking and moaning, pushing his cock deeper into my
mouth, all the way to my throat. "Oh, fuck yeah!" he gasped, humping my face.
"Take it, baby! Uhnnnn . . . ."  
  
My eyes flashed open. _'Take it?_' I gagged and jerked my head back, almost
retching, as the first thick surge of warm fluid flowed across my tongue. My
senses were lit up by the flavor. It wasn't anything at all like the sticky
clear essence I had been enjoying. This stuff was runny, dry, bitter, and a
little caustic. Still, there was something about it, something primal and
naughty and attractive about the taste that made me excited.  
  
And I thought: _He's cumming! He's . . . he's ejaculating right in my mouth!_  
  
Before I knew what was happening, I felt my pussy spasm, the rush spreading
out from my groin and traveling rapidly through my body. I was shocked and
startled that, even as I realized I had brought a man to orgasm with my mouth
– and _in _my mouth! -- I was cumming as well.  
  
I shook and moaned and whimpered around Miguel's twitching dick, feeling some
of his warm fluid seep out over my lower lip, down my chin, to drip audibly to
the floor below. Miguel was lost to ecstasy, plunging into my mouth, making
his cock slick and streaked with semen. But the majority of his sperm remained
in my mouth.  
  
My own orgasm faded away, leaving my panties sticky and wet as they clung to
my labia, and I relished the afterglow as I sucked tenderly on the softening
cock in my mouth. I smacked my lips and murmured in pleasure, stroking
Miguel's penis to make every last drop of cum ooze into my hungry mouth.
Miguel sighed in satisfaction, running his fingers through my hair, and let me
suckle him until he pulled back. His wet dick popped from my mouth, the head
shiny and smeared with pearly fluid. Impulsively, I licked all around it until
he pushed my head back.  
  
Gently, Miguel tilted my head up until I was looking at him, and he grinned
rakishly upon seeing my face. "Fuck, you're hot, baby," he said dreamily. "You
look so nasty with cum on your face."  
  
His words were unexpectedly exciting. I could feel his fluid trickling over my
chin and down my neck. His cum swirled in my mouth, like watery pudding,
soaking into my tongue and cheeks, flowing to the back of my throat.
Reflexively, I swallowed some of it, frowning slightly at the flavor. It
struck me that cum tasted one way when I held it in my mouth, but entirely
different when it slithered down my throat. It wasn't terrible, just . . .
different.  
  
"Go on, baby," Miguel encouraged me, petting my hair affectionately. He wasn't
the forceful brute anymore. Now he was the grateful recipient of a world-class
blow job. "Go ahead, you can do it."  
  
I breathed in, inhaling the aroma of sperm. I knew what he meant, and
suddenly, I wanted to do it. I wanted to be the naughty girl, one of those
girls guys always whispered about with awe when they said those magic words:
_"she swallows." _There was something about that simple act that elevated a
girl to some sort of pinnacle, making her special. I wanted to be special.  
  
I took another breath, readying myself, then ducked my head and gulped it all
down. Miguel's sperm rushed down my throat like a waterfall, filling my tummy.
It was warm and bitter and dry going down, leaving me with an aftertaste not
altogether unpleasant. I breathed out, licking my sticky lips. They felt
glazed, like a Krispy Kreme donut.  

"Oh, fuck!" exclaimed Miguel with an impressed chuckle. "Man, you one hot
little bitch! You like that, huh?"  
  
I glanced back to his face, blushing with both arousal and a little
embarrassment. "It's okay," I said. I touched my chin, feeling it slick, then
reached for my purse and pulled out my compact. I stared at my glistening chin
in the little mirror. Miguel's cum wasn't white; more like grey, in fact. Of
course, maybe that was because it was mixed with my own spit. Tentatively, I
massaged it into my chin and cheeks, wiped it up from my neck. As if it was
the most natural thing in the world, I sucked my fingers clean.  
  
"So what you think, baby?" asked Miguel, offering his spent dick for one last
lick before tucking it away and zipping up.  
  
I looked past him, savoring that last warm drop of cum on my tongue, saw
Miguel's blonde-haired friend standing in the now-open stall door. He was
giving me an anxious, hopeful look. I felt deliciously naughty as I said, "I
think I'd like to see if Rick is as friendly with our seventh president as you
are."  
  
Rick grinned upon hearing that, and Miguel stepped back, clapping his friend
on the shoulder. "She's good, man," he said. "She's fucking great."  
  
I smiled proudly, bit my lip in excitement as Rick closed the door and turned
to me. I could see how excited he was as he unzipped his jeans. "You ready for
more?" he asked, pulling out a stiff, long penis, soft blonde hair surrounding
the root of it.  
  
I licked my lips, eyeing his penis. "First things first," I said, rubbing my
fingers together.  
  
Rick chuckled, dug in his pocket, handed me two crumpled twenty-dollar bills.
Happily shoving them in my jeans, I dove for his crotch, hungrily and eagerly
filling my mouth with cock for the second time that day, and the second time
in my entire life.  
  
***  
  
I headed to work with the lingering flavor of two loads of semen in my mouth
and throat, feeling the delectable juices swimming in my stomach. Rick's cum
had been a little thicker and slightly sweeter, making me think that not all
guys came the same.  
  
My face was slightly blushed as I recalled every vivid moment of my first two
blow jobs ever. Every aspect of the act turned me on: the feel of a stiff tube
of flesh in my mouth, the musky, manly taste of the skin, the sweet flavor of
pre-cum, and that incredible rush of liquid encouragement that rewarded my
efforts. But the hottest part of the whole thing . . . .  
  
_I had been paid to suck cock_. That single thought cascaded through my mind,
making me feel so incredibly naughty. I was now, and forever would be, a
prostitute.  
  
The idea was deliciously intoxicating. I had power over men, I realized. Power
gained by my eager mouth and apparently natural skill.  
  
I couldn't wait to do it again.  
  
I had an incredible night at the restaurant. We sold mainly burgers,
sandwiches, and salads, and while most checks rang up at around ten dollars a
person, I made 'bank,' averaging over twenty percent in tips per check. Still,
in the three and a half hours that I was on the floor, I made just a little
less money as a waitress than I had as a prostitute.  
  
I giggled at the thought. _Half an hour with a dick in my mouth, and I make
more money than three hours taking out food and slinging drinks_. I was in
rare form that night, giggling and joking with coworkers and guests, flirting
with any man who came close enough. I imagined every man I saw with his penis
hanging out and waiting for my eager mouth. Such thoughts, and the vivid
memories of sucking off Miguel and Rick, kept my panties wet all night.  
  
I left the restaurant just before eight o'clock, since it was pretty slow,
after finishing my sidework duties. Wanting to get back to my apartment so I
could finger myself silly, I made a beeline for the bus stop. If I hurried, I
could be home in half an hour . . . .  
  
My bus was pulling away when I was about twenty feet from it. I called out,
yelling to the driver, but he neither saw nor heard me. I cursed, stamping my
feet like a little girl, and dragged my heels back to the covered bus stop. I
fell down on the bench heavily, pissed that I had to wait another forty
minutes for the next run. I was alone in the little booth, which made it
worse. I thought about heading back to work and hanging out with my coworkers,
but I worried that I would forget the time and miss my next bus.  
  
So I sat there, pouting, watching shoppers as they left the mall, heading to
their cars in the parking lot. I want a car, I lamented to myself. I hate
taking the fucking bus!  
  
As I looked around, playing Tetris on my cell phone, I noticed an attractive
older guy, carrying two big department store bags, heading to a sleek Jaguar
that was parked not too far away from where I sat. For a moment, as he placed
the bags in his trunk, he looked up, right toward me.  
  
I smiled. He had a handsome face, reminding me of my Uncle Jeff. Strong lines,
dark hair . . . maybe he had a little bit of a pudge, but I thought it was
kind'a cute.  
  
He smiled back, gave me a little nod. Just then, a chime sounded from my cell
phone, telling me I had lost my game. "Shit!" I cursed, and slapped the phone
closed. I checked the time: I still had half an hour to wait.  
  
_Man, I'm gonna miss the first fifteen minutes of Law &amp; Order,_ I thought
angrily. _Stupid bus driver . . . ._  
  
A car pulled up in front of the bus stop. The same hunter green Jag. The
passenger window slid down smoothly, and a man – my 'Uncle Jeff' clone –
leaned over in his seat. "Would you like a ride, young lady?"  
  
Talk about a pick-up line. I had been propositioned many times before as I sat
at the bus stop. I had heard from some of the girls I worked with that
sometimes, real streetwalkers hung around the mall, acting like they were
waiting for a bus. I guess guys figured any young woman sitting in the booth
was fair game. And I supposed, dressed in my tight jeans and green tank-top,
my work shirt once more invisible in my backpack, I might have appeared as one
of those girls.  
  
And instantly, I was.  
  
I had never, ever, considered getting in a strange man's car before. I had
been brought up to believe that doing so was dangerous, that any man who
offers a girl a ride was a demented serial killer or rapist. But I had a
strange intuition about this man in his expensive car. Maybe it was the fact
that he looked like my uncle. Or maybe it was because I just felt naughty
enough to do what I figured he wanted.  
  
All that went through my mind in about one second. I smiled flirtatiously,
taking up my bag, and approached the car. "Sure," I said, and opened the door.  
  
The car smelled of cigarettes and cologne as I slid into the passenger seat.
The man behind the wheel held a cigarette between the fingers of his left hand
as it rested on the steering wheel. I noticed the wedding band around his ring
finger, and wondered about his wife.  
  
"My name's Gary," he said, giving me a smile as he looked me over. His eyes
lingered on my chest. He didn't offer to shake hands. His right hand rested on
the gear shift.  
  
"Alyssa," I said, my eyes dropping to his crotch automatically. He wore loose,
light brown slacks.  
  
He nodded, drove away from the curb. He pulled on his cigarette, blowing
smoke. I had never liked cigarettes before, and had only smoked a few times
with friends. But suddenly, it seemed attractive. Smoking was something I had
always seen 'naughty girls' do.  
  
"Can I have one?" I asked him.  
  
Gary smiled, pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket and handed
it to me along with a blue plastic lighter. I looked the package over,
thinking how funny the picture on the cover was. _What do camels have to do
with smoking?_  
  
I took one out, lit it, and breathed in. Having smoked before, I was prepared
for the tight feeling as my throat constricted. My lungs convulsed only
slightly, trying to force the invader out, but I suppressed it. I exhaled
smoke, tasting the tobacco and nicotine. I handed Gary his cigarettes and
lighter, pulled a few more times on my smoke. The rush hit me about thirty
seconds later, making my body tingle.  
  
"So, uh, where are you going?" he asked.  
  
I gave him a smile. I don't know why, but I could tell that I was calling the
shots. Gary wanted something from me, and he would do whatever it took to get
it. I was in control, and I loved it.  
  
"Home," I said, and figured there was nothing wrong with telling him where I
lived. My apartment complex consisted of thirty-six buildings, after all. I
could have Gary drop me off at the entrance gate, and he would never know
exactly where I lived.  
  
But, there was something to be done, first . . . .  
  
"So, um, you work at the mall?" he asked.  
  
I smiled, falling into the role. "Sometimes."  
  
He nodded, turning the wheel. I got the impression he was nervous. "So, um . .
. you a cop?"  
  
I frowned. _What a silly question! _"No," I said with a soft laugh.  
  
"Can you prove it?" he asked.  
  
I stared at him, wondering why he would even . . . and then it dawned on me.
_Oh, right_. I knew from watching Law &amp; Order that cops sometimes posed as
prostitutes to make busts. One of my favorite episodes was about that. "How?"
I finally asked.  
  
He looked around at the sparse traffic on the street. There weren't too many
cars on the road, and the sun had long gone down. "Show me your tits," he
suggested.  
  
I hesitated a moment. I had always been sensitive about my breasts. Girls who
had seen me in the showers in high school called me 'Puff' because of my big,
fat areolas. They stuck out about half an inch from my B-cups and were about
the size of espresso cup saucers. But if showing this guy my breasts was how
it was done . . . .  
  
I pulled up my top, glancing around nervously outside the car. I was both
apprehensive and excited about this little act of exhibitionism. Gary
alternately watched me and the road as I reached behind and fumbled with the
clasp of my bra. I got it undone, then pushed my bra up, leaning back as my
breasts were completely exposed. The cool night air rushing over them made my
nipples stiffen even more.  
  
"Oh, damn," he muttered, his eyes glazing. I didn't stop him as, for the first
time, a man touched my naked breasts. He cupped the left one, squeezing it
gently with his fingers, rubbing his palm against my sensitive nipple. I
sighed, pushing my tit against his hand. It was encouraging and arousing that
Gary seemed so turned on by my pear-shaped titties.  
  
"Jesus, baby, you're gorgeous," he said, groping my other breast. I just
moaned softly, lifting my hands to push his more firmly against my tits. I
stroked his forearm, let my left hand wander to his upper thigh. He
automatically parted his legs. I knew he wanted me to touch his cock.  
  
So I did, leaning closer, surprised at how bold I suddenly was. I felt his
stiff penis through his slacks. The simple feel of that hardness was intensely
thrilling. He was erect, and it was because of me. My pussy started getting
wet again.  
  
Gary was breathing hard, one hand on my tits, the other on the steering wheel
as he drove. I massaged his crotch, feeling that stiff rod against my hand. I
wanted to see it . . . God, I wanted to suck it so bad!  
  
"Hey, uh, lemme just, um, hit a gas station and grab some condoms, okay?" he
said, squeezing my left tit again.  
  
I jerked my hand back and sat up, staring at him anxiously. "Condoms?"  
  
He nodded, not looking at me. "Yeah, of course," he said, taking a corner. "I
only do it with condoms."  
  
I was quiet. _Sex_, I thought. _He wants to have sex. He wants to fuck me_. I
felt nervous, scared. I hadn't thought he would want that. I didn't want to
give up my cherry like this.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked, finally looking back at me as I pulled my bra back
down over my breasts. Then he seemed to understand, at least a little. "Oh.
You don't fuck, huh? Just head?"  
  
I stopped, biting my lip, giving Gary an apologetic look. "Yeah. Just head," I
said. "Is that okay?"  
  
Gary shrugged. "Yeah, sure," he said. I could tell he was disappointed. I
thought his reaction strange. Every guy I ever knew would give their right
testicle for a good blow job. And here I was, offering . . . and he was
disappointed?  
  
"Something wrong?" I asked.  
  
Gary sighed, then smiled at me. "No, nothing wrong, it's just . . . I've
never, uh, well . . . I can't cum from a blow job."  
  
That surprised me. "Really?"  
  
"It's okay," said Gary, pulling off the main road into a middle school parking
lot. The place was deserted. "You can suck it for a while, it feels really
good, but I'll just have to, well, finish with my hand."  
  
I looked down. "Oh."  
  
Gary parked the car beneath a tree, but close enough to a street light so we
could both see inside the car. Without much ado, he pushed his seat back,
unsnapped and unzipped his slacks, and shoved them down his knees along with a
pair of dark blue boxers. His dick stuck almost straight up, sleek and pale
and fully circumcised. The sight of it turned me on.  
  
"Can I touch your tits?" asked Gary, leaning back in his seat.  
  
I smiled. "Sure," I said, and slipped off my tank. I pulled off my bra,
suddenly and for the first time topless with a man. My puffy nips swelled with
excitement.  
  
"Oh, baby, you've got the hottest tits I've ever seen," he murmured, reaching
with both hands. Swiftly, he leaned over and cupped his mouth over my left
nipple, sucking it and my thick areola in its entirety into his mouth. I
gasped at this new sensation, automatically pushing against his face and
cradling Gary's head. _Oh, Jesus that feels so good!_  
  
Gary mumbled and moaned as he sucked my tits, moving back and forth, groping,
licking, fondling, sucking. I eagerly offered him my breasts, getting hotter
and hotter as I watched his lips wrap around my puffies. My pussy twitched and
spasmed, and I couldn't help but press my hand between my legs, rubbing
through my jeans.  
  
"Oh, God! Oh, God! Uhhhmmm . . . ." I moaned aloud as I came, and Gary kept
sucking my tits, pulling on them hard, and in the midst of my orgasm, jammed
his fingers into my crotch, pushing my hand aside and digging through the
denim. I gasped and hissed, humping his hand. I clutched his head close,
shaking as I crested the summit of orgasm.  
  
I was instantly overcome with lust, becoming a totally different woman. I
pushed Gary back into his seat and leaned over him, aggressively grabbing his
stiff dick. He stared at me with a mixture of awe, surprise, and desire. I
don't know where the words I next said came from:  
  
"I'm gonna suck your fucking cock and make you cum in my mouth," I declared,
then went down wantonly, taking his cock between my lips and sucking hard. I
bobbed up and down, possessed by my desire to taste him. Gary moaned, one hand
on the back of my head, the other groping my breasts as I mouth-fucked him.  
  
I took every last little inch of his manhood in my mouth, feeling the smooth
head prod my throat as my lips wrapped around the base. I felt the reflex to
gag, but suppressed it, and pushed down even more. Gary moaned loudly as the
head of his dick popped right into my throat. I felt my air suddenly cut off,
and my eyes bulged slightly. But still I sucked, wanting every bit of his cock
in my mouth.  
  
His balls were musky, hairy, tickling my nose. I ran my fingers across them,
massaging, caressing. Gary shuddered, moaning again, pushing my head down
further. I loved the feel of his cock sliding down my throat. But after a few
moments, I had to breathe.  
  
I slid up, pulling Gary's dick out of my throat, and sucked hard as I took in
deep breaths through my nose. Filling my lungs with air, I pushed back down,
making a wet popping sound as his dick went all the way in once more. I bobbed
fast and hard, my esophagus rippling around the head of his penis. I felt the
steering wheel against my bangs, Gary's firm grip on my left tit.  
  
Back and forth like that I went, for several long, sweet minutes, taking Gary
all the way down, then moving back up and massaging the head with my lips and
tongue. I loved the way Gary gasped and moaned, as overcome with lust as I
was.  
  
"Oh, shit! Oh, God! B-b-b-baby! Oh, ffffuccckkkk . . . ."  
  
I felt the surging through his shaft, the way his cock became incredibly stiff
in my mouth. I slid my mouth up until just the head was trapped between my
sucking lips, and stroked his slick shaft hard with my hand. I had developed
an instinct for giving head, I realized. I knew just what to do to maximize a
man's orgasm.  
  
Into my mouth, thick and rich and sweet, surged Gary's sperm. He shook and
moaned loudly, arching his back, relishing the sensations I gave him. I sucked
and pulled, stroked and squeezed, getting every little bit of that creamy
treat. Only the third load of cum to be spent in my mouth, and I was already
addicted to the flavor.  
  
My mouth-work on his penis proved too much, however, and he begged me to stop,
pulling on my head. Giving his spent dick one last, hard suck, I let it pop
out of my mouth as I lifted up. I sighed in satisfaction, swishing his manly
load in my mouth. His cum was the sweetest yet, and fairly thick as well.  
  
For a few moments, as I petted Gary's spent and wilted dick, running my hands
over his soft, pudgy abdomen, I just held his cream in my mouth, savoring it.
I smiled at him, enjoying the stupefied reaction on his face. Then, staring
him in the eye, I sucked in my cheeks and made a loud gulping sound as I
swallowed his load. I could feel the warmth of it in my chest as it oozed down
to my stomach.  
  
"Holy shit!" he exclaimed. "Y-you swallow?"  
  
I licked my lips and smiled in satisfaction. "Mm-hmm," I moaned, then leaned
over and licked a last little bubble of cum from his dick. I showed Gary the
creamy white dollop on my tongue before sucking it down with a sigh. Being so
naughty and dirty turned me on so much more than I had ever thought it could.  
  
Gary laughed, sagging back in his seat. "Oh my God," he breathed out. "I can't
believe it. You did it, baby." He sat up, giving me a worshipful look. "In all
my life, I've never cum from a blow job. How'd you do that?"  
  
I smiled and shrugged. "Just a gift, I guess."  
  
He swooned. "Baby, please," he said with such sincerity. "I know I shouldn't
ask, but . . . I gotta have your phone number. Please. I promise I'll be
discreet."  
  
I thought about it a moment, then nodded, and gave him my cell phone number.
Then I looked at him expectantly.  
  
"What?" he asked, then smiled sheepishly as he understood. He dug into his
jeans, pulled out a wad of cash. He peeled off two twenties and a ten, handed
them to me. I was impressed.  
  
"You're that good, baby," he said.  
  
I just smiled and gave him a little kiss. Then I kissed his dick one last time
before he pulled up his slacks.  
  
***  
  
I thought about my experiences over the following few days. Three times in one
day, I had given head in exchange for money, making me a _prostitute_. That
word, which had always held a seedy, dark reputation, now seemed almost like a
badge of honor. More than the act of giving head, more than taste of cum, what
aroused me the most was being so decadent and wicked as to take money in
exchange for the pleasures of my mouth.  
  
Still, twelve years of Catholic guilt were difficult to overcome, and I felt
shame and _wickedness _(as my father had always called it) as I thought about
what I had done. I fell back into my mode of being the shy, quiet one at
school and work. While I still flirted as I had always done, I toned it down,
and kept to myself.  
  
On Saturday morning, before my lunch shift at work, I got off the bus before
St. Andrew's. The towering steeple of the church loomed over me like the
condemning hand of God. Guilt over my actions three days before washed through
me with the strength of Noah's flood. I could hear Bible verses repeated in my
head in my father's voice.  

The church was mostly empty, save for some of the more devout who knelt in the
first few rows of pews, muttering prayers over and over. I headed to the
confessional, slid the door closed as I sat on the hard wooden bench. I picked
my nails until I heard the little window slide open in the wall to my right.  
  
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," I intoned.  
  
"How long has it been since your last confession, child?" asked a wizened
voice through the wire screen. The priest sounded tired, weary of hearing the
selfish confessions and whining he was subjected to on a daily basis.  
  
I trembled. "About . . . three months," I said.  
  
"What do you wish to confess?"  
  
I fell silent. _How can I say it? How can I confess to something so wicked and
decadent, yet so . . .wonderfully satisfying?_  
  
"Talk to me, child," came the voice again, urging me. "You would not be here
if you did not have sins to confess."  
  
I sighed. "I have always listened to God's word," I said. "I have honored my
father and mother, done charitable things, and behaved as I was taught a
proper woman should behave."  
  
"That is very commendable," said the disembodied voice.  
  
I continued. "But, recently, I . . . I did something I know is wicked and
immoral, but . . . it just felt so good! I couldn't help it! I wanted to do
it, even though I know I shouldn't have."  
  
"What did you do, child?" asked the tired voice.  
  
I gritted my teeth, having arrived at the moment of truth. The air in the
confessional was fragrant with the aromas of pine and guilt. "I . . . I
accepted money in exchange for . . . ." I trailed off, unable to finish.  
  
"For?" the invisible priest prompted me. He seemed suddenly interested in my
confession.  
  
I felt hot, embarrassed, but also aroused as I recalled Miguel, and Rick, and
Gary, and the stiff, throbbing cocks between their legs, the rush of cum on my
tongue, the tart flavor of semen as it flowed down my throat . . . .  
  
"For . . . giving head," I said with a sigh, then immediately corrected
myself, feeling a need to be clinical. "I mean, performing oral sex."  
  
"Ah. I see. That is, indeed, wicked."  
  
I slumped, feeling ashamed. And ashamed even more that the mere thought of
what I had done was making me moist again. I had spent every night and morning
since Wednesday masturbating in my bed to the memories of what I had done,
often exploding in multiple orgasms that left my thighs and cheeks dripping.  
  
"And you . . . you say you accepted money for this service?" asked the hidden
priest.  
  
"Yes, Father," I said. "Please, forgive me."  
  
"Did it . . . excite you?" he asked.  
  
I breathed out, whimpering. "Oh, God, it turned me on so much!" I exclaimed in
a pained, hoarse voice. "Just the feel of it, and the knowledge that I was
doing it for money, and . . . and the taste . . . oh, God, it tasted so good .
. . ."  
  
"The . . . taste, child?" he queried.  
  
I moaned, lost in my recollection, forgetting where I was and who I was
talking to. "Mmm, when they came in my mouth . . . oh, fuck . . . that's the
best part."  
  
"I . . . see."  
  
"Am I wicked, Father?" I asked, temporarily returning to the moment. "I am,
aren't I? I'm terrible, and wicked, and . . . and evil, and—"  
  
I stopped abruptly as I heard the little screen in the window between the
booths pulled to the side. There was a dark shadow of movement, the sound of
cloth, and then, through the window, thrust a hard, very pale, and very
throbbing penis.  
  
"I think you need special dispensation, child," said the voice.  
  
I whimpered again, controlled by lust. Without hesitation, I descended upon
the priest's cock, wrapping my fingers around the base, sucking on the head. I
moaned in pleasure, determined to satisfy my craving for the taste and feel of
a stiff cock that had been building for the previous few days.  
  
"Oh, yes, child," moaned the priest on the other side. "'Our father, who art
in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth,
as it is in heaven.'"  
  
I hummed along to the cadence of the prayer as I slurped and sucked hungrily
on the pale, marble-like rod in my mouth, drawing out a literal river of oily
pre-cum and swallowing the sweet treat. The vibrations I made as I repeatedly
mumbled the prayer seemed to excite the priest even more, bringing about his
orgasm quickly.  
  
The pitch of the priest's voice became more strained: "Our father . . . who
art in H-heaven . . . uhn . . . h-hallowed by thy n-name . . . th-thy kingdom
. . . ohhh . . . thy kingdom . . . _cum_! Oh, Lord, forgive me!"  
  
I could actually feel the forceful spurts of the priest's pudding-like semen
as it shot out of his penis. I nearly choked on the first gooey glob as it hit
the back of my throat, but managed to swallow it down. I moaned in rapture,
and kept sucking as thick ropes of cum landed heavily on my tongue. The flavor
was unexpectedly sweet, the consistency of his juice like tapioca. I figured
the priest had not ejaculated in quite a while.  
  
Abruptly, the priest jerked his prick out of my mouth and back through the
window, leaving me with drops of sperm on my lips and a mouthful of his
'spiritual' essence.  
  
"God bless you, my child," he murmured.  
  
I leaned back, holding his cum in my mouth, wanting to savor it for as long as
I could. My hands touched my breasts through the white tank I wore, caressing
my stiff nipples.  
  
"Ten Our Fathers," said the priest, his voice breathless. "And my . . .
personal grace." A twenty-dollar bill emerged through the window.  
  
I sighed through my nose, taking the money. _I guess a priest deserves a half-
price blow job_, I thought. "'Hank oo, fa'er," I managed to say around my
thick mouthful, then took up my bag. I stepped from the booth, smiling
naughtily. There was a fat woman outside, waiting to enter the confessional.  
  
"Is Father Thomas in a good mood today?" she asked me, her eyes wide.  
  
I smiled at her, conscious of the traces of gummy white fluid on my lips. I
knew she could see them. I sucked in, swallowed Father Thomas' rich sperm,
then licked my lips. "Oh, I'm sure he's in a _very _good mood," I said, then
stepped away, listening to the fat woman's gasps of shock.  
  
I left the church, heading to the bus stop, feeling strangely vindicated and
absolved. _There's no turning back now_, I thought.  
  
"'Our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name . . . .'"  
  
***  
  
That afternoon, following my single lunch shift (it was rare that I only
worked a Saturday lunch and not a double, as was the norm), I headed out into
the mall, after once again stripping off my work shirt. I felt a strange sense
of confidence, of casual arousal. The thick taste of Father Thomas' sperm
remained with me, even after six hours. It made me want more.  
  
As I headed through the mall, seeing boys and men, fathers with their families
and husbands with their wives, I kept thinking that it would be so easy to
approach any of them and make them an offer. I simply _knew _that no man would
refuse me, and that knowledge fueled my ego, making me inordinately confident.  
  
As I passed a shoe store, I stopped in my tracks, spying a pair of leather go-
go boots I had always dreamt of having. My mouth watered, and my pussy juiced
just looking at them. I had to have those boots. Still, the two-hundred-dollar
price tag was daunting. I didn't have that much on me, nor even in my account.
The money I had made since Wednesday had gone toward bills, groceries, and
incidentals.  
  
Still, there was no harm in looking . . . .  
  
I headed inside, made a bee-line for the display of boots. There happened to
be a pair in size five, and I took them down, smelling the rich leather. _Mmm
. . . if these boots were a man, I'd give up my cherry right now, _I thought.  
  
I took the boots down an aisle, sat down and took off my black work shoes. But
I realized that I wouldn't be able to pull on the boots, since my jeans were
so tight around my legs. _Damn it, I wish I wore a skirt!_  
  
"Can I help you, miss?"  
  
I looked up from the little bench I sat upon, seeing an attractive black man
with a shaved head, wearing khaki slacks and a blue polo. He had a name tag
that read, "Marcus."  
  
"Yeah," I said, looking to his crotch a moment. I could see a faint bulge
beneath the fabric. "I wish I could try on these boots."  
  
Marcus shrugged. "Go right ahead."  
  
I smiled in a self-deprecating way. "You gonna let me take my jeans off right
here?" I asked sarcastically.  
  
The salesman looked me over in a way that told me he sure as hell wouldn't
mind seeing me in my panties. "Tell you what," he said. "We have a stock room
in the back. I'll watch the door."  
  
I mused over the proposal a moment, then smiled. "Sure."  
  
***  
  
Marcus lead me through a narrow door in the back, and I found myself in a room
lined with overstuffed shelves of shoes and heels and boots. The aroma of
leather was strong and seductive. Marcus closed the door behind us and looked
me over again as I found a little stool and sat down.  
  
"I thought you were gonna watch the door," I said.  
  
He smiled confidently. "I am. From the inside."  
  
_What a sneaky bastard, _I thought, even as I smiled. "Is that what you like
to do? Watch?"  
  
Marcus licked his lips, already undressing me. "You got it, babe."  
  
That warmth returned, making my cheeks blush and my pussy twitch. Teasingly, I
unsnapped and unzipped my jeans, giving Marcus a glimpse of my white cotton
undies with little hearts on them. I sat with my legs parted, providing him
with a great view. "You could do more than watch," I suggested, hardly
believing the words coming out of my mouth.  
  
He arched a thin eyebrow, and took a step closer. "Yeah?"  
  
The idea of exposing myself to this guy suddenly made me hot . . . even hotter
than taking off my top and blowing Gary in his car. "Maybe," I said.  
  
He narrowed his eyes and smiled knowingly. "What'chu want, girl?"  
  
I leaned forward, spreading my legs more, my hands on my knees, letting him
see my cleavage. "Two things," I said. "I want these boots."  
  
He pursed his lips. "Hmm . . . ."  
  
I smiled mischievously. "And I want your cum in my mouth," I added, feeling so
wonderfully naughty as I spoke the words.  
  
"Ooo," he responded, taking a breath. He shuddered a moment, then composed
himself. "Show me that gash, baby, and you got a deal."  
  
I grinned, ogling his crotch. "Show me yours," I said, lifting my hips as I
pushed my jeans and panties down. "And I'll show you mine."  
  
Marcus' eyes glazed as he took in my blonde bush. My pubic hair is just as
light-toned as the hair on my head, maybe even more so, and I trim it just
enough to wear a bikini. I trembled in excitement as I allowed a man to see my
naked pussy for the first time ever. I had to bend and spread my legs to work
my jeans and panties off my ankles, giving the shoe salesman glimpses of my
pink.  
  
"Oh, damn, baby," he breathed, reaching for his belt as he stepped out of his
shoes. "I ain't never seen a real blonde before."  
  
I arched an eyebrow, sitting up, keeping my legs splayed wide. I could feel
how wet I was, and could smell my tangy scent as well, drifting up from
between my legs. "Never?" I asked, petting my furry mound.  
  
Marcus stared unabashedly at my cunt, licking his lips hungrily. "You got a
real nice little beaver there, baby," he said, and shoved his khakis down.
Marcus wasn't wearing underwear, and his thick, dark penis bounced heavily
between his legs. He wasn't completely hard, not yet.  
  
"Yeah?" I asked huskily, leaning back and pushing my hips out. Giving in to
the moment, I spread my pussy open with my fingers, getting them wet, and
exposed my little clit. "Think so?"  
  
He grinned. "Let me show you how much," he said, moving closer. Each step he
took seemed to make his cock grow and thicken, until it jutted out toward me.
It was uncircumcised, with a dark pink head poking out from the foreskin
sheath. Marcus' dick was the thickest I had seen yet. He had smooth-shaved
balls, which made me curious, and trimmed his pubic hair to a small dense
patch.  
  
I sat up straight as he stopped before me, his legs between my own. I had the
impression that he wanted to fuck. The head of his cock was within inches of
my mouth as I looked up at him. "Wait," I said. "No sex, just head."  
  
Marcus chuckled, and lowered himself to his knees. "Just what I had in mind,
baby," his brown eyes glittering. Gingerly, he placed one hand between my
breasts, gently pushing me back, as his other hand settled on my right thigh.
My heart palpitated as I realized what he wanted to do. I eagerly spread my
thighs as wide as they would go as Marcus kept his eyes locked on mine.  
  
His hands slid down my body and up my thigh, meeting just above my sex. I
started breathing heavily, anticipating the delights to come. The touch of his
fingers running through my pubes and down over my swollen vulvae was electric,
making me shiver. I actually heard my pussy lips slurp wetly, and so did
Marcus.  
  
"Damn, baby, you ready for this, ain't you? Oh, yeahohhmmm . . . ."  
  
_Oh, sweet Jesus in Heaven! _I sighed deeply in pleasure as Marcus pressed his
thick, soft lips to my dewy cunt, kissing it tenderly, lapping up my trickling
juice with soft, slow passes of his tongue. I cupped my breasts, pushing up my
top and bra, groping and kneading my tender mounds. Marcus watched my actions
as he devoured me, his sucking growing more intent, his tongue probing deeper.
I gasped, lifting my hips, when his tongue pushed into my virgin tunnel.  
  
"Oh, God!" I cried out, rolling my hips, humping my lover's mouth. I watched
his face, seeing the bliss registered in Marcus' features as he sucked and
licked my juicy snatch. He made these sexy 'ummm' sounds in between smacking
his lips and swallowing my fluid. I had never felt anything so incredible in
my life.  
  
My passion was ready to explode by the time his fingers peeled back the hood
of my clit. The moment he pursed his lips around my button, pressing his chin
to my slick lips and his nose into my soft blonde pubes, I started cumming.
And cumming hard.  
  
I bucked and gasped, shrieked and moaned, lifting my ass up off the chair and
shoving my cunt hard against Marcus' mouth. I pinched and pulled on my
nipples, something I had never done before when masturbating, but which
accentuated the intensity of my orgasm.  
  
Marcus sucked greedily on my flowing hole, licking deep between my lips and
even passing his tongue down as he chased after dribbles of my cum. I hissed
when his tongue wormed against my asshole for a moment, sending a charge
through me. Marcus cupped my firm cheeks in his hands and licked up and down
from my anus to my clit and back and forth, back and forth . . . .  
  
I was trembling with aftershocks by the time I came back down. Marcus lowered
my butt back onto the stool and stood before me. I panted, catching my breath,
barely watching as Marcus began stroking his cock. He leaned over me, bracing
his other hand against the wall above my head. His cockhead rubbed against my
tits as he jerked off.  
  
Inspired by the pleasure he had given me, I cupped my breasts around the head
of his dick, making Marcus moan in pleasure. I licked his abdomen, kissed his
flat navel as he pumped faster and faster. His skin tasted sweet and musky,
stronger than any other man I had thus far tasted.  
  
"Oh, baby!" he grunted, jacking faster and faster, pre-cum making his hand
smack wetly along his shaft. "I'm gonna shoot, baby!"  
  
"Mmm!" I moaned excitedly, ducking down and sucking hard on the head of his
cock. Marcus gasped, shaking, and kept stroking, making my head shake as I
hung on. I sucked out his pre-cum, finding it going from sweet and thin to
bitter and thick.  
  
"Oh, fuck, baby, suck it out! Eat my cum, girl! Fucking eat my – gahhhh!!!"  
  
He pressed his other hand to the back of my head, jacking his shaft
frantically. His cum gushed in my mouth, watery spurts of tart fluid that
coated my tongue and shot to my throat. I moaned as I tasted it, and sucked
desperately, slathering my gooey tongue all around the tip of his spitting
dick.  
  
I swallowed, then swallowed again, trying to catch all of Marcus' cream. Some
of it overflowed my mouth and ran down my chin, dripping onto my abdomen and
trickling into my pubic hair. I pushed my mouth down further on Marcus' cock,
feeling my lips stretched by his girth, and worked my jaw like I was chewing
his dick. Marcus slapped both hands against the wall and moaned loudly,
letting me suck him for as long as I wanted.  
  
I don't know how long I savored the taste and feel of Marcus' cock. I could
have sucked on the thing all night, if he wanted. I felt it getting soft in my
mouth, leaking out a little last bit of salty sperm that I lapped up. My
entire mouth was wet and sticky by the time he finally pulled back.  
  
"Oh, God damn, baby," he breathed, touching his flaccid penis. He chuckled.
"That was so fucking hot. Thanks, gorgeous."  
  
I grinned up at him. "No, thank you," I said, licking my lips. "And thanks for
the boots."  
  
Still tasting Marcus' pungent sauce in my mouth, I walked out of the back room
several minutes later, carrying my new boots. I passed a couple of shop girls
my age, who gave me dirty looks. Doubtless, they had heard the goings-on in
the back room. Maybe they were jealous. Maybe they just thought I was a slut.
I figured their reactions were a mixture of both.  
  
I couldn't have cared less. I got what I wanted.  
  
***  
  
It amazes me now, when I think of it, how easily and boldly I plied my new
trade. The mall was a big one, split-level with more than a hundred and eighty
shops, offering everything from music and movies to soap and perfume. Pretty
much anything I wanted was right there in the mall. And all I had to do was
open up and say 'ahhh.'  
  
"Can I help you with something, miss?"  
  
"Oh, I'm just looking for some CDs. I really wanna expand my collection."  
  
"Well, what are you interested in?"  
  
"I'm interested in making a deal . . . ."  
  
_Smack! Smack! Slurp! Suck! Mmmmm . . . gulp!_  
  
In hindsight, I was probably a little too forward, too obvious. I might have
gained the attention of the night owl cops who worked security. But I never
did, no matter how many dicks I sucked.  
  
My mouth earned me everything from silk sheets and shower curtains to cheap
electronics and even a microwave oven. Now and then, I was given cash. The
only time I ever paid for anything was when I went shopping for makeup and
underwear, since those stores and departments were usually staffed by women.  
  
I didn't worry about the ramifications or morality of what I was doing. I had
become a new woman, and I loved every moment I spent on my knees. Often, I
would strip to my waist when I could, and I was surprised at how many guys
were turned on by my puffies. Sometimes, they would want to suck my tits, but
usually, they just wanted to grope them while I went to work on their cocks.  
  
And now and then, as with Marcus, and if I felt comfortable doing so, I'd show
off my blonde pussy and either masturbate for a guy before blowing him, or, on
occasion, enjoy the pleasures of his fingers and tongue.  
  
More than once, I was all but begged to go all the way. One guy even went so
far as to push me down on the floor in the storeroom of a sporting goods store
and try to shove his dick inside me. I kept telling him 'no' over and over,
but he just laughed and told me he'd pay me more to fuck me. He almost did it,
too, before I kicked him in the balls and elbowed his nose. Afterward, I was
aware of how close I had come to losing my cherry, and decided that I would be
more careful with my tricks.  
  
I didn't go a single day without getting at least one dick in my mouth. I had
my favorites, guys I saw regularly when they had something to offer, guys like
Marcus who always rewarded my carnal efforts with something they knew I
wanted. There was Doug in the music store, who tripled my music collection by
giving me any three CDs each time I saw him, and Randy at the bed and bath
place who supplied me with sheets, silk pillows, and little trinkets for my
bathroom.  

And then there was Gary.  
  
I had almost forgotten about the sexy older man, the married man with his
hunter green Jag who had never gotten off from a blow job before he met me.
About two weeks after our first time together, I was home on a Thursday night,
having given up my shift to another server at work in order to study for mid-
terms. I was doing well in all my classes except Economics, and I was
determined to maintain at least a 3.5 GPA.  
  
My cell buzzed in my purse, sitting on the couch in my tiny apartment. I
ignored it at first, then got up and grabbed it when it buzzed again a few
minutes later. The caller ID window was blank. I frowned, flipped my phone
open.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Alyssa?"  
  
"Yeah. Who's this?"  
  
"Um . . . it's Gary. You remember me?"  
  
I smiled. "Of course I do," I said. "What's up?"  
  
He laughed. "Well, I am," he said, then checked himself. "Sorry. Th-that was
kind of rude."  
  
I giggled. "Not really."  
  
"I'd like to see you again," he said. I heard some muffled sounds of traffic
in the background, figured he was driving. "Do you, uh, have some time
tonight?"  
  
I thought about it for about half a second. My brain hurt from all the
studying. I realized I needed a diversion. And Gary offered a very tasty one.
"Sure," I said.  
  
He sighed in relief. "Great! I'm on my way. You wanna tell me what apartment
you're in?"  
  
_Hmm _. . . "I'll meet you at the gate," I said, and hung up quickly. I
giggled, and ran into the bedroom, stripping off my baggy house clothes and
looking for something tight and revealing. I found a pair of tight grey
jogging shorts and a pink halter, and quickly tied my hair into pigtails.
Looking like a naughty little girl, I snatched up my keys and a can of Diet
Coke from the fridge, then jogged out to meet my guy.  
  
***  
  
Gary was panting and sighing as I nursed his spent dick, licking up the last
little bits of cum that seeped out. I kept his load in my mouth as I sat up
and grabbed his cigarettes. Lighting one, I inhaled the rich aroma of tobacco
and semen, smiling in satisfaction. Only then did I swallow Gary's treat.  
  
Gary just lay back in the driver's seat, making no move to cover up as he
relished his afterglow. I snuggled against him, smoking my cigarette, letting
him take a drag now and then. His hands lazily stroked my naked back and
breasts as I let him kiss and gently suck my puffies.  
  
"Damn, Alyssa, I can't believe how much you turn me on," he murmured. He
chuckled. "I mean, it's not just that you're a gorgeous young woman . . . you
are eighteen, aren't you?"  
  
I giggled. "Wanna see my license?"  
  
Gary smiled. "Jesus, half my age," he mused. He gave me a look. "You make me
feel so young, you know that?"  
  
I smiled back, thinking: _don't get too close._ "Gary . . . ."  
  
"I know, I know," he said, pulling away to get a better look at me. "I really
like the pig tails."  
  
I giggled again, for effect, and shook my head back and forth, making my
piggies bounce and sway. Gary laughed, then his face drained slowly, the smile
fading.  
  
"Why do you do it?" he asked me.  
  
I pulled on my cigarette, blew smoke. "Do what? Get picked up like this?"  
  
"Well . . . yeah."  
  
I shrugged, "It turns me on," I said.  
  
"Do you really like doing it as much as I think you do?"  
  
I smiled coyly. "That depends. How much do you think I like it?"  
  
He gave me a level gaze. "I think you can't go a day without giving head."  
  
I bit my lip, smoldering my eyes. "You're right."  
  
He took a deep breath, chest rising and falling. "I have a proposition for
you," he said.  
  
I regarded Gary suspiciously. "What's that?"  
  
"Well," he said, folding his arms behind his head, obviously enjoying being
half-naked in a car with a teenager, his dick hanging out. "I work for a
systems analysis company. Basically, we're a bunch of geeks—"  
  
"You don't look like a geek to me," I said, playfully touching his pudge. I
kept my hand on his stomach and slowly slid it down.  
  
He chuckled again. "A lot of the guys in my department are," he said. "I mean,
some of them have essentially no chance whatsoever of getting laid in their
entire lives. It's like that line from 'Real Genius.'"  
  
I frowned. "Huh?"  
  
Gary shook his head. "Never mind. Before your time."  
  
I gave Gary a funny look as I began fondling his floppy penis. It was still
wet from my mouth, and slowly responded as I lightly stroked it. "You saying
you want me to do your whole department? How many guys are we talking about?"  
  
Gary shrugged. "Around forty."  
  
I gulped. "Wow."  
  
"Not all at once, of course," he said, shifting his hips as his cock started
to stiffen again. I smoked my cigarette and pulled on his dick, making it grow
in my hand. I liked watching it get thicker and longer.  
  
"See, what I was thinking was maybe a few guys at a time, maybe once a
weekend," he said, his breath becoming more labored as I stroked his dick up
and down.  
  
"And they'll all pay?" I asked, getting turned on by the idea.  
  
"Oh, trust me, they'll pay . . . ." his words drifted off, eyes fluttering
closed as I pinched and massaged the sensitive head of his cock. A thick
dribble of fluid oozed out, and I leaned over to lick it away.  
  
An image flashed in my mind, then, garnered from some of the dirty magazines I
had seen. An image of me, on my knees, surrounded by stiff, throbbing penises,
dripping their sweet fluid onto my tongue. And me holding fistfuls of cash.  
  
I trembled with excitement at the naughty idea. My pussy twitched. I realized
I could not have refused Gary's Idea.  
  
"Set it up," I whispered, stretching out to get comfortable. I handed Gary my
cig, then nuzzled his balls with my lips while stroking his hard cock. I loved
smelling the residue of sticky semen that had soaked into his pubes. The taste
of it was sweet on my tongue as I rolled his heavy balls between my lips.  
  
"Oh, shit," moaned Gary, threading his fingers through my hair. "God damn,
you're a hot little bitch. Suck my cock, Alyssa. Suck it and eat my cum."  
  
"Mmm . . . ."  
  
***  
  
I didn't hear from Gary again for another few weeks, and put his proposal from
my mind. I was getting dick on a daily basis, as it was, satisfying my desire
for cum. I figured, when Gary didn't call me back after a few days, that he
had either changed his mind about the 'suck-a-thon,' or it didn't fly with his
employees, or perhaps his wife had discovered he was stepping out.  
  
But then, a few days after Halloween, Gary called again.  
  
"Sorry I haven't called, babe," he apologized.  
  
"It's okay. Not like we're girlfriend and boyfriend, you know."  
  
"Of course. Been busy?"  
  
"Just doing a lot of homework," I said.  
  
"You're a student, huh? You never told me that."  
  
I giggled. "Hard to talk with my mouth full."  
  
He laughed. "What are you doing this weekend?"  
  
"Working."  
  
". . . oh. You, uh, got regulars on the weekends?"  
  
I rolled my eyes. "No, I have a regular job," I said.  
  
"Oh! Well, um, what's your schedule?"  
  
"I'm off Sunday night."  
  
"Really? That's perfect . . . that could work out."  
  
"For?"  
  
He paused a moment. "Did you forget what we talked about?"  
  
"No, I didn't forget," I said, immediately feeling hot between my legs. "How
many?"  
  
"Four."  
  
I breathed out. My pussy was literally dripping. I touched myself as I leaned
back in my couch. "Including you?"  
  
"Including me, five."  
  
"Ummm," I whimpered, pulling my panties aside and stroking my slick lips. "How
much?"  
  
"Hundred each," he said. "I'll pay for the room and refreshments."  
  
"Room?"  
  
"Yeah. I'll get a motel room for the night. The guys will only stay as long as
you want."  
  
"Refreshments?"  
  
He chuckled. "Whatever you want, babe."  
  
"Mmm . . . strawberry vodka," I said, rubbing my clit.  
  
"You got it."  
  
"Gary."  
  
"Yeah, babe?"  
  
"Come over here and fuck my mouth."  
  
". . . . I'll be there in twenty minutes."  
  
"Apartment 1604. Hurry."  
  
"I'm leaving now."  
  
***  
  
Gary shuddered over me, his thighs buried in my arm pits, warm, sweaty balls
resting on my chin. He grunted and groaned as his semen surged down my throat,
which I automatically swallowed since I had him so deep. He pulled back a
little, giving me one last warm spurt of fluid on my tongue. I sucked him for
a few minutes afterward, until he softened and pulled out.  
  
He rolled onto his back on my couch, curling his arms around me. I grinned,
nuzzling his hairy chest, rolling that last heavy drop of cum on my tongue as
I kissed his tiny nipples. I listened to his heartbeat pounding in his chest,
gradually growing more calm.  
  
"Don't take this the wrong way, Alyssa," he said, stroking my back and kissing
the top of my head. "But I love you."  
  
I lifted my face, staring into his. "What?"  
  
He smiled. "I love being with you," he corrected. "Like I said, you make me
feel young. And I know we could never have a serious relationship, but I just
want you to know, in a way, I love you."  
  
I smiled fondly, and kissed his lips. "Thanks, Gary," I whispered. "No one's
ever said that to me before."  
  
He frowned. "No one?"  
  
I shook my head. "Well, not including my mom and dad."  
  
"I find that hard to believe," he said. "I mean, what about boys you've
dated?"  
  
I sat up, looked for Gary's cigarettes. "Never dated," I said.  
  
Gary didn't say anything as I lit up. I turned back to him after blowing out a
cloud of smoke, saw the surprised expression on his face.  
  
"What?" I asked rhetorically. "Look, I went to an all-girl high school, and my
folks are pretty religious. I wasn't even allowed near boys growing up."  
  
Gary fixed me a wondering look. "Jesus Christ," he breathed. "You're a virgin,
aren't you? That's why you didn't want to have sex."  
  
I looked away, feeling a little embarrassed. I suddenly wondered why I had
even let Gary into my little apartment, my sanctum.  
  
"Hey," he said soothingly, sitting up and rubbing my back. I sighed, giving in
to his touch, and leaned against him. "Hey," he said again. "It's all right. I
hope you don't think I'm disappointed."  
  
I sniffled, feeling tears beginning to form in my eyes as my emotions welled
up. "I guess it seems kind'a weird, doing this stuff with you, and I've never
been popped."  
  
"It's not weird," he said, kissing my temple. "You're an amazing young woman,
you know that? When I first met you, I thought you were just another 'working
girl,' albeit the most gorgeous one I had ever seen—"  
  
"How many girls have you picked up?" I asked him suddenly.  
  
"A few," he said heavily, sounding ashamed. "I never went out, intending to
pick up a . . . a girl, but it just sort of happened."  
  
"You don't have sex with your wife?"  
  
He sighed, and uncurled his arms from me, taking out a cigarette from his
pack. "Sometimes," he said, lighting up.  
  
"I'm sorry," I said, wiping my eyes. "I shouldn't—"  
  
"Can I be your friend, Alyssa?" he asked, interrupting me.  
  
I thought for a moment what a strange question that was, but then realized the
sort of 'professional' relationship we had. Up until now, Gary had been just a
cock, and I was just a mouth. But now, he wanted to be a friend.  
  
I smiled. "Sure."  
  
Gary smiled. "I married Terry fifteen years ago," he said. "We dated all
throughout college, got engaged on Christmas eve. She was only the third girl
I had been with and I was the second guy she had known.  
  
"We were in love once, and I think we always will be, in a way," he continued.
"We've got two kids, a boy, Steven, eleven, and Joyce, nine. I like to think
I'm a good father and husband, for the most part. But even at my age, having
sex maybe once a month gets frustrating."  
  
"That's why you pick up girls," I said.  
  
He shrugged. "That's why I keep the option open," he clarified. "The first
time it happened was about two years ago. She wasn't a girl. Just a woman I
met in a bar, almost my age. The quintessential barfly. She was so drunk, she
kept calling me 'Bobby.'" He laughed ruefully.  
  
"I felt bad about it, and told my wife. She was mad at first, and I slept on
the couch for about a week while she decided whether or not to file for
divorce. I told the kids I was sleeping on the couch because I was sick and
didn't want to infect mommy. I had to fake a cough the whole time.  
  
"Then Terry decided that she wasn't going to file for divorce, that she
understood that I had stepped out because she and I weren't having sex. For
about a month, she tried to be more romantic and affectionate. I almost
thought that we were getting back to the way we had been before Steve was
born. But then it dried up again."  
  
I tapped ash off my cigarette. "So . . . ."  
  
"So . . . I was coming home from work one night, and I saw this young woman on
the corner. I circled twice before I picked her up. It was funny. I was so
nervous, I couldn't tell her what I wanted. But then she . . . picked up her
skirt, grabbed my hand . . . I had to sneak back into the house and wash up so
my wife wouldn't know. I think she knew, anyway, though she's never said
anything."  
  
I was quiet. I didn't know what to say. On one hand, I could sympathize with
him, but on the other, I thought what a bastard he was for cheating on his
wife. But it really wasn't my place to say anything. I was the 'other woman,'
after all, and a prostitute to boot. I had no grounds for making any kind of
moral judgment.  
  
"When I first picked you up," Gary said. "I thought how lucky I was for
finding you. You did . . . _amazing _things to me, Alyssa. I couldn't stop
thinking about you for weeks. I literally ached to be with you again. But with
my wife, and kids, my job . . . I never had the time. But now I do. I know
we're not going to have a real relationship, Alyssa, but I want to keep seeing
you. And I want to be your friend."  
  
I managed a smile. "So why the other guys?" I asked.  
  
Gary grinned. "Just helping out a friend," he said. "I had the feeling, after
that first time, that you were one of those rare girls who . . . well, who got
off on cum. And I've always wanted to be part of a blow bang."  
  
I laughed, rearing back. "'Blow bang?'" I asked. The term was new to me.  
  
"Yeah," said Gary. "You've never heard of that?"  
  
I bit my lip. "No. I've heard of gang-bangs, but—"  
  
"Well, it's the same thing," said Gary. "Except it's just your mouth. Don't
worry, Alyssa; I'll make sure all the guys know that your . . . _down below
_is off-limits."  
  
I smiled, looking Gary over. I loved watching him smoke. He had a casual flair
about it that reminded me of John Travolta in 'Michael.' Looking at him, naked
in my living room, and still tasting his cum in my mouth, I was getting turned
on again.  
  
I leaned forward, stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray Gary had made out of
a Diet Coke can. Then I eased back and lifted my hips, slipping off the one
last article of clothing I wore. Gary watched as I dangled my panties from the
tip of a finger and lay back, spreading my legs wide.  
  
"It's not off limits to you," I said. "Just don't go too deep."  
  
Gary moaned in arousal. "Oh, baby," he muttered, then went down, burying his
face between my thighs. I grinned and cooed, holding onto the back of his head
as my new friend went to work with his tongue.  
  
"Mmm, yeah, baby, eat my pussy . . . oh, yeahhhhh . . . ."  
  
***  
  
I was anxious and nervous the following Sunday. All day long at work, I
fidgeted in anticipation of the evening to come. Gary had called me that
morning, giving me the address of the motel and the room number, assuring me
that he would bring a bottle of strawberry-flavored vodka. He assuaged my
fears that some of the guys would want to go too far, saying that they would
feel 'blessed enough' to enjoy my mouth.  
  
My nervousness was telling, prompting some of my coworkers to ask me if
anything was wrong. I told them that everything was fine, I had just gotten
news about a friend who was in the hospital. The lie helped deflect any
further questions.  
  
Once I was done with my sidework and other duties, I caught the bus home,
showered carefully, and applied fresh makeup. I dressed in a tiny little green
skirt I had purchased just for the occasion, and a tight white Oxford shirt. I
tied my hair in pigtails again, and seeing myself in the mirror, I decided
that I looked like a hot little slut schoolgirl. Every man's fantasy. I
grinned.  
  
_Perfect_.  
  
Gary arrived at seven, and commented on my appearance. He could barely keep
his eyes on the road, especially once I lifted my skirt to show him the
absence of panties. I knew he wanted to pull over somewhere and let me work on
him, but I could also tell he wanted to wait.  
  
By the time we arrived at the motel, I had dripped so much that my little
skirt sported a very obvious stain in the back. Not that it mattered; I wasn't
going to be wearing it for long, I figured.  
  
The guys were already in the room when we arrived. There were four of them, as
Gary had promised. Two were tall and skinny, another was pretty short and a
little pudgy, and the fourth was downright fat. But they were all cordial and
nice, giving me looks as if they were in the presence of a goddess.  
  
I slugged down a strawberry vodka cocktail, and Gary switched on a music
station on the TV. Britney Spears' 'Pretty Baby' was playing. It seemed
appropriate. As the guys watched, sitting on the edges of the two beds, I did
a little strip-tease for them. I loved the way they stared at my body as it
was revealed. They moaned and groaned when I showed them my firm tits and
licked my fingers, polishing my puffies until they shined. The fat one, Saul,
just about fell off the bed when I dropped my skirt.  
  
I got up on all fours on one of the beds, and all five of them knelt around
the end as I masturbated for them. I loved the attention, and spread my snatch
open wide to let them get a good look. They made appreciative comments about
the appearance of my pussy, never once using rude words like 'cunt.' When I
came, spurting all over the bed sheets, they applauded. I actually blushed.  
  
Then they stood and pulled out their cocks. Now it was my turn to swoon.  
  
Gary was a little above average in size, I had come to realize, topping out at
about seven inches. The two tall guys were both a little smaller – I found out
later that they were brothers – and the short guy was average as well. But
Saul . . . .  
  
The fat man had a dick to match his body. Maybe it wasn't too long, but it was
easily thicker than my wrist. I wondered if I would even be able to fit the
thing in my mouth. But with enough spit and some adjusting, I did, and Saul
moaned as I stuffed his beer-can cock as deep as I could take it. He all but
passed out when I drank his seed the first time.  
  
I was in heaven, sucking one dick, stroking two others, while various fingers
and the occasional tongue diddled my horny snatch. I made the stipulation that
the guys could do whatever they wanted, as long as it didn't involve
penetration and as long as they got off in my mouth. They all agreed readily.  
  
I gulped down load after load of sweet, thick sperm, even took one on my face
before scooping it up with my fingers as the guys watched, and sucking my
fingers clean. Gary spent a lot of time licking and sucking and fingering my
dripping puss, making sure I came over and over. I rewarded him with a deep-
throat blow job that had him literally exploding in my mouth.  
  
The hottest part of the evening was when all five of them surrounded me,
beating off and taking turns in my mouth. One by one they shot their loads
onto my waiting tongue, until I had all five loads floating heavily in my
mouth. One of the guys handed me my compact so I could see the erotic image of
all that cum at once. I couldn't even see my tongue, there was so much milky
fluid. I had to swallow twice to get it all down, and the guys cheered.  
  
By the time I announced I'd had enough, each of the guys had cum at least
three times. My mouth was tired and my tummy was full. I had swallowed so much
dick sauce that I actually burped up sperm. I kissed the guys good bye as they
left the room, even walked out naked onto the breezeway to wave them off. Saul
gave me such a look of gratitude before he left that I was touched. Then I
headed back inside, where Gary lay naked and waiting for me.  

I crawled up atop him, straddling his hips, rubbing my pussy against his half-
hard dick. It was the closest a penis had ever come to my virgin hole, but I
trusted Gary not to take advantage of the situation.  
  
"Thanks, Gary," I said, feeling heady from both the alcohol and semen I had
consumed.  
  
He smiled up at me, gently massaging my breasts and tilting his head to kiss
and lick them. "You're welcome," he said. "I knew you'd enjoy it."  
  
I breathed out, surrounded, saturated, with the aroma and flavor of sperm, and
kissed his forehead. I was still turned on. I could have kept sucking the guys
all night, but knew they wouldn't have been able to handle it. Besides that,
my jaw was sore.  
  
"I've got something for you," said Gary.  
  
My eyes lit up. "Yeah?"  
  
He chuckled, indicated his jacket hanging off one of the chairs. "Go get it."  
  
I scrambled off him, excited, and rummaged through the jacket. I found a thick
white envelope inside, and took it out. I looked to Gary expectantly. He
nodded with a smile.  
  
"Goody!" I exclaimed, jumping back atop him, making him grunt and the bed
bounce. I opened the envelope, finding a stack of twenties inside. I counted
the money quickly, grinning as I realized I held four hundred dollars in my
hands. _ Not bad for three hours' work_, I thought. It was more than I made in
a week at the restaurant.  
  
"There's something else," he said.  
  
I frowned, and dug into the envelope. Something bulged against the side, and I
pulled it out.  
  
A ring. Gold, lined with tiny diamonds, with a blue butterfly centerpiece. I
swooned, and my eyes watered. "Oh, Gary," I sighed, dripping tears down my
cheeks.  
  
He smiled, smoothing his hands up and down my body. "Call it a friendship
ring," he said. "Go ahead, put it on. I think I got the size right."  
  
I slipped the ring down my finger. It fit perfectly. I wiggled my fingers,
looking upon the jewelry, then bent over and kissed Gary deeply. He responded
immediately, kissing me back, wrapping his arms around me.  
  
My body undulated atop his, and I felt his cock stiffen. Panting and moaning
into his mouth, I slid my hand down between us, finding his dick with my
fingers. I tilted it up, rubbing the head against my damp labia. Gary groaned.  
  
"Oh, Alyssa," he sighed, grabbing my ass with one hand, the other pushing up
through the hair on the back of my head.  
  
"Do it, Gary," I panted. "F-fuck me . . . ."  
  
I arched my back, rolled my hips, feeling my pussy spread open. The head of
Gary's stiff prick pushed between my folds, sliding inside . . . .  
  
"Oh, God!" I cried out, my virgin tunnel immediately clamping down on the
intruder. I worked it a little, wincing, then sighing as the head popped
inside. "Oh, sweet baby Jesus . . . ."  
  
Never had I felt anything like this! Fingers and tongues were one thing, but
this was a _cock_! And it was pushing up inside me, _penetrating _me for the
first time, probing deeper and deeper until . . . .  
  
I yelped as I felt the barrier inside me stretched by Gary's penis, and pulled
up. I stared down at his face, saw the mirror of my own shock and reluctance.  
  
"You're not ready," he said.  
  
I sighed, and cried again. "Oh, God, I-I'm s-s-sorry . . . ."  
  
But Gary just smiled and slipped out of me. I moaned as my pussy was emptied,
his slick cock sliding out and slapping wetly to his abdomen. Gary pulled me
down and kissed me again. "It's okay, baby," he whispered. "You'll know when
you're ready."  
  
I smiled upon him through my tears. "I'm glad you're my friend, Gary," I said.  
  
"I am, too," he said, and held me close.  
  
***  
  
Every Sunday evening, I 'entertained' Gary's employees, sucking and fisting
their dicks until I received mouthful after delicious mouthful of creamy
sperm. Maybe they weren't the most attractive men in the world, but they
served up generous amounts of cock cream for my hungry mouth, and treated me
like a princess on parade.  
  
I would dance naked for them, give lap dances as they groped and fondled me,
and masturbate before their eyes as a prelude to a wild round of cocksucking.
Some of them licked and fingered me – always being careful, of course, not to
tear my hymen – and such men received extra special attention in return.  
  
I always went home satisfied and full, with Gary dropping me off on my
doorstep and giving me a sweet kiss good night. We didn't talk about how close
we had come to making love for the first time.  
  
The holidays brought an abatement to our blow-bang weekends. I spent Christmas
with my parents, and Gary was out of town with his wife and kids, visiting
family 'back east.' I satisfied my carnal needs with the usual boys in the
mall, but I missed the thrill of having multiple dicks at my disposal. I
couldn't wait for Gary to come back.  
  
***  
  
My cell phone rang shrilly on New Year's day, rousing me from an alcoholic
stupor. I had gone to a party the night before, hosted by Katie, a girl from
work, and had ended up doing at least two, maybe three guys in the bathroom by
the time the fireworks started. I barely remembered the blow jobs, clouded as
they were by the fog of too much alcohol.  
  
"Hullo," I grumbled.  
  
"Alyssa, it's Gary."  
  
I became awake instantly, even if I was still drunk. "Gary?" I slurred.  
  
He chuckled. "Good party?" he asked.  
  
I clutched my head. "Ffffuck . . . I think I got a hangover."  
  
"You're not the only one."  
  
"Where are you?"  
  
"Still home," he said, referring to 'back east.' "I miss you. You okay?"  
  
I smiled. Gary was so sweet. Even if he was married, he was a better boyfriend
than I could hope for. "I'm fine," I said. "I didn't do anything crazy, if
that's what you're asking. I'm still cherry . . . I think." I reached down,
between my legs, and poked a finger in my hole, feeling around. "Yup. Still
cherry."  
  
"That's not why I called," he said. "I just wanted to say 'happy new year.'"  
  
I imagined kissing him. "Gary."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Do you wanna be my first?"  
  
I heard him breathe in. "Is that what you want?"  
  
I sighed. "Well . . . you're kind'a like my boyfriend, right? Even if you are
married."  
  
"Alyssa . . . we talked about this."  
  
"No, we didn't."  
  
"Well, not about _this_, but . . . you know what kind of relationship we
have."  
  
"Then why are you calling me at . . . eight-thirty-six on New Year's Day?"  
  
". . . . ."  
  
"Well? Do you or don't you?"  
  
"It's not that simple, Alyssa—"  
  
"Sure it is. Just come over, pop my cherry, it'll hurt a little bit but I'll
be okay—"  
  
"And then what?"  
  
I frowned. "What do you mean?"  
  
"You can't fall in love with me, Alyssa."  
  
"I'm not—" I began, then stopped myself. I became defensive. "Oh, right. I
forgot. I'm just your _friend_. You're favorite _whore_."  
  
"Alyssa . . . ."  
  
"No, hey, it's all right. No big deal, right? You just let me know when you're
back in town, so we can set up some more blow bangs. Happy fucking new year."
I snapped my phone closed, then fell back into my silk pillows and cried
myself back to sleep.  
  
***  
  
I heard the knock at my door a couple of days later, as I was getting ready
for work. I was starting to hate my job. I worked too much and didn't have
enough time to study. On top of that, I was being teased by guys at work about
my New Year's Eve antics.  
  
If only they knew the truth . . . .  
  
I had just gotten out of the shower and answered the door clad in only a
towel, my hair wet and slicked back. Something blocked the peep hole of my
door, so I couldn't see who was outside. I opened the door anyway.  
  
The first thing I saw was a big bushel of red roses. Then a pint bottle of
strawberry vodka. Then Gary's sheepishly smiling face.  
  
I couldn't help but smile back. "Damn it, Gary," I said, and snatched the
bottle from his hand. I turned into the apartment, Gary following behind. He
closed and latched the door.  
  
"Peace offering?" he said.  
  
I chuckled, and opened my towel, flashing him. "Piece offering?"  
  
He laughed, and went into my kitchen, looking for something to put the roses
in. I retied my towel and sat down on the couch, unscrewing the cap on the
pint. I sighed at the taste and warmth of the vodka. I looked for my
cigarettes, lit one.  
  
Gary came back, the roses sprouting out of one of the big schooner glasses I
kept in the cupboard. "Finally buying your own smokes, huh?"  
  
I shrugged. "Well, you haven't been around to bum off of," I said.  
  
He sat down beside me. "Are you mad that I went away for the holidays?" he
asked. "You know I have a wife and family."  
  
I sighed. "I know, Gary. And no, I'm not mad at you. I just . . . ." I
couldn't figure out what I wanted to say.  
  
He touched my arm, watching me as I drank and smoked. "Do you really want me
to be your first?"  
  
I took a deep breath, let it out heavily. I stared at my blank television.
"No."  
  
Gary didn't say anything. I got the impression he was a little disappointed. I
knew guys were turned on by the idea of taking a virgin, and I guess, since my
comment two days before, Gary had been thinking about it.  
  
"I know this girl, in one of my classes," I said as Gary took out his own pack
of cigarettes and lit up. "Julie. She's real cute, about my age. Actually, I
think she just turned nineteen. Anyway, we're not really that close, but we
hang out sometimes in the Quad. I don't know how we got around to it . . . we
were talking about guys, I guess . . . but, she started telling me about her
first time."  
  
I tapped my cigarette over my new crystal ashtray (courtesy of Manny at the
Waterford store and his surprisingly large penis), took another swig from the
bottle. Gary was silent as he listened to me. "She didn't, like, go into
detail or anything like that, but she was telling me how sweet her boyfriend
was at the time, how it hurt at first but then felt so good . . . a couple
weeks later, he dumped her. Just like that."  
  
Gary sighed. "Men can be real assholes," he said.  
  
I laughed sharply, tilted the bottle to my lips again. I was starting to feel
a little buzz. I still didn't look at Gary, just continued with my monologue:
"Ever since then, I've been thinking about it. About what my first time will
be like . . . and about what'll happen after."  
  
"And?"  
  
I took a drag of my cigarette, another slug from the bottle. "Every girl I
know, the story's always the same. They never stay with the guy who popped
them. So, when you think about it, it doesn't really matter who I do it with."
I finally looked to Gary. "Right?"  
  
His eyes studied my face a moment. "Do you really think that?"  
  
I nodded. "But you know what's funny?"  
  
"What."  
  
"I don't want it to be you," I said, making Gary frown. I smiled, touched his
face. He had a little stubble. "I know that doesn't make sense, but it was
something you said."  
  
He nodded in understanding. "About . . . falling in love," he said.  
  
"I really like you, Gary," I said earnestly, the alcohol loosening my
inhibitions. "And I just know, if we did it, I'd start feeling . . ." I looked
down. "I think I probably would fall in love with you. Even more than I
already have."  
  
"Oh, baby," he said tenderly, wrapping his arms around me. I snuggled close to
him, breathing in his scent. God, he smelled so good. I closed my eyes,
murmuring softly, wanting to just lay down with him and pull off our clothes,
feel him pushing inside me. I _wanted _that. But I knew it would be the wrong
thing to do.  
  
"I don't know what to say, Alyssa," Gary whispered, petting my hair. "Like I
said, I do love you, but we'll never—"  
  
"I know," I said, pulling away. I gave him a little smile, letting him know I
wasn't upset.  
  
Gary just nodded, watching me as I drank again. He laughed softly. "Hey, don't
go getting drunk."  
  
I smiled mischievously. "Why not? Afraid I'm gonna jump you?"  
  
He chuckled. "Actually, I'm hoping you will."  
  
I laughed, sipped again. 'Casually,' I pulled on my towel and let it fall
around my butt, exposing my body. Gary breathed in.  
  
"Damn, Alyssa, you really have an incredible body," he said, looking upon me.  
  
I smiled, spread my legs. "Look. I trimmed." Gary's eyes followed my hands as
I touched my pussy. My lips were shaved smooth, and I had just a little strip
of nearly invisible blonde pubes above my clitoris.  
  
Gary reached over and touched me, tickling the edges of my pubic hair. "Very
nice. No stubble," he commented.  
  
I giggled and cupped his cheek. "Unlike you."  
  
He blushed a little, keeping his hand on my puss. I squirmed a little,
encouraging him to finger me. He did, sliding his middle finger slowly inside
my tunnel. He kept it there, not moving it, just letting me enjoy the
sensation. I bit my lip, closing my eyes a moment as I felt his finger curling
a little bit inside me, massaging my snug, wet walls. I took a last pull from
my cigarette, then stubbed it out.  
  
"Get my phone, Gary," I said in a soft voice. "It's on the counter."  
  
Gary looked, saw my phone, then smiled back at me. Gently, he eased his finger
from inside me and sucked it as he got up. The alcohol was making me buzz,
increasing my libido. I took another swig from the bottle.  
  
Gary brought me my cell, and unbuckled his pants as he remained standing
beside me. I grinned, hitting the buttons, dialing work.  
  
"Hey, Sandy," I said, making my voice sound scratchy. "It's Alyssa. Can I talk
to one of the managers?" I faked a cough.  
  
"Yeah, sure. Hold on a sec."  
  
I listened to bad Muzak as I watched Gary get undressed. He seemed to be a
little trimmer around the middle. His penis was hard and shiny as it was
revealed. Soon, he stood completely nude before me. I giggled softly when I
noticed he had shaved his balls. I reached out and cupped the smooth, hanging
orbs with my hand. Gary smiled upon me and petted my hair.  
  
"This is Juan, how can I help you?"  
  
"Juan," I said into the phone, and coughed again. "We got an on-call for
tonight?"  
  
"Not feeling well, Alyssa?"  
  
"Not really. I think I'm getting something." I tickled Gary's balls as I
spoke. "I think I'm getting it pretty hard."  
  
"Don't worry, sweetie," my manager said. He always called me 'sweetie.' "We've
got too many on the floor tonight anyway. You need someone to bring you
anything?"  
  
"Nah, I'll be okay," I said, moving my hand up to stroke Gary's cock. A thick,
clear bubble formed at the tip. "I've got some juice. I'll make sure to drink
it all."  
  
"Well, if you need something, let us know, okay?"  
  
"I will. Thanks, Juan." I snapped my phone closed, and Gary laughed.  
  
"Feeling sick, baby?" asked Gary, pulling my head toward him.  
  
"Uh-huh," I said, parting my lips as I looked up at his face. "I need some
medicine. Something thick and sweet to coat my throat."  
  
Gary moaned as I started sucking him. "Mmm, baby, you're gonna get all the
medicine you want . . . ."  
  
***  
  
"So, I got an idea," I said half an hour later, as Gary recovered on the
couch. I had swallowed most of his cum, but a little had oozed out from the
corner of my mouth and dripped down my chin. I didn't bother wiping it away as
I lit another cigarette and sipped from the bottle of strawberry vodka. I
glanced to the two twenties Gary had left on the table. He was getting a
reduced rate these days.  
  
"What's that, babe?" he asked, stroking my naked back.  
  
"Well, I've been thinking about it. About doing it," I said.  
  
"And?"  
  
"And . . . I don't wanna worry about whether or not the guy's gonna stick
around. I don't wanna fall in love with him. I want it to be someone I'll
probably never see again."  
  
Gary frowned. "You sure about this?"  
  
I nodded as I took another sip of the vodka. "Think about it from my point of
view. If I never see the guy again, I won't fall in love with him. I'll just
have this wonderful memory of my first time, and that'll be that."  
  
"How are you going to make sure it'll be wonderful?" he asked.  
  
I smiled knowingly. "I'm not. _You _are."  
  
Gary frowned. "Huh?"  
  
I shifted on the couch, facing him. "Okay, this is what I'm thinking: You know
a lot of men, right?"  
  
He nodded slowly. "Right . . . ."  
  
"And, unless I'm wrong, guys in your field make bank. I mean, you make a lot
of money, right?"  
  
Gary shrugged. "I do pretty well," he said.  
  
I smiled slowly, the idea in my head making me excited. "I wanna have an
auction."  
  
He blinked. "A what?"  
  
"An auction," I repeated. "Highest bidder gets to pop me."  
  
Gary sat up, staring at me with an alarmed look. "Whoa, Alyssa, hold on a
sec—"  
  
"No, I'm serious," I said vehemently. "I wanna do it this way. You let all the
guys you work with know that my virginity is for sale, and we'll see who's got
the deepest pockets."  
  
Gary didn't seem too thrilled by the idea. "Alyssa, think about this. You
can't just . . . _sell _your virginity."  
  
"Why not?" I asked in that simple way.  
  
"You just . . . can't. I mean—"  
  
"Look," I said. "Every girl wants her first time to be special. I'm no
different. I'm going to remember the first time I have sex for the rest of my
life, so I wanna do it right." I started ticking off on my fingers. "I want
champagne, roses, a nice hotel suite, a limo ride . . . and dinner. And then
I'll do anything the guy wants, all night long."  
  
Gary stared at me, reading my face. "You're serious."  
  
I nodded firmly. "As a heart attack."  
  
He looked dumbfounded. "And . . . you want me to set it up."  
  
"I'll give you twenty-five percent," I said.  
  
Gary looked startled. "Well . . . wouldn't that make me . . . ."  
  
I giggled. "My pimp? Yup."  
  
Gary looked away, taking up his cigarettes. "I don't know."  
  
I snuggled close to him, licked and kissed his ear. "You can be my second," I
whispered suggestively.  
  
Gary shuddered. His cock twitched. I reached down and stroked it, caressing
his smooth balls with my fingertips.  
  
"I-I'll think about it," he said.  
  
I kissed my way down his body. "You do that," I said, and submerged his dick
in my mouth, loving the feeling as it grew hard against my tongue. "Mmmm . . .
."  
  
_. . . to be continued . . ._




        Pretty Baby Ch. 02


_The die has been cast._  
  
**Part Two: A Barrier Breached**  
  
"Alyssa! You got another call party."  
  
I smiled at Sandy, the busty hostess, as I stood talking with a few of my
fellow servers in the kitchen at the restaurant. "Thanks. I'll be right
there."  
  
"Hey, what gives, Alyssa?" asked Joe, one of the guys who had always flirted
with me. He was a good-looking guy, five or six years older than me, and under
any other circumstances I might have considered going out with him. "You've
been getting more call parties in the last couple of weeks than anyone else
gets all year."  
  
I shrugged innocently. "Guess people just like me," I said, and headed out to
greet my new table.  
  
Since Gary had agreed to help me find the lucky guy to pop me, I had been
getting a lot of men coming in to the restaurant, asking for me as their
server. It was Gary's idea to let them know where I worked, so they could meet
me and get a look at me without being obvious about it. I was nervous about it
at first, but realized it was a good idea.  
  
Some of my 'call parties' -- guests who ask for a server by name -- I
recognized from my Sunday afternoon blow bangs. They flirted and chatted with
me, asking me questions about myself. Gary had stipulated that none of the men
who came to see me would mention the auction, but it was always on their
minds, I could tell . . . as well as on mine.  
  
For the duration of the bidding, I had decided not to see any of my regular
tricks. I didn't even blow Gary, much as he wanted me to. I wanted to be hot
as hell the night I lost my virginity. But after three weeks without cock, I
was getting pretty damn itchy. I told Gary I wanted the bidding closed soon. I
was so fucking horny I couldn't stand it!  
  
I pranced out to the dining room, anticipating my latest admirer. I was
surprised to find a table of three: an older man, tall and good-looking with
bright silver hair cut short, a woman about forty or so, stately and elegant,
and a very pretty teenaged girl I figured was my age. My thought that I was
meeting one of the men who were bidding to be my first faded. I figured I had
a real call-party, someone I had waited on before.  
  
"Hi. My name's Alyssa, and I'll be your server tonight. Would you like to hear
about our features?"  
  
The silver-haired man -- damn, he was gorgeous! I figured his hair had started
turning grey at a young age, because the rest of him didn't look that much
older than Gary -- gave me a soft smile, his eyes drinking me in briefly.
"Hello, Alyssa," he said in a smooth voice. "You waited on me a couple of
weeks ago, you remember?"  
  
The way he said that . . . I caught on right away. I knew I had never seen
this man before in my life. I sure as hell would have remembered those dark,
commanding eyes, that square jaw, that velveteen voice. But I pretended I did,
realizing that this man was one of those bidding to be my first. And how
deliciously naughty it was that he had brought along his wife and daughter!  
  
"Oh, yeah," I said, pretending to remember. "You were having a business lunch
with . . . oh, what was his name?"  
  
He chuckled, crow's feet wrinkling at the corners of his eyes. "Gary Jackson,"
he said, then offered his hand. "And I'm Ian, in case you forgot. Ian
Holloway. This is my wife, Rebecca, and my daughter, Erin."  
  
"Nice to meet you," I said. Ian's wife and daughter both smiled amiably, shook
my hand.  
  
"Ian says you give wonderful service," remarked Rebecca.  
  
I glanced to Ian a moment with a smile, imagining the 'service' I would love
to give him. "I do my best," I said. Damn, just looking at him was making me
wet! I had never met a man with such natural charisma, such charm and
presence. I got the immediate impression he was used to getting what he
wanted.  
  
And I suddenly hoped I was what he wanted.  
  
"So," I said buoyantly. "Are we gonna start off with some wine tonight?"  
  
***  
  
I made sure to take care of my other tables, but my focus was definitely on
Ian while he was there. His wife was a funny, intelligent woman who asked me a
lot of questions about my life. Where I had grown up, what my major was in
college, stuff like that. I got the impression that Ian had brought along his
family to make it easier for him to learn about me without being obvious as to
why he was there. I found the whole situation delightfully kinky.  
  
Erin, Ian's daughter, was a year older than I and very pretty. Hell, she was
gorgeous, and I knew that most of the male servers were checking her out. She
and I talked a little bit, and I got the idea that we could be friends if the
opportunity came up. She was in college, too, although a year ahead of me, and
we both knew some of the same professors.  
  
All throughout the meal, however, I caught Ian's eyes on me now and then,
surreptitiously checking me out, assessing me. I flirted with him
professionally, as I always did with my male guests, but all the while I was
thinking, _this man might actually be the one I'll be having sex with for the
first time._  
  
And of all the men I had thus far met, Ian was the only one I truly wanted. My
pussy was dripping all night as I imagined feeling him pushing inside me,
taking me for the first time. I somehow knew he would make it special for me.  
  
Toward the end of their meal, as the restaurant was thinning out, I happened
to catch Ian getting up from the table to head to the bathroom. He caught my
eye, and without having to wink or nod or do anything like that, somehow
indicated that I should follow. I did, eagerly, but without being too obvious.  
  
I met him in the little hall toward the back of the restaurant, out of sight
of the other guests. He was, indeed, a tall man, a couple of inches over six
feet, I guessed. In his dark slacks and pin-striped shirt, he showed off a
well-toned body. My panties were soaked as I stood before him.  
  
"I've heard a lot about you, Alyssa," he said to me, smiling kindly.  
  
"I bet." I was captivated by his eyes. Oh, how I wanted him!  
  
"Is everything they say true?"  
  
I smiled flirtatiously. "Probably."  
  
Ian smiled, licking his lips slowly. My legs quivered. I wanted to taste those
lips so bad! I wanted to taste every inch of his body, over and over and over
. . . .  
  
"I know we're not supposed to talk about it," he said. "But I've always made
my own rules. That's how I became so successful in business."  
  
I didn't doubt it. Ian was a man, I felt, who took charge, did things his own
way.  
  
"I assume the bidding is going to close soon," he said. "I was reluctant to
get involved at first, but after hearing about you, I decided to come see what
all the fuss is about. I wish I had come sooner."  
  
I bit my lip. "Did you . . . place a bid?" I asked hopefully.  
  
He smiled, touched my face. His hand was warm and firm. I pressed my cheek
against it.  
  
"No," he said. "But I will, if you want me to."  
  
I stared into his eyes. "I want you to," I whispered.  
  
Ian didn't say anything more. He just smiled, took his hand away, and headed
into the bathroom. And I was left so weak in the knees that I almost collapsed
right there.  
  
***  
  
"Alyssa. Hey, baby, what's—"  
  
I cut Gary off as I paced on the back dock of the restaurant, smoking a
cigarette. It had been about an hour since Ian and his family left, leaving me
a fat tip. I clutched my cell close to my ear so I could hear over the drone
of the air conditioning vents. "Who's Ian Holloway?" I asked.  
  
Gary was quiet a moment on the other end. "Ian . . . Holloway?" he asked
carefully.  
  
"Yeah. Who is he?"  
  
"He's uh, he's the president of a technology company that's trying to buy us
out. Why?"  
  
"He came in to see me tonight. He said he's gonna bid."  
  
"What? How the hell does he know about this?"  
  
I frowned, pulling on my cigarette. "What do you mean? You didn't send him?"  
  
"Of course not! Jesus Christ, if he knows . . . ."  
  
"What's wrong, Gary?"  
  
"'What's wrong?'" he snapped. "I'll tell you what's wrong! Holloway's company
is trying to buy us out. It's kind of like a hostile takeover. If he knows
about this . . . about _you_ . . . he might know what's been going on every
Sunday. And he might use that as leverage against us . . . against me."  
  
"Gary, calm down," I said. "I don't think it's like that."  
  
"Alyssa, honey, no offense, but you don't know that much about business. I do.
Holloway might be using you to take over the company. Damn it!"  
  
"Are you saying you're not gonna let him bid?" I asked, actually dreading the
possibility.  
  
Gary was silent. I heard faint taping in the background. I figured he was on
his computer. "No, I'm not gonna do that," he said. "That would tip him off,
and it might make him mad. Hell, if he bids, then . . . ."  
  
"Then what?"  
  
"Jesus Christ."  
  
"Gary, what is it?"  
  
"I just checked the recent bids on the bulletin board I set up on line," he
explained. "The highest bid as of this morning was from Saul, for $5,150.
Don't know how he would swing that. Must be taking out a loan."  
  
I gasped. _That much? Just to fuck me?_  
  
"But a new bid was just posted. And I mean, just now. Like . . . eight minutes
ago."  
  
"And?"  
  
Gary sighed. "The user name is 'Ianmyway.' Son of a bitch."  
  
"Gary," I said. "What's the bid?"  
  
He sighed again. "Twenty-five thousand dollars."  
  
I dropped my phone.  
  
***  
  
I was shaking as I left work. Gary arrived to pick me up, and said nothing as
I got in the car with him. He lit a cigarette, passed it to me, and I took it
with twitching fingers.  
  
_Twenty-five thousand dollars,_ I thought. The amount was ridiculous. _That
much money? Just to have sex with a virgin? There has to be more to it than
that. What does Mr. Ian Holloway want from me? A sex slave? A mistress? Use me
to blackmail Gary's company? What?_  
  
I instantly had the feeling that I was involved in something way over my head.  
  
"He's overwhelming the competition," Gary said as he drove. His knuckles were
white as he gripped the wheel. "Holloway obviously knows who's been bidding. I
don't know how he does, but he knows, and he's locking everyone else out. He
knows no one can match that bid."  
  
"So what's gonna happen?"  
  
Gary gave me a dark look. "You're gonna lose your virginity to a shark, that's
what's gonna happen."  
  
I was suddenly afraid. Ian had turned me on, and I wanted him, but now I
wondered just what he wanted from me. Morbid fantasies of being a sex slave,
fucking business clients as Ian watched, filled my mind. That wasn't what I
wanted. I didn't want to be _owned_.  
  
"Close the bidding, Gary," I said. "Do it tonight."  
  
He chuckled ruefully. "That's sort of like closing the barn door after the
horse got out," he said. "No one's gonna meet Holloway's bid. Whatever happens
now, is up to you and him."  
  
I swallowed nervously. _What the hell have I gotten into?_  
  
***  
  
As Gary had predicted, by Monday, when the bidding officially closed,
'Ianmyway's' bid remained the highest. No one had even bothered to post after
seeing that astronomical sum. Gary called me that morning, as I was heading
across campus to my first class.  
  
"It's up to you, babe," he said. "This isn't an enforceable contract, since,
technically, it's prostitution. Holloway can't sue you. You can take Saul's
bid if you want."  
  
I grimaced. I liked Saul; he was a nice guy. But he sweated a lot and on the
two occasions he had joined in the blow bangs, he always came too fast and
took a long time to recover. I really didn't want to lose my virginity to a
sweaty fat man with premature ejaculation problems.  
  
"But if I don't take Ian's bid . . . ."  
  
Gary sighed into the phone. "An auditor arrived this morning, sent by Holloway
as part of his 'assessment' before the actual buyout goes official. The
auditor's been looking into everyone's accounts."  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"It means that people might start asking why twenty-three men in my department
have each paid me a hundred dollars," he said ominously. "Some of them more
than once. If this goes too far, Alyssa, the police might get involved. We
might both be looking at charges of solicitation."  
  
I stopped in my tracks, a feeling of dread falling over me like a shroud. "Oh,
God."  
  
"Now, don't freak out, Alyssa—"  
  
"Easy for you to say!" I blurted. "You're not the one who's being used to fuck
over a whole company!"  
  
"I don't think that's what Holloway's doing," said Gary. "I think he's just
providing a little . . . insurance."  
  
"To make sure I go through with it."  
  
"Yeah. Think so."  
  
"So what now?"  
  
"Now . . . I make the transfer, confirm that Holloway can pay the amount --
and he can, believe me -- and then I give him your phone number. What happens
then is up to you."  
  
I huffed, sitting on a wooden bench beneath a tree on the edge of campus. "You
know, when he came in to see me, he seemed so nice, like . . . like—"  
  
"Yeah, I know. That's the way he is. Everyone calls him the 'Godfather'
because he'll take you under his wing and he treats everyone like family. But
piss him off and he sends out the hit squad."  
  
I gasped. "Oh, Jesus!"  
  
"Calm down. I didn't mean that literally. You're not gonna get hurt if you
back out."  
  
"But I will go to jail," I said in a shaking voice.  
  
"Look, chances are—"  
  
"Give him my number," I said.  
  
". . . are you sure?"  
  
"Just do it, Gary. Like you said, what happens now is up to me."  
  
***  
  
My phone buzzed a few times during the day, and every time I answered it, I
feared -- or anticipated -- that it would be Ian. But it never was. Just
friends calling to say high, or someone from work wanting to switch shifts.  
  
I thought about Ian. The image I had from our one and only meeting was of a
cool, confident older man, a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. I
saw him as being direct, for the most part, and tactful. I had a hard time
picturing the ruthless shark Gary painted him to be. But Gary knew Ian better
than I did; at the least, he knew a hell of a lot more about Ian's business
practices than I did.  
  
I was conflicted in my emotions. I wasn't sure if the Ian I met, with his
confidence and sexy demeanor and gorgeous dark eyes was really Ian at all, or
just a front he had put on for my benefit. After all, what kind of man would
introduce his wife and daughter to the girl he intended to deflower?  
  
I had switched with another server that night, an older woman named Joan who
wanted a night out with her new boyfriend. She had agreed to work my Thursday
night shift in exchange. I was glad to work; it helped me take my mind off
Ian.  
  
Or so I thought.  
  
"Hey, Alyssa, that cute older guy is here again," Sandy the hostess said to me
as I was refilling sodas at the beverage station. "He's waiting up front."  
  
I stiffened a little and almost dropped the glass I was holding. I knew
exactly who Sandy meant. And so did Katie, standing next to me.  
  
"'Cute older guy?'" she echoed with a sly grin.  
  
I blushed. "H-he's just a regular," I said, trying to play it off. "He came in
with his wife and daughter one night—"  
  
"Yeah, I know," said Katie. "I was working that night, too. I also happened to
notice you and Mr. Cute Older Guy sneak off to the bathroom for a few minutes.
So what do you get from him, huh?"  
  
I felt shaky. "Wh-what do you mean?"  
  
Katie rolled her eyes. "Please," she said patronizingly. "You might think
you're being slick, but I've heard about the 'blow job girl.' My friend Lee
works at the music store. He says you go in there all the time to see Doug.
You always walk out with a couple of CDs and Doug's always got this big grin
on his face."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, setting my drinks on a tray.  
  
"No?" she asked with a little laugh. "Well, what about that guy at the bed and
bath store? Or that black guy at the shoe store? I've seen you, Alyssa, and
I'm not the only one."  
  
My face felt hot. "S-seen what?"  
  
Katie laughed and touched my shoulder, leaning close. I felt her breath in my
ear. "Do you really swallow every time?" she asked.  
  
I shuddered, both from embarrassment and arousal. "K-Katie—"  
  
"Hey, I'm not gonna tell no one," she said. "I think it's hot. I just wanna
know: do you always swallow? Huh? Do you like swallowing _cum_, Alyssa?"  
  
I pushed away from the beverage station, giving Katie a furtive look. "I
g-gotta . . . my tables need me." I took up my tray and headed back out to the
dining room, my heart fluttering in my chest. I didn't need Katie's bullshit
right now. I had other things to worry about.  
  
I dropped off the drink refills, checked on my other tables, then headed up
front. Eight o'clock on a Monday, the lobby was empty except for Sandy,
standing behind the host stand, talking and flirting openly with _him_.  
  
Damn . . . he looked even better than the first time I had seen him. He wore
faded designer jeans that seemed molded to his muscular legs without being too
tight, and a black blazer over a pale yellow button-down shirt. The manly
aroma of his cologne seemed to snake out toward me, touching me in all my
erogenous zones at once. His short silver hair was combed back, with a little
Superman curl on his forehead.  
  
"Oh," said Sandy, looking disappointed as she saw me. "Here she is."  
  
Ian turned toward me, smiling in that suave, confident way of his. His dark
eyes caught the light of the tiki-style lamps that flanked the front doors of
the lobby. I couldn't help but be aroused in Ian's presence, especially
considering that he was soon to be my first real lover.  
  
"Hello again, Alyssa," he said, his eyes settling on my own. "I just happened
to be in the area, and decided to stop in."  
  
I couldn't tear my eyes from his. "Sandy," I said. "I think one of the
managers was looking for you."  
  
"Oh, really? Well, they usually just buzz me up here—"  
  
"Sandy."  
  
"Oh . . . rrright. Um, think I'll go see what they want," Sandy said, and
stepped away. Ian gave me an amused look.  
  
"What do you want?" I asked him.  
  
His confidence didn't waver in the slightest. "I'd think that would be
obvious, Alyssa," he said. "After all, I did have the winning bid."  
  
I paled, jerking my head away and looking down at the floor. "T-tonight?" I
asked, blinking profusely. "I-I'm not ready."  
  
Ian chuckled again and stepped closer. He slipped a finger under my chin,
tilting my head back up. I was so docile before him. "No, not tonight," he
said. "It's too late for all the preparations."  
  
I frowned, swallowing nervously. "What 'preparations?'" I asked.  
  
"Have you forgotten?" he asked, and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a
slip of paper, unfolded it. It was an Internet printout from the bulletin
board Gary had set up. "'One dozen fresh red roses, a bottle of champagne,
limousine ride, semi-formal dinner, hotel suite, candles and soft music.'
That's quite a list of stipulations, Alyssa."  
  
I was held captive by his eyes. "I just want it to be special," I said.  
  
He smiled warmly. "It will be," he said. "When is your next day off?"  
  
I breathed in, more than aware of the moistness between my legs. "Th-
Thursday," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.  
  
Ian graced my chin again with his fingers. "Thursday it is, then," he said.
"Be ready for me."  
  
I trembled with desire. "I am," I said, then blushed. "I mean, I-I will."  
  
Ian bent, bringing his face closer, soft lips parting. I whimpered in
anticipation of that first kiss. I moaned passionately into his mouth, sucking
tenderly on his lips as he did the same. He didn't force his tongue into my
mouth; it was more like a gentle probing, a tasting. My body shook and my
pussy spasmed. I shuddered quietly as a soft orgasm rolled through me, rubbing
my body against his. Ian held me close, kissing my neck and ears as my
aftershocks faded.  
  
"I'll see you Thursday," he said, stepping away and opening the door.  
  
"Yeah," I responded, heavy-eyed and breathless. I squirmed on my feet. My
panties were heavy with wetness, sticking to my pussy and riding between the
cheeks of my butt. I watched Ian leave, staring after him like a worshipper as
Eros departed the temple.  

"Damn."  
  
I turned around to see Katie leaning on the host stand, an impressed smile on
her face. "I'm jealous," she said.  
  
I gritted my teeth, looking away.  
  
"No, I'm serious," Katie continued, pushing away from the host stand and
approaching me. "He's hot. Even for an older guy. Bet he makes you scream,
huh?"  
  
I started to walk past her, then stopped and smirked. I looked over my
shoulder at her. "I'll find out Thursday," I said, then continued into the
dining room.  
  
"I want details!" she called after me.  
  
***  
  
That Thursday afternoon, after coming home from school, I was nervous. I was
more than nervous. I felt fear, anticipation, anxiety and excitement, all at
once. I took a shower, wanting to be as clean as possible, but my libido
wouldn't let me rest without release, so I masturbated in front of my vanity
mirror, madly rubbing my clit until I spurted onto the sink. Then I took
another shower.  
  
I tried on various outfits. I wanted to be classy but still a little slutty,
and to that end, finally decided on a sheer black dress that hugged my curves
and showed off my cleavage. I contemplated going without panties, but decided
that would be _too_ slutty. Going braless would be enough.  
  
I found a black silk thong to complement my dress, then rolled up some thigh-
high stockings and slipped on my best black heels. _God bless Marcus for his
taste in shoes_, I thought. I piled my hair up atop my head in a loose bun,
securing it in place with chopsticks. Light makeup, red lipstick, soft
lavender eyeshadow, and I was ready. The final touch was a little spritz of
perfume on my neck, wrists, and the backs of my knees.  
  
I stared in the mirror, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out.
_Tonight, Alyssa, you're going to become a woman._  
  
The knock at the door startled me. I gathered my composure, wobbled on my
four-inch heels to the door. I wasn't used to walking in the things. I checked
my little black purse to make sure I had everything I needed: mints,
cigarettes, lighter, perfume, compact, lipstick, Handi-Wipes, keys . . .
check.  
  
I opened the door, expecting Ian. Instead, it was Miguel.  
  
Miguel, from so many months before, the man whose cock was the first I had
ever sucked. He wore a tuxedo and a black chauffeur's hat. His eyes bulged in
recognition.  
  
I slowly smiled, feeling a strange sort of sexy confidence. "Hey, baby," I
said. "Are you my ride?"  
  
Miguel blinked. "Um . . . u-uh, yeah," he stammered. His eyes dipped, taking
in my long legs. He dragged his gaze slowly up my body and smiled. "I'm your
driver for the evening. Mr. Holloway sent me to pick you up."  
  
I smiled, meeting his gaze boldly. "Lead the way," I said.  
  
Miguel smirked and headed down the walk from my apartment, toward a long,
black limo with dark-tinted windows. He opened the door for me, looking me
over.  
  
"Don't get any ideas," I said warningly.  
  
Miguel forced his smile away. "I'd never think of it, ma'am."  
  
***  
  
The privacy window between the front and back lowered once the car started
moving. I sat facing the front, and could see Miguel's eyes in the rear-view
mirror. He kept checking out my legs, and I suspected he was trying to look up
my short skirt. I was glad I had decided to wear panties.  
  
"I, uh, I was told this is a special occasion," Miguel said.  
  
I smiled. _Oh, irony!_ The first man I had ever tasted was now taking me to be
with the man who would take my virginity. In a strange way, it was
appropriate. If not for Miguel, after all, I would not be in the position I
was now.  
  
"It's a very special occasion," I confirmed.  
  
Miguel nodded. "Um . . . anniversary? Birthday?"  
  
I smiled coyly. "Something like that."  
  
Miguel was quiet a moment, his eyes darting back to me now and then as he
drove. Finally, he let out a nervous laugh. "Damn, baby, you are hot," he said
at last. "I mean, smokin' hot!"  
  
"Keep your eyes on the road, Miguel," I said.  
  
He sighed, and drove in silence for a while.  
  
"Why did you pick me?" I asked at last.  
  
He looked to me in the mirror. "Huh?"  
  
"That day, in the mall," I said. "You and your friend were waiting for me. Why
me?"  
  
Miguel looked uncomfortable. "Hey, we was just messing around," he said. "If
you'd'a said no, we would'a let you go."  
  
"That wasn't the impression I got."  
  
We stopped at a light. Miguel turned in his seat and looked at me directly. "I
ain't never raped no one," he said. "And I never will. Maybe you got that
feeling, and if you did, then I apologize. But you gotta admit, once it came
down to it, you liked it."  
  
I laughed softly. "Of course I liked it," I said. "Hell, I've been doing it
ever since."  
  
Miguel's face registered surprise. He stared at me for a long moment, until a
car horn blared behind us.  
  
"Light's green," I said.  
  
Miguel cursed, turned back around, and floored the accelerator. We were both
silent for a while as he took the highway toward downtown.  
  
"What you mean by that?" he asked. "What you mean by 'I've been doing it ever
since?'"  
  
I hesitated a moment, wondering if I should reveal just what, exactly, Miguel
had opened my eyes to. I decided that, even if he never intended to influence
me the way he did, he deserved to know.  
  
"Before I met you," I told him. "I had never even seen a man naked before,
much less touched . . . or blown one."  
  
"You serious?"  
  
I nodded. "That day, when you dragged me in the men's room and shoved your
cock in my mouth," I said, using the rudest words I could think of. "I hated
you. You were a crude, selfish piece of shit."  
  
He frowned in the mirror. "Hey, hey—"  
  
"Shut up," I said firmly, and smiled again. But it was the smile of a woman
with the upper hand. "I hated you, Miguel, and I always will. But you know
what's funny?"  
  
"What's that?" he asked carefully.  
  
I grinned. "I love you for doing it."  
  
He frowned again. "Huh?"  
  
"You have no idea what you started, do you, when you took me into that stall,
when you made me taste a dick -- and cum -- for the first time. You don't have
the slightest fucking idea, do you?"  
  
"Bitch, you talkin' crazy—"  
  
I glared. "Call me a 'bitch' again and you'll be hobbling home on broken
ankles," I said seriously. "Don't fuck with me, Miguel. My _man_ knows a lot
of people." I didn't know if that was true, of course, but Miguel did not have
to know that.  
  
Miguel fell silent, glancing to me in the mirror, his eyes fierce and proud .
. . but ultimately impotent. "Look . . . I'm _sorry_, okay?" he said. "Is that
what you wanna hear?"  
  
I couldn't help but laugh. "I really don't wanna hear anything from you," I
said. "I just want you to know that, what you did that day . . . it changed my
life forever, and brought me to where I am now. I guess, in a way, I will
always be grateful to you. Even if you are a crude piece of shit."  
  
Miguel said nothing, insulted and confused and dumbfounded by my words. He
kept looking back to me, but his lips remained pursed until he pulled the limo
up before one of the downtown hotels. Above the classic art deco awning was a
red banner advertising the steakhouse in the lobby.  
  
"We're here," said Miguel simply, and he stepped out of the limo. I watched
him through the dark tinted windows as he walked around to my door. He pulled
it open and offered his hand, helping me to my feet. In my heels, I was just a
little taller than he.  
  
"Thank you, Miguel," I said.  
  
He didn't look at me. "Ask for Mr. Holloway inside," he said. "The Maitre'D is
expecting you."  
  
I touched his face. Despite everything, he was a handsome man. "Thanks,
Miguel," I said, then headed up toward the doors of the restaurant.  
  
***  
  
I was nervous again as the doorman showed me inside and introduced me to the
Maitre'D. The middle-aged man at the front counter gave me an approving look
and smile and lead me through the dimly-lit restaurant toward the back. We
passed a crackling fireplace which sent the sweet aroma of mesquite through
the air.  
  
The other tables were occupied mainly with couples, the majority middle aged,
and I felt eyes upon me as I walked. I was out of place, and it was obvious. A
pretty young blonde girl in a JC Penny dress, surrounded by age, Armani and
Donna Karan.  
  
But my heart flipped when I saw Ian sitting in the rounded booth, watching my
approach. He looked the ultimate continental gentleman in his dark jacket,
white shirt, and long white scarf, a snifter of brandy before him, a cigarette
smoldering in a glass ashtray.  
  
"Msr. Holloway, Madame," the Maitre'D said, and retreated.  
  
I stared at Ian for a long moment, quivering on my feet. "Tell me this is only
what I think it is," I said.  
  
Ian cocked his head, frowning. "What do you mean?"  
  
"This is only about us, right?" I asked. "This doesn't have anything to do
with you wanting to take over Gary's company."  
  
Ian smiled, looking amused. "No, it doesn't have anything to do with that," he
said. "Although, I do have to thank a couple of his employees for letting me
in on this little secret."  
  
I looked down, feeling ashamed again, the wash of Catholic guilt surging over
me. Once again, I was just a naughty little girl.  
  
"Have a seat, Alyssa," Ian said, patting the booth beside him. "Come sit next
to me."  
  
Meekly, I did so, sliding across the cool seat, inching closer to Ian. I
inhaled his manly scent once more. It sent little shocks through my body that
gravitated quickly toward my clit. I was as aroused by Ian as I was
intimidated.  
  
"Now, tell me," he said. "Why would such a beautiful and intelligent woman
such as yourself want to offer her virginity to the highest bidder?"  
  
I shuddered. "It . . . it turned me on," I whispered.  
  
"Hmm," mused Ian. "I suppose I can understand that. But, after all is said and
done, don't you think you might regret this?"  
  
I looked up to his face. "I hope not," I said.  
  
Ian reached for his cigarette, tapped off some ash, and sucked on it. I
watched his movements, the way his lips wrapped around the filter. Everything
he did just made me more and more wet.  
  
"My daughter is your age," he said, breathing out a long cone of smoke. He
looked to me. "I wonder if she would do the same thing in your position."  
  
I frowned. _Oh, God, please don't let Ian be some kind of sick freak who has
fantasies about doing his own daughter!_  
  
"But this is about you," he said. "And us. Are you really ready to go through
with this?"  
  
I stared at him blankly, unsure of what to say.  
  
His eyes bore into mine. "I will give you one last chance to back out," he
said. "You can leave, at any time during this dinner, and I will harbor no ill
feelings toward you. You will still get your money, and I will not do anything
to your friend. I promise that. But."  
  
He leaned closer, and touched my chin. "If you are still here by the time
desert is finished . . . you know what I will expect."  
  
I nodded slowly, mutely. Then, acting on impulse, I reached up and grabbed
Ian's head, pulling him down to mash my lips against his. As before, I
whimpered and moaned into his mouth, found his tongue. I sucked on it like a
little cock, and managed to draw out a moan of his own.  
  
"How's that for an answer?" I asked heatedly, after breaking the kiss.  
  
"I think . . . we should look at the menu," he said.  
  
***  
  
The sexual tension between Ian and I was obvious. It was one thing, I figured,
to be on a date and _hope_ for sex at the end of the night. But it was
something else altogether to be with a man that I _knew_ would soon be inside
me, taking me, making me cry and bleed and sob and scream . . . I was as much
nervous as I was horny.  
  
Ian ordered for us both. We had Oysters Rockefeller for an appetizer, a couple
of Caesar salads, then grilled sea bass and filet mignon for the main course.
All throughout the meal, Ian and I traded little anecdotes about our lives. He
talked freely of his wife and daughter, giving me the impression that he felt
no guilt whatsoever about our impending intimate union.  
  
We had a slice of Key Lime pie for desert, with Ian and I feeding each other
like a newlywed couple. We laughed and giggled, feeling more and more
comfortable.  
  
After dinner, I had expected Ian to take me upstairs to a room at the hotel.
Instead, he lead me back outside, to the waiting limousine. Miguel opened the
door for us, giving me a quick glance before I slipped inside.  
  
Ian raised the privacy screen and turned up some music. Soft jazz. He opened
the cabinet and produced a bottle of strawberry vodka. I shouldn't have been
surprised. Ian had done his homework.  
  
We mixed cocktails, drank, and talked some more. I nuzzled closer and closer
to Ian as the limo rumbled quietly. I could not have cared less if Miguel was
driving around in circles. I loved being with Ian, loved the way his strong
body felt against mine. I loved hearing him talk, telling me stories of his
youth in New York. I realized that Ian was almost three times my age. That
just turned me on more.  
  
We started kissing. Not just soft, promising kisses, but serious, 'I want you
now' presses of our lips. I did not protest, as our tongues dueled, when Ian
pulled up my dress and pressed his fingers against my inner thigh. Indeed, I
spread my legs wide, slipping one over his lap and encouraging him on.  
  
I gasped when his fingers rubbed my pussy through my thong, and sighed when he
pulled it aside and began slipping his fingers up and down my dewy slit. I
moaned and sighed into his mouth, kissing him frenetically as his fingers
delved inside me. His thumb pressed against my clit while his index and middle
fingers rubbed the roof of my virgin tunnel.  
  
"Oh, God!" I cried, clutching Ian tight and bucking against him. He responded
with a low growl and jerked his fingers harder and faster inside me. The
pressure he plied to the top of my pubic mound with his thumb was almost
painful. But the pleasure . . . oh, it was intense . . . .  
  
I had squirted before in orgasm, but never had I ejaculated like this! My
pussy was literally flooded with fluid when I came, and gushed out all over
Ian's hand, spurting in a high arc and splashing wetly onto the floor of the
limousine. I was astounded, amazed, and uncontrollably turned on. One orgasm
turned into two, then three . . . .  
  
My pussy swollen and dripping, my inner thighs wet, I shoved Ian onto his back
and practically ripped through his clothes. I grabbed his expensive slacks in
my hands and tore them from his hips, exposing his hard cock. It sprang up,
hovering above his trimmed black nest of pubic hair. Partially circumcised,
the dark foreskin stopped just under the crown of his cock. Ian's was the most
impressive penis I had ever seen.  
  
I grabbed his shaft, tilting it toward my face as I settled on my knees. I
stared up into his eyes. "I want it," I hissed. I licked up and down the
shaft, tasting the sweet, salty flavor of him.  
  
"Do you want to drink from it, little girl?" he asked, petting my hair. His
self-confidence was overwhelming.  
  
I lapped softly at the head of his cock, tasting sweet dribbles of pre-cum.
"Yes," I said, my voice strained. "Please."  
  
Ian said nothing more. He just pushed my head down and closed his eyes,
relishing the sensations I gave him with my experienced lips and tongue. I
sucked and pulled, working my mouth back and forth. The head of Ian's cock
rubbed against the roof of my mouth, popped in and out of my throat as I took
him deep. He was about the same thickness as Gary but almost half again as
long. I really had to push down before I felt his pubic hair against my lips.  
  
"Oh! Alyssa!" he cried once I had swallowed him all the way. Encouraged, I
bobbed up and down rapidly, literally throat-fucking him, feeling my hair fall
free from the chopsticks and dance against my cheeks. I finally had to come up
for air, breathing in deep through my nose, sucking hard and wet on Ian's
long, stiff penis . . . .  
  
"Uhhnnn," he grunted, slapping his hands to the leather seat, digging in with
his fingers. His cock pulsed and throbbed, unleashing a torrent of thick,
sweet cream that inundated my tongue and flowed to my tonsils. I moaned at
tasting his cum, my ego soaring with the knowledge that I had taken this
powerful man and reduced him to a semen-spurting machine.  
  
I sucked to get it all, letting his creamy cum flow back and forth in my mouth
as my lips and tongue massaged his softening dick. I kept it in my mouth,
sliding my slippery lips up and down while Ian shuddered with aftershocks.
Only when Ian told me we were 'here' did I finally pull my mouth off him and
swallow.  
  
We took a few moments to arrange our clothes and have another cocktail. The
vodka was making me relaxed without detracting from my libido. Miguel opened
the door, letting the aroma of cum and pussy drift out. I knew he could smell
it, judging by the reaction on his face. He gave me a forlorn look, jealous
that what he had once coerced me to do, I had done willingly with Ian.  
  
Ian slipped Miguel a folded bill, and asked him to wait for the night. Miguel
looked my way a moment, uncomfortable about the idea, but nevertheless agreed.
He got back behind the wheel and drove around the property as Ian took my
hand.  
  
We stood before a large, stone-brick house, surrounded and hidden by trees. I
could just make out an underlit pool toward that back. The sounds of cicadas
and other hidden wildlife echoed from the trees. There was a hand-carved
wooden sign by the stone steps that lead to the door. _"The Grey House. A
Secluded Romantic Hideaway."_  
  
Ian gave me a smile, ran his thumb across my lips. I thick white dollop of cum
dripped down his digit, and I sucked it quickly into my mouth, staring up into
his eyes.  
  
"Come on," he said, and lead me to the front door. I held onto his hand
desperately, like a little girl trusting Daddy to take care of her.  
  
There was a middle-aged woman behind a small desk just inside the door. She
smiled as Ian approached, and gave me a knowing look. "Mr. Holloway," she
said. "Nice to finally meet you."  
  
"Is everything arranged?" he asked.  
  
The woman smiled. "Down to the letter, Mr. Holloway," she said. "Down to the
letter."  
  
A skinny, pale-skinned young man appeared, slightly stooped, and offered to
show us to our room. We followed him up the stairs, with Ian ahead of me.
Glancing back to the front desk of the bed-and-breakfast, I saw the middle-
aged woman giving me a wistful smile. She waved with her fingers. I waved back
with an awkward smile. _How many times, _I wondered,_ has she seen older men
bring their young playthings to this house?_  
  
The porter opened a round-topped door and showed us into our room. I caught my
breath. The scene before me was absolutely beautiful. A big, king-sized bed
dominated the room, replete with four posters and a canopy. There was a small
fireplace across from the bed, two low-back chairs and a chess table before
it, and a French door that lead to the balcony.  
  
Candles were everywhere, scented with vanilla that filled the room. The little
flames flickered, casting dancing shadows upon the walls. On the bed, hundreds
of rose petals lay, covering the turned-down sheets. Some had fallen to the
floor. A crystal vase filled with the same crimson flowers stood on a stand
beside the bed, next to a chiller in which lay a bottle of champagne. I felt
like crying.  
  
Ian slipped the porter another bill, whispered something in the young man's
ear. The porter nodded, glanced to me, then nodded again with a smile before
leaving. He closed the door behind him, and Ian turned the latch.  
  
"Ian," I said, my voice shaking with emotion.  
  
He turned and looked upon me. "Yes?"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Ian just smiled, and took me in his arms. I melted willingly, kissing him with
the deep, soulful passion I had been feeling all night. I moaned and sighed
and held him close, feeling that I was _absolutely and truly in love _with
this man. His hands roamed over my body, divesting me of my dress and panties
with such grace and deftness that I hardly realized I was naked until I felt
my clothes in a heap around my ankles.  

Ian stepped back, taking me in, his parted lips and smoldering eyes revealing
the admiration he held for me. He unbuttoned his shirt as I watched, slipped
it from his shoulders. He had a muscular chest, the hair slightly grey toward
his collarbones and growing darker as it crept down his taut abdomen. His
slacks followed, then his shoes and socks.  
  
His cock was hard again for me, making me swoon. I reached for it as he
approached me, and fell to my knees. I licked all around that magnificent,
long edifice of manhood, tasting the dried semen around the tip. Ian moaned
and lifted me up, sitting me on the edge of the bed. The rose petals were cool
to the touch. Some of them stuck to my cheeks.  
  
"We have all night, Alyssa," Ian said, stepping around the bed. I watched his
muscles move, marveling at the shape he was in. Men twenty or even thirty
years younger than Ian would kill to have this man's body, I knew. I smiled,
feeling blessed.  
  
He worked the cork free from the bottle with a loud _pop!_ that made me gasp
and giggle. Ian smiled upon me from across the bed as he poured the bubbly
liquid into two flutes. Then, instead of coming around the bed, he beckoned me
to crawl across it.  
  
I did so, sultrily, on my hands and knees, swaying my naked hips and feeling
my cunny juice drip down the insides of my thighs. Rose petals stirred and
stuck to me as I moved. I locked eyes with Ian, telling him without words how
much I wanted him. He stared back, and handed me one of the flutes. We
clinked, drank. Our eyes never left one another's.  
  
Ian drained his glass quickly, then took mine from my hand before it was half-
finished. He threw it into the fireplace, making the flames explode outward
for a moment in a fireball that illuminated the room. I gasped, falling back
on the bed . . . .  
  
And then he was upon me, his gorgeous body supported above mine on strong
arms, gazing down into mine. From the corners of my eyes, I watched rose
petals flit in the air. I sighed and swooned, stroking Ian's muscular chest
and arms, tracing the outline of an old Navy tattoo on his shoulder. His penis
pressed against my slick pussy, nudging my clit and making me expel a sharp
breath each time he moved.  
  
"Trust me, Alyssa," he whispered, and kissed me.  
  
I trembled, closing my eyes. "I trust you," I said, my voice sounding so far
away.  
  
Softly, tenderly, Ian kissed my lips, my ears, my neck. He trailed down my
body, his tongue leaving a warm trail that grew cool as the air hit it. I
arched my back, pushing up into him when Ian's searching mouth found my
breasts. He engulfed one of my puffy nipples and sucked deeply upon it, making
me moan in pleasure. Then he moved to the next one, sucking it as well. And
all the while, his hands drifted up and down my body, touching my skin and
making every nerve come alive.  
  
I had never been so desperate for a man's touch. I was truly beginning to
understand the definition of the word _passion_.  
  
"Ahhhhnnnn," I moaned desperately, spreading my legs wide as Ian firmly but
lovingly licked my swollen slit. His tongue pried my lips apart and slipped
deep inside me, tasting my oozing fluid from its source. Unlike any other man
before him, Ian _made love_ to my pussy with his mouth. His appreciative moans
and soft, wet sucking sounds made me shudder and groan with pleasure. I curled
my legs back toward my chest and urged him on, pulling his silver-haired head
between my thighs. Rose petals stuck to my body and floated in the air around
us.  
  
I screamed when I came, flooding Ian's mouth with my cum. He didn't stop
sucking as my pussy twitched and squeezed his questing tongue, and I loved the
way he lapped up every drop of my essence. I cooed and giggled, having never
felt as satisfied as I did at that moment.  
  
He pulled himself up over me, settling between my legs. I was running on
instinct, barely cognizant of anything other than what I wanted, what I
_needed_. I slipped my arms around him, encouraging him, worshipping him.  
  
"Just relax, Alyssa," I heard Ian say. He kissed me again, and I greedily
sucked my own flavor from his lips. I felt his cock start to push inside me. I
lifted my legs again and wrapped them around his waist, even as my arms
clutched his strong shoulders.  
  
"Look at us, Alyssa," he said to me, making me open my eyes. I stared at Ian's
handsome face, then let my eyes drift down his body, seeing his torso ending
between my widespread thighs. A scarlet petal had somehow fallen right on my
pubic mound. I felt his penis push inside me again.  
  
"Oh, Jesus," I whimpered, digging my nails into Ian's shoulders. I craned my
neck, looking down. I could just see my swollen, smooth vulvae wrapped around
the staff of his hard cock. Inside me, the pulsing head of his penis pushed
against my virginity.  
  
"Tell me to stop," said Ian, his breath warm and sweet in my ear. "And I will.
I promise you. Tell me to stop, right now, and—"  
  
"Oh, God!" I cried, hooking my ankles around his waist. I pulled my body up
off the bed and impaled myself upon him amid a flurry of crimson petals,
forcing his cock to sink deep inside me. I felt the pain as my barrier was
sundered, coupled with the indescribable feeling of being so completely
filled. I clutched Ian tight as I cried out, my entire body spasming.  
  
His arm slapped around me, holding me close. My pussy tugged and squeezed,
pushed and pulled on the penis that now invaded me, deeper than anything had
gone before. I held onto Ian desperately, like a Koala cub clinging to its
mother, and gulped for air.  
  
"It hurts," I bemoaned, panting and crying in his ear. "Oh, God it hurts!"  
  
"I know, baby, I know," Ian responded, his voice soothing. "Just listen to my
voice. It's going away. The pain is going away. You will never feel it again.
All you feel is pleasure. You're a woman now, Alyssa. Revel in it."  
  
I trembled against him, and sagged back down into the bed, Ian atop me, and
still so deep inside. I could every inch of his length filling my tunnel. My
thighs tensed and trembled. And, as I listened to Ian's strong voice . . . the
pain faded.  
  
He pulled back, his long, slick penis vacating my pussy. The shaft was
streaked with blood. I murmured at the emptiness. He reached for a small
terrycloth towel on the bedside table and wiped between my legs. I winced at
seeing the dark crimson smear. Ian tossed the cloth aside and lined up his
cock with my pussy, pushing back in. I gasped at being invaded once more. But
this time, there was no pain.  
  
Just the most incredibly delicious pleasure I had ever known.  
  
"Ohhh . . . Godddd," I moaned, holding my legs open wide, urging Ian to make
love to me . . . to fuck me. I laced my fingers around his neck, tilted my
head back as each slow, sweet movement Ian made electrified my body. He kissed
me, tenderly, lowered his head and sucked once more on my puffy nipples. I
sighed sweetly, feeling my first true orgasm building.  
  
"Oh, Ian!" I gasped heatedly, tangling my fingers in his silver hair. "Oh,
Ian, I love you!"  
  
I felt an intense, warm rush flow through me, bringing every cell in my body
alive in ways I had never experienced before. I felt him throbbing and pulsing
inside me, felt the tightness of my contractions around that wonderful thick
rod. My clitoris buzzed with so much more feeling than ever before. My orgasm
was so complete and total that I couldn't make a noise other than small,
shallow gasps. I held Ian tight, never wanting the sensation to end.  
  
But it did, eventually, fading away to a pleasurable glow that encased my
entire body. Ian kept moving, and I hungrily sucked his lips and tongue,
running my hands all over his body. His muscles tensed as he pushed again and
again into me, his passion and pace growing. My own matched him, and I rocked
my hips back against his body eagerly.  
  
This wasn't love anymore. This was raw, serious _fucking_.  
  
I came again, crying out this time, all but screaming his name and calling for
the saints. Ian grunted, pounding me harder and harder, and we both looked
down to watch the sight of his manly cock sliding in and out of me, glistening
with my cum.  
  
Ian suddenly pulled out, his cock slipping free with a wet sound from my
vacated lips Immediately, Ian thrust over me, stroking his dick with fast,
slick smacking motions of his hand. He jacked off over me, and my eyes
fluttered, watching the rapid pumping of his hand. I pushed up, forgetting the
sharp pain between my legs, and cupped my mouth over his slick penis. The
faint metallic flavor of my virginal blood was a strange turn-on.  
  
"Oh, Alyssa!" Ian moaned loudly, releasing the flood gates once more. I let
the first shot of thick semen shoot to the back of my throat, then fell back,
watching as strands of ropy semen landed upon my breasts, flat abdomen, and
pubic mound. I giggled and cooed, staring at the spitting head if Ian's cock.
Then he moved up over me and slipped it into my mouth. I happily sucked the
last bits of semen from his dick while Ian sighed above me.  
  
He finally eased out of my sticky mouth, and scooted down onto the bed beside
me. Without any hesitation, Ian kissed me tenderly, tasting his own cream on
my lips and tongue. We held each other for a while before he got up and
retrieved his cigarette case from his jacket.  
  
We smoked, drank, talked some more. I was aware that I felt different, aside
from the slightly swollen and raw feeling between my legs. But the true
reality that I was no longer a virgin had not yet dawned upon me. For the
moment, I was just enjoying the closeness, the intimacy, and on a level I had
never experienced before.  
  
Passion could not be ignored for long, and after our cigarettes and some
'bubbly,' I all but attacked Ian, pushing him back on the bed amid a flurry of
rose petals, and straddled him in a sixty-nine. We licked and sucked each
other to the point of orgasm, then I flipped around and impaled myself on his
impressive staff.  
  
And then, only then, did it really dawn on me that I was no longer a virgin,
no longer a girl. I had a become a woman, and as a woman, I fucked Ian as hard
and sure as I could until he exploded deep inside me.  
  
Oh, what sensation! The feel of his thick cream gushing and flooding into my
womb, coating my sugar walls and oozing back out around his shaft . . .
nothing could ever compare to that feeling. I savored every moment that his
ejaculating penis spent spurt after spurt of cum into my body.  
  
Afterward, Ian and I took a bath together, cuddling in the warm water beneath
the suds. He washed my hair for me, stroked my body from head to toe. He gave
me a sweet, soft orgasm as he expertly manipulated my nipples and clit while
licking and kissing my ears.  
  
We finally went to bed, holding each other beneath the covers as amber shadows
from the fireplace danced across us. I couldn't stop grinning, feeling so
completely and totally satisfied as a woman. I knew I would never forget Ian,
never forget the incredible passion of my first time.  
  
***  
  
I stepped out of the limousine the following morning, tired and sore but
ultimately satisfied. Miguel didn't look at me. I wondered if he was jealous
or ashamed. I really didn't care. Ian walked me to my front door, kissed my
fingers and then my lips.  
  
"I want to give you something," he said, reaching into his pocket.  
  
I smiled up at his face. "Oh, Ian, you've already given me what I wanted," I
said.  
  
He smiled back, and produced a long, velvet-covered box. "I insist."  
  
I breathed in, then gasped when Ian showed me what was inside. A chain of
white gold, adorned with a rectangular charm almost two inches long, studded
with tiny diamonds and a single large blue sapphire. I didn't know what to say
or do, so I remained motionless as Ian fastened the chain around my neck. The
charm lay just above the valley of my breasts, heavy and thick.  
  
I looked up at him, trembling with emotion. "Th-thank you, Ian," I whispered,
and wrapped my arms around him.  
  
He gave me a last, sweet, tender kiss before stepping away with a smile. "No,"
he said. "Thank you."  
  
I blushed, watching him turn and walk away. I called out to him just as he
reached the limousine. "Ian!"  
  
He turned back.  
  
I felt my lips trembling, my body shaking. Silently, I mouthed the words: _'I
love you.'_  
  
He just smiled, and gave me a last, adoring look. Then he stepped into the
limo and was gone.  
  
I headed inside my apartment, locking the door. My emotions welled up
instantly, and I began crying. I didn't even make it to my bed, and collapsed
on the couch, sobbing uncontrollably.  
  
***  
  
I didn't go to class the following day, and called in to the restaurant to
tell them I wasn't feeling well. Shari, one of the other managers, didn't seem
too happy with my excuse. Oh, well.  
  
Gary knocked on my door late in the afternoon, and I let him in silently. We
sat on the couch for a while, smoking cigarettes. He had brought a pint of
strawberry vodka, but I didn't open it. I wasn't in the mood to drink.  
  
"You okay?" he asked.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"Well, here," he said, setting a thick envelope on my coffee table. "I, uh,
only took out ten percent."  
  
"Gary—"  
  
He lifted his hand to stop my protest. "Just, please."  
  
I nodded, resting my chin on my knees as I sat curled up. "Thanks."  
  
"Um . . . don't you wanna count it? At least look at it?" he asked.  
  
I sighed. "It's not about the money, Gary," I said. I smiled to myself. "It
never was."  
  
***  
  
I didn't show up for work the following day, and ignored the phone calls that
followed. Neither did I go in on Sunday. I was done with the restaurant.  
  
I paid my rent through the end of my lease with the money in the envelope,
then headed down to a used car lot and bought my first car, a red Honda
hatchback with tinted windows. I got a hell of a deal on it since I paid cash.
I still had several thousand dollars left, which I put in the bank for a rainy
day. I felt no immediate pressure or need to work; with what I had left, I
could spend a hundred dollars a day for two full months before I ran out of
money.  
  
I concentrated on my studies, and didn't frequent my 'boys' in the mall. I was
as horny as ever, but felt that my days of sucking cock for CDs and bed sheets
were behind me. I had graduated to the next level.  
  
***  
  
"Alyssa?"  
  
"Hi, Gary," I said into the phone.  
  
"I haven't heard from you in a while. You okay?"  
  
"I'm fine. Do you wanna come over?"  
  
He was quiet a moment. "Um . . . yes, but . . . I'm watching the kids right
now."  
  
I smiled. "I'll pay for a babysitter," I said.  
  
He laughed softly. "It's not that easy," he said. "My wife's gonna be home
soon—"  
  
"I want you."  
  
". . . . ."  
  
"I wanna make love to you, Gary. No strings, no money. I just wanna fuck you."  
  
"Jesus, Alyssa."  
  
"Tell your wife you're going out for ice cream," I suggested. "Then call her
and say you got a flat. I want you, Gary. I want to feel you inside me."  
  
He sighed heavily. "I . . . I don't know."  
  
"Gary."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Get over here and fuck me."  
  
". . . Oh, God . . . ."  
  
***  
  
He showed up about an hour later. Neither of us said a word. I answered the
door naked, and Gary's jaw dropped upon seeing me. I pulled down his pants and
started sucking on him, right there in the open doorway of my apartment.
Laughing voices from the floor below brought us back to the moment, and Gary
stepped inside.  
  
I lead Gary into my bedroom, had him lay down on the bed. We sixty-nined until
we both came, and with my mouth full of his cream, I turned around and slipped
my pussy down his cock. He had softened a little after his orgasm, but revived
quickly enough as I made love to him. It wasn't until my pussy spasmed around
his dick did I swallow his thick cum.  
  
Gary rolled me over and held my legs apart as he pounded my slick pussy. I
gasped and moaned and cried out as I came over and over. Gary finally pulled
out when he was ready to shoot, and I locked my lips around his tense cock,
sucking the semen from his gushing rod and swallowing with relish.  
  
Gary couldn't stay, and it was just as well. I really didn't want him to. I
let him shower as I sat naked on my bed, tapping my cigarette on the ashtray
before me. He emerged from the bathroom and got dressed, giving me sheepish,
apologetic smiles. I knew he felt differently about me now, as I felt
differently about him. Where once I had loved him, now, it seemed, I just
liked him.  
  
My love was reserved for a man I figured I would never see again. In time, I
thought, I would get over Ian, and find someone else. In time.  
  
But I was wrong.  
  
***  
  
It was a few days into March when he called me. I was at school, hanging out
in the cafeteria, chatting with some of my class mates. Julie and I had become
pretty good friends, now that I had the time to get to know her. Just six
months older than me, Julie was a cute girl, brunette and voluptuous, with a
compact body that exaggerated her curves. If ever there was a woman I could be
attracted to sexually, it was Julie.  
  
I excused myself when I felt the buzzing on my hip from my cell, and snatched
it up, stepping away. The caller ID window was blank; I thought it might have
been Gary calling me. I had not heard from him in over three weeks.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Hello, Alyssa."  
  
I felt immediately weak in the knees at the sound of _his_ voice. I found a
bench to sit upon as I breathed into the phone. "Ian," I said.  
  
"How've you been?"  
  
"Um . . . good," I said.  
  
"I've been thinking about you."  
  
My heart leapt. "You have?"  
  
He chuckled softly. "I went in to the restaurant to see you. They told me you
no longer work there."  
  
"I quit," I said simply.  
  
"Found a better job, did you?"  
  
"Not really. I'm just . . . concentrating on school."  
  
Ian was quiet a moment, and I hung on breathlessly, awaiting his words. "I'd
like to talk to you about something, Alyssa," he said at last.  
  
"Anything," I said.  
  
"How about I pick you up this evening? We'll go see a movie, have some
burgers."  
  
I swooned. "Anything with you, Ian," I said.  
  
"Be ready at six," he said. "And dress . . . fun."  
  
***  
  
I rushed home, showered, brushed my teeth and shaved my legs. I carefully
trimmed my bush, making sure I was nice and smooth for the man I loved. I
tried on numerous outfits, remembering Ian's suggestion to 'dress fun,' and
finally settled upon a soft pink skirt that barely covered my cheeks, and a
matching top with full sleeves that I tied under my breasts. The pendant Ian
had given me glittered below my neck. I decided not to wear panties this time.  
  
I waited for him on the curb outside my complex, ignoring the catcalls from
the stupid boys in their cars. When I saw the black Mercedes with dark-tinted
windows, I knew it was Ian, and all but ran to the car. He pushed open the
passenger door as I neared, and smiled upon me when I slid into the seat.  
  
"You look beautiful," he said.  
  
My eyes wandered over him in his grey polo and dark jeans. "You're gorgeous,
Ian," I said wistfully, making no attempt to conceal my desire for him.  
  
He just smiled as he drove. He lit a cigarette, handed it to me, then lit one
for himself. I moved closer in the seat and placed my hand on his leg. Ian
took my hand and settled it directly on his crotch. I immediately began
groping him.  
  
"What kind of movie would you like to see?" he asked.  
  
"Doesn't matter," I said, stroking and massaging him through his jeans. I
could feel his penis getting hard. I wanted to rip open his pants and go down
on him right there, but felt I needed Ian's approval to do so.  
  
Ian slipped his arm around me, pulling me close. "Are you hungry?"  
  
I shuddered. "Very," I said in an almost desperate voice. I squeezed his
crotch urgently.  
  
"Then why don't you satisfy your hunger, Alyssa?"  
  
I whimpered excitedly at receiving Ian's permission. I trembled with desire --
with _love!_ \-- for Ian, and tugged on his jeans. I got the button undone and
jerked down his zipper. Ian lifted up, letting me pull the denim down . . . .  

I sighed with passion, gazing upon my favorite cock in the whole world.
Gingerly, as if I was afraid to break the thing, I took it in my hands and
lightly stroked it. I caressed his smooth balls, ran my hands along his upper
thighs. My mouth watered in anticipation.  
  
"Go ahead, Alyssa," he said in an impassioned voice, gently pushing me down.
His cock stiffened and grew quickly under my ministrations, reaching its full
length. I slid down his body, kissing him through his shirt, before gratefully
taking his wonderful penis in my mouth.  
  
"Ohhh, yes, Alyssa," he sighed, stroking my hair as I bobbed in his lap.
"That's a good girl. Suck it nice and soft, baby. Suck it and get your
reward."  
  
I moaned and whimpered around his dick, lavishing it with all the attention
and skill I had to give. I pushed Ian's delicious cock all the way down my
throat, reveling in the feeling of taking him so deep. I held him there as
long as I could, letting my esophageal muscles work on him. Ian gasped and
massaged my scalp. I was, indeed, his 'good girl.'  
  
When I felt that he was ready to cum, I slipped up and sucked hard on just the
head while stroking the slick shaft with my hand. Ian barely grunted when he
ejaculated, but I didn't need to hear shouts and cries to know he was enjoying
the pleasure of cumming in my mouth. I sucked out every drop of his wonderful
cream, nursed his prick as it softened. I kissed and licked it tenderly once
he was spent, then sat up, keeping his load in my mouth.  
  
I realized Ian had parked in the lot of a theater not far from my apartment.
There were people outside the car, some of them trying to look in through the
dark-tinted windows. I looked to Ian, smiling with his cream in my mouth. He
produced a linen handkerchief, dabbed my lips.  
  
"Let me see," he said.  
  
Staring into his eyes, I opened my mouth and showed him his own swirling jism.
Ian smiled, then gently closed my jaw.  
  
"Don't swallow it, Alyssa," he said. "Not yet."  
  
I just nodded, enjoying how kinky my man was. He tucked his penis away and
zipped up, then opened the door. He came around and let me out, taking my hand
as I stepped from the car. Keeping my lips pursed, Ian's heavenly load
sloshing across my tongue, I held his hand as we walked across the parking
lot. Eyes were upon us, wondering and curious. I felt immensely proud to be
with Ian.  
  
"Drama all right?" he asked me once we got to the window.  
  
"Mm-hmm," I responded, unable to speak.  
  
Ian purchased two tickets for us, then lead me inside to the concessions
stand. "Would you like a soda?" he asked.  
  
I just nodded and indicated the Diet Coke dispenser on the fountain.  
  
"Snacks?"  
  
I nodded again, and pointed to a bag of peanut M&amp;Ms. Ian gave me an amused
smile. It turned him on, I knew, that I still had his thick semen in my mouth.
It turned me on, too. I loved the way it mixed with my saliva and changed in
texture.  
  
With our drinks and snacks, Ian and I headed to the theater. We passed dozens
of people, and I recognized a few faces from class. They waved and said hello.
I could only wave back. They gave me curious looks, checking out Ian. I could
tell some of the girls were jealous.  
  
Ian and I sat down and he held me as the previews began. As the theater grew
dark, Ian slipped up my skirt and pushed my legs apart. I stiffened, startled
at being so exposed. I didn't dare look around to see if anyone was watching.
I just kept my eyes on Ian as he stroked my slick lips and the stiff button of
my clitoris.  
  
"Spit some of it out, Alyssa," Ian whispered in my ear. "Right on your pubis.
Then you can swallow the rest."  
  
I quivered at the kinky thought, and rolled up, positioning my face right
above my pussy. I pushed out some of the fluid in my mouth, watching a long,
thick glob of cum, glimmering in the light from the screen, ooze down toward
my pussy. It broke about halfway down and splattered right on my clit. I
swallowed the rest with a sigh, breathing out. I leaned back against Ian,
keeping my legs spread for him.  
  
"Oh, God, Ian," I sighed.  
  
"You're a delightful woman, Alyssa," said Ian. "Go on, rub it in."  
  
Eagerly, I massaged my pussy, smearing in Ian's cum, making my lips and pubic
mound shine. My little strip of hair was dark and matted by the time I was
done. My lips were puffy, my clitoris swollen and protruding. Ian moved my
hand away, replacing it with his own.  
  
All throughout the movie, Ian kept his hand on my pussy, stroking my lips,
rubbing my clit, keeping my arousal constantly heightened. Now and then,
people would pass in the aisle and do a double-take, seeing me with my legs so
wantonly spread and an older man fingering me. They gasped and blushed. Their
reactions turned me on even more.  
  
I have no idea what the movie was about. I remember a few scenes, but the most
important scene of all was happening between my legs. Ian finally made me cum
after more than an hour of sweet torture, and I bit into his arm, muffling my
gasps and moans as I spurted all over his hand. He kissed me lovingly, then
lifted his hand and bade me to suck all my own cream off his fingers. I did so
eagerly, glazing my lips with my fluid. Ian told me to leave them wet.  
  
I never realized just how kinky one man could be, and how readily I
accommodated him. I was conscious of the fact that I was the mistress, the
'other woman,' but that didn't stop me from being madly in love with this man.
Anything he wanted me to do, I would, and I told him so.  
  
"Do you mean that, Alyssa?" he asked as we headed back to his car.  
  
I squeezed his hand. "Anything, Ian," I insisted. "I'll do anything you want.
I love you."  
  
He smiled, a sort of condescending smile, but one that showed he was touched
by my proclamation. "Be careful what you say, Alyssa," he said. "Those can be
dangerous words."  
  
"But it's how I feel. Maybe I really don't know you that well, but I know I'm
in love with you."  
  
"Even though we can never have a life together?"  
  
Strangely enough, his words did not bother me. The idea of never being his
wife, never wearing his ring, never having his children, was not distressing.
I understood, somehow, that such a relationship would compromise my love.
"What matters is right now," I said.  
  
"Indeed," he said.  
  
He took me to a casual bar and grill down the street, and the hostess took us
to a secluded booth. People were checking us out, undoubtedly making comments
about an obviously older man holding hands and kissing a teenaged girl. I
loved the attention, and could tell that it amused Ian as well.  
  
Our waiter was a young man, good-looking and slim, whose eyes roamed over me
as he took our order and checked back with us. He kept stealing looks at me
now and then as Ian and I talked and ate.  
  
"It seems our waiter is infatuated with you," Ian commented.  
  
I blushed and giggled. "Too bad for him," I said, giving Ian a dreamy look.  
  
"Do you find him attractive?"  
  
I frowned, and shrugged. "I guess so."  
  
Ian's locked on mine. "Give him a blow job."  
  
I stared, shocked at the proposal. "What?"  
  
Ian smiled. "Go on. Go find him, convince him you want to be alone for a few
minutes with him. I don't want you to return unless you have something to show
me."  
  
I searched Ian's face for signs that he was making a joke. But he wasn't. He
was serious. He actually wanted me to give our waiter a blow job! The idea
startled me, made me nervous. But I was also turned on. I realized that I
would never refuse Ian.  
  
Without a word, I set my napkin on the table and stood. I looked around,
spying the waiter standing along the edge of the bar. I approached him
casually.  
  
"Looking for the bathroom?" he asked me, his eyes wandering over my breasts
and legs.  
  
I fixed him a look. "I need to talk to you about something," I said. "But not
where my boyfriend can see."  
  
"Um . . . sure," he said, and lead me around the bar toward an alcove. It was
actually a secluded table, presently unoccupied, as were the three or four
tables around it. I figured I could sit in that booth and not be seen at all,
especially if my waiter was standing in front of me.  
  
"Let me guess," said the waiter as I stepped into the alcove. He followed
behind. "It's his birthday, right? Or, this is like a late Valentine's—"  
  
"Do you like blow jobs?" I asked him, standing close and staring into his
face.  
  
That startled him. "Wh-what?"  
  
"Blow jobs," I repeated, and slipped my hand under his apron, finding a soft
bulge in his black work pants. It began growing as I massaged it.  
  
"Jesus!" he muttered, looking around frantically. "What are you, crazy?"  
  
"Yeah," I said with a smile. "Cock-crazy."  
  
"H-hey, look," he stammered, trying to push my hands away. "If this is some
kind of joke, if you're just fucking with me to make your old dude boyfriend
jealous—"  
  
"Well, he didn't say anything about fucking," I said, lifting his apron and
tugging on his zipper. "He just told me to give you a blow job."  
  
"He . . . he _told_ you?" asked the waiter incredulously, no longer trying to
stop me. I got his zipper down and slipped my hand in his pants, finding a
semi-hard penis hidden in his boxers.  
  
I giggled playfully and pulled out his cock. "It was his idea," I said, and
sunk down onto the bench. His dick was fairly big, not as long as Ian's, but
just as thick. It dripped pre-cum as I stroked it with both hands.  
  
"Oh, man, I can't believe this," moaned my waiter. "Okay, if you're gonna do
it, do it qui-ahhhh . . . ."  
  
He trailed off with a sigh as I wrapped my lips around his throbbing pole and
began sucking. I didn't have time for finesse, so I just sucked hard and sure
with the intention of making him cum in my mouth. I bobbed on the first few
inches and stroked the base with my hands, squeezing and urging on his orgasm.  
  
It didn't take long. I knew how to get any guy off, and how to do it quick.
The waiter held his apron up with one hand, placing his other hand on my head.
He shivered with pleasure, trying to stay quiet, and only let out sharp, faint
grunts when his cock twitched and pulsed, spitting its hot salty cream all
over my tongue.  
  
I massaged his cock with my lips to get every last drop, then slurped my mouth
off him and slipped his spent penis back in his pants. The waiter shuddered
with aftershocks, petting my hair. He gave me a goofy grin as I stood.  
  
"God damn, you're good at that, baby," he said gratefully.  
  
I smiled. "Mm-hm," I agreed, then abruptly left him, heading back through the
restaurant. I felt self-conscious, wondering if anyone else in the restaurant
had seen what I had done. In a way, I almost hoped they had.  
  
I returned to Ian, and sat down across from him once more. He looked to me
expectantly.  
  
"Do you have something to show me?"  
  
I glanced around, knowing that the waiter and a couple of his buddies were
looking my way. I caught them staring at me in disbelief as my waiter
described what I had just done. I looked back to Ian, smiling, and opened my
mouth.  
  
Ian chuckled upon seeing the puddle of semen on my tongue. "Good girl," he
said. "You can swallow it now."  
  
I closed my mouth, sucked down the bittersweet juice and licked my lips. I
felt naughty and kinky, with the impression that I had proved something to
Ian. I had given a blow job in public and brought back my reward to show Ian
like a devoted kitten. "So, you said you wanted to talk to me about
something?" I asked, sipping my Diet Coke. My lips were sticky around my
straw.  
  
Ian studied my face a moment. "How would you like to make a thousand dollars a
day?"  
  
I blinked. "Who do I have to fuck?" I asked rhetorically.  
  
He pursed his lips a moment. "Whoever has the money to pay," he said.  
  
I blinked again. "W-wait a minute," I said. "You're serious?"  
  
"Are you?"  
  
I breathed out, looking down at my half-finished hamburger. "Y-you want me to
. . . have sex with other men," I said. "For money."  
  
"Oh, come now, Alyssa," Ian said in a patronizing tone. "How much different
would it be from what you were doing? And, let's not forget how you lost your
virginity in the first place."  
  
I took in a shuddering breath. "This is different," I said.  
  
"Is it?"  
  
I lifted my eyes, finally looking at him. "A thousand dollars a day?"  
  
Ian nodded. "You pick the days," he said. "As few or as many a week as you
like. You will be picked up by my service, taken to meet your client, and the
service will pick you up again when you are ready."  
  
The idea was both intimidating and arousing, I had to admit. And Ian did have
a point. I had been sucking cock for money and gifts for months already. Why
would it be such a difficult leap to move on to fucking for money? I had
already done it once, after all.  
  
_A thousand dollars a day!_  
  
"Who are the men?" I asked Ian.  
  
He smiled, knowing he had me now. "Business associates, mostly. Most will be
men away from home, and often, they will be married. But that doesn't seem to
bother you."  
  
A thought entered my mind. "Is this why you wanted me in the first place?" I
asked. "To make me your personal hooker?"  
  
His eyes hardened a little. "A thousand dollars a day, Alyssa."  
  
I looked away, feeling that I had been manipulated, used. But how could I
really blame Ian for his idea? He had paid twenty-five thousand dollars, after
all, for the privilege of fucking me, of taking my virginity. And I had given
it to him gift-wrapped in a little blonde box.  
  
_So, why not do it, Alyssa? _the little devil in my head asked me_. Sure beats
chugging down cum for shoes and CDs . . . ._  
  
"You don't have to give me your answer right away," he said. He touched my
hand, making me look at his face. He was smiling in that comforting, 'trust
me' way again. I managed to smile back.  
  
"So, what would you like to do now?" he asked casually, as if we had just
finished talking about our favorite TV shows. "The night's still young."  
  
I didn't say anything. I just gave him a little smile and stood, and headed
slowly for the front door. He followed quickly behind.  
  
***  
  
I moaned and grunted beneath him, laying on my stomach with my legs parted
wide, each pounding thrust Ian made inside me forcing air from my lungs. Beads
of sweat dripped down my forehead; Ian had been fucking me hard for nearly an
hour straight, in every position we could think of. His stamina amazed me.  
  
Hammering into me, Ian leaned over and sucked the nape of my neck, making me
squirm. I felt my cheeks shake as he smacked his hips repeatedly against me.
"Are you on birth control, Alyssa?" he asked.  
  
"Yes! I! Am! Uhn!"  
  
Ian pushed up on his arms, thrust home hard and trembled. "Good," he grunted,
and I felt the flood of his semen filling my womb. The warmth of his orgasm
flowed through me, making me shudder and sob pleasurably in my fifth or sixth
orgasm of the night. Ian's cock twitched a few times, and he stayed inside me
as he gently lowered his weight onto my body.  
  
I licked my lips, murmuring in pleasure, slowly regaining my breath. Ian
kissed my neck, my temple, my cheek. I just sighed in satisfaction, enjoying
the afterglow with him. My pussy spasmed with aftershocks around his slowly-
softening penis.  
  
"Alyssa," Ian whispered.  
  
"Mmmm?"  
  
"I adore you."  
  
I smiled. That was the closest Ian would ever come to telling me he loved me,
I knew. I found the statement sweet, honest, and comforting. At least I wasn't
just his sex toy.  
  
After a while, he finally pulled out of me and got up. I stayed where I was,
too comfortable to move. I curled my arms under me and closed my legs. I could
smell Ian's cologne in the air, mingled with the scent of sex. It settled
around me like a protective blanket. His thick, warm cream slowly dripped out
from my pussy. I liked the feeling.  
  
Ian came back and sat down on the bed beside me, running his hand up and down
my back. I moaned appreciatively, turned my face to smile up at him. He held
two unlit cigarettes in his hand in a silent offer.  
  
I giggled, pushed up on my elbows. The movement forced out more of his fluid.
I grimaced slightly as a thick glob of it rolled down over my clitoris to the
bedsheets.  
  
"Would you like me to get a washcloth?" he asked as he tucked the cigarette
between my lips.  
  
I shook my head as he lit my smoke. "Too late now," I said, still smiling. I
breathed out a stream of smoke. Damn. A cigarette really was the best thing
after sex.  
  
"My God, Alyssa," he said, revealing more emotion than he ever had. "You are
absolutely ravishing. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes right now.
I have never seen a woman glow the way you do."  
  
I bit my lip, touched by his words. "I love you, Ian," I whispered.  
  
He looked away, lit his own cigarette. My proclamation bothered him, I knew.
Maybe that was why I said it; to get to him, to tilt the balance of power
between us a little more in my favor.  
  
"Do you really want me to . . . 'entertain' other men?" I asked him.  
  
He looked back, surrounded by a hazy cloud. "It is just an offer," he said.  
  
I considered my cigarette, pulled on it. "Do you have other girls?" I asked.  
  
He was quiet for a moment, pursing his lips. I got the feeling I had touched a
nerve.  
  
I chuckled darkly. "You do, don't you? Well, you're just a regular pimp,
aren't you?"  
  
Ian cocked his head. "I own many businesses," he said. "Not all of them are
completely legitimate."  
  
I fell silent, smoking my cigarette. _So I'm not the only one,_ I thought,
then chided myself. _How could you think you ever were, Alyssa? Did you really
think you were that special?_  
  
Ian reached for the little plastic ashtray I kept on my bedside table, set it
on the bed. We were both quiet. He waited for me to speak first.  
  
"Will we be able to keep seeing each other?" I finally asked.  
  
Ian brushed a lock of my hair behind my ear. "Of course."  
  
I smiled.  
  
***  
  
Ian introduced me to an attractive woman named Cleo that following Saturday. I
figured she was around thirty years old. She was very stately, with the right
mix of elegance and casualness. A couple of inches taller, with long, free-
flowing black hair, she was more busty and had slightly bigger hips than me.
She didn't have the hard look of a woman who had spent years on her back with
hundreds of men, if indeed, she had. But she did have a strong sense of self-
confidence.  
  
After lunch with Ian, Cleo took me shopping. Not to trendy shops in the mall,
but to some exclusive, elegant places that featured the kinds of clothes I had
only seen on Hollywood stars. Cleo was a friendly, outgoing woman and I took
to her easily. She had a wicked sense of humor and was very intelligent. She
stressed that both traits were necessary for a good 'escort.'  
  
"So that's what we're called these days?" I asked as Cleo and I left her
surprisingly humble SUV and headed to the first business we would patronize
that day.  
  
She gave me a sly look. "Yes, that's what we're called these days."  
  
I followed Cleo inside the store, gasped as I looked upon the array of
clothes. Expensive gowns, shoes, gloves, scarves . . . the place smelled of
money and good perfume. An older woman in layers of multi-colored clothing
glided toward us. She seemed to know Cleo pretty well.  
  
The woman's name was Anne, and she and Cleo treated me to a crash-course in
the wearing of elegant clothes. They stripped me naked, right there in the
store, as a few other women shopped. None of them seemed bothered by my
nudity. My modesty vanished quickly as I became preoccupied with various
articles of clothing. Pretty soon, I was slipping in and out of outfits with
casual ease.  
  
I learned a lot about bustiers and evening gowns, garter belts and stockings.
I was shown how to walk elegantly, how to balance on stiletto heels, how to
conduct myself with 'poise and grace.' Anne and Cleo watched me walk around on
a pair of six-inch spiked heels, first in the nude, then in a dress.  

I felt strangely aroused, being on display like that, completely naked except
for the heels, while other women in the store occasionally looked on. More
than once, I stumbled, but Anne and Cleo were patient. They even made a joke
of my apparent clumsiness, making me feel at ease.  
  
Along with my education on fine clothing, I was given little hints and tricks,
things to say and do when in the company of a gentleman. My natural charisma,
Anne said, should never be overshadowed, as many men will enjoy my company
because of my obvious youth. But there were times and places for acting like a
girl, and times for acting like a lady of the evening.  
  
"Accentuate your age, play off it," Anne told me. She spoke with melodramatic
fair, moving her arms and hands a lot. "Remind them that you are young and
fresh. But do not remind them that you are a bubbly little girl. Impress them,
surprise them with your intelligence and wit. You will need to learn a few
things about politics and business."  
  
I grimaced. I hated politics. But I listened to Anne's advice.  
  
After a few hours, Cleo and I selected a new wardrobe for me that cost a small
fortune. I noticed she paid with a corporate credit card, but didn't catch the
name on the card. Cleo just smiled and winked at me. "Just see it as our
investment in you," she said.  
  
We loaded the bags and boxes in Cleo's SUV, then headed to a book store. Cleo
picked out some books on various topics, including etiquette, sexual
techniques, erotic massage, some soft erotica, and one entitled 'Classy Dirty
Jokes.'  
  
"I love that book," Cleo declared, then added with a conspiratorial look,
"page seventy-two." Again, she flashed the corporate card.  
  
After that, we went to a jeweler, the little shop hidden in a big business
complex. I felt really nervous and self-conscious as Cleo selected earrings,
necklaces, bracelets and bangles. She had me pick out a platinum woman's watch
-- warning me not to wear it casually -- and a gold waist chain. I selected
one that had a cat-face charm on it. Cleo approved.  
  
"You wouldn't believe how erotic men find the sight of a naked woman wearing
only a waist chain," she said.  
  
I saw a couple of ankle bracelets I liked, and Cleo commended me on my eye.
Ankle bracelets too, she said, were very erotic. "Even if worn with jeans."  
  
Lastly, we picked up some new makeup for me, and I selected a spicy perfume I
liked. Again, Cleo cautioned me about wearing the perfume and makeup casually.  
  
"Why?" I asked as we got back in her car.  
  
Cleo smiled. "You are going to be making a lot of money, Alyssa," she
explained. "With no clear means of explaining how. When you are paid, it will
always be in cash. Your driver will have it for you at the end of each 'date.'
Therefore, if you start showing off the fact that you are making money, people
might wonder how. And we don't want questions raised.  
  
"Look at me," she continued. "I'm wearing an eighty-dollar blazer and forty-
dollar jeans. My watch cost even less than that. The jewelry I have on comes
out to less than a thousand dollars. You wouldn't think that I have a necklace
at home covered in four karats of diamonds and an evening gown that's worth
more than this car."  
  
I nodded slowly, beginning to catch on.  
  
"Pamper yourself, honey," Cleo said, patting my leg. "But don't be too obvious
about it. Don't live beyond your apparent means. If you want to buy a new car,
don't go into a Lexus dealership and plunk down thirty grand in cash. People
don't expect a teenager to have money like that."  
  
"So . . . wear the good stuff when I'm . . . 'escorting,'" I said as I
understood. "But the rest of the time—"  
  
"You're just little old you," finished Cleo with a smile.  
  
"But, what if someone I know sees me when I'm out?"  
  
"Honey," Cleo said with a wink. "Even your own mother wouldn't recognize you
when you're all dolled up. Trust me."  
  
_. . . to be continued . . ._




        Pretty Baby Ch. 03


_It's not just about the sex._  
  
**Part Three: Passion, Pain, and Retribution**  
  
Cleo's words echoed in my mind: _"Even your own mother wouldn't recognize you
when you're all dolled up. Trust me."_  
  
_She wasn't kidding_, I thought, staring at my reflection that Wednesday
evening. _I barely even recognize myself!_  
  
Cleo had shown me how to apply my new makeup, which resulted in a dramatic,
startling transformation. My cheekbones were brought out and made sharper,
making my face seem more narrow as it tapered to my chin. Almost cat-like, in
a way, I thought. Very sexy, and playful at the same time.  
  
The new base gave my skin a soft golden glow that blended with my minimal tan.
The costly mascara and eye liner brought out the green in my eyes, making them
vivid. With my hair in a professional bun, secured by a golden clip, I did,
indeed, look totally different. I still looked like a teenager, just . . . a
really, _really_ elegant teenager.  
  
I giggled. _Well, hello Miss Rockefeller . . . ._  
  
I didn't feel nervous at all about my first 'date.' In fact, despite that all
I knew about the guy was that his name was Thomas Dunson, I was actually
pretty excited.  
  
I smoothed down the silky blue dress I wore. It hugged my body and delved
really low in the front, showing off practically half my breasts, and was
essentially backless. The hem of the skirt stopped about three inches above
the knee. I wore some of my new jewelry, including a couple bracelets, the
pendant Ian had given me (the sapphire matched the dress perfectly), a gold
ankle chain, and of course, under my dress, my new gold waist chain. Four-inch
heels completed my outfit.  
  
No underwear. "Escorts only wear underthings if specifically requested," Cleo
had told me.  
  
I felt my arousal growing. The dress was so sheer I practically felt naked.
Anyone giving me even a casual glance would be able to tell I wasn't wearing
panties. I smiled naughtily at the thought.  
  
_Alyssa Green, sex kitten_, I thought. _Only, I'm not Alyssa right now._  
  
"Yvette," I said carefully, watching my lips move in the mirror. Cleo had told
me that it was necessary to use a different name, just in case I met someone I
knew. She assured me that, with a different name, and a different way of
moving and talking, I would be able to deflect any suspicion of who I was.  
  
"Yvette," I said again, and grinned. I had always thought the name was perfect
for a porn star. Or an escort. Suitably sultry, and a little mysterious.  
  
I smoked a cigarette as I waited, practicing my 'posing.' Cleo had taught me
how to sit in a way that was both elegantly charming and sensually teasing.
Everything about the way I acted when on a date was to 'exude sex,' as she put
it. Not to be obvious that I was being paid for sex, I nevertheless had to
convey the idea to others that I was a sexually skilled and confident woman .
. . the kind of woman men desired.  
  
_"Most of the men you will meet are married," Cleo told me. "Do not ask them
about their wives, their families. If they bring up the subject, fine. Some of
them will actually want to talk about their lives. You will find that you will
be as much a therapist at times as a lover."_  
  
_"But I don't know anything about psychology," I lamented._  
  
_"Honey, you're a woman. Use your instincts. Listen to the men, to what they
say. They will value your input, your viewpoints, if for no other reason than
because you give them the best sex in the world."_  
  
_I chuckled. "So it isn't just about the sex, huh?"_  
  
_"Oh, it's about the sex, honey, believe me, it's about the sex," she said.
"After all, that's the main reason they're shelling out the money to be with
you. And speaking of which . . . ."_  
  
_"What?"_  
  
_"Just remember that these men are paying for your company, for your sex. When
you're fucking them, they are the best lovers in the world, even if they
aren't, and they give you the best orgasms you've ever had, even if they
don't. When you're sucking their cocks, you've got the tastiest dick you've
ever had in your mouth. But don't expect them to be gracious. Some men will
want to share the pleasure, but most of the time, it's all about them. Don't
expect reciprocation."_  
  
_I nodded, understanding what she meant. "What if they wanna do something I'm
not comfortable with?"_  
  
_"You mean, such as anal sex, bondage?" she asked._  
  
_"Yeah. Stuff like that. 'Course, I've never tried anything like that . . . I
don't know, I might like it."_  
  
_She smiled. "We screen our clients pretty well," she said. "We find out what
they like before matching them with a girl. Ian told me you're not very
experienced, so we won't give you any of our 'special' clients, not unless you
tell us otherwise."_  
  
_"'Special' clients?"_  
  
_Cleo nodded. "Men who like to get a little freaky," she said with a soft
laugh. "Some of them can get pretty bizarre. Fisting, watersports, S&amp;M."_  
  
_I frowned. "I don't know what any of that means," I said, feeling
overwhelmed._  
  
_"That's why we got you those books," said Cleo meaningfully. "Read them,
cover to cover. You'll find things you might want to try, and things that may
disgust you. As you gain experience, as you try new things, you may become
paired up with some of the specials."_  
  
_I nodded, thinking. Being an escort, I realized, was more than just fucking._  
  
_"Just think very carefully about trying something new. You go too far, too
fast, and you might end up getting hurt."_  
  
_I frowned. "What do you mean?"_  
  
_Cleo was careful with her words. "Some of our clients have specific . . .
tastes," she said. "Rape fantasies, as an example."_  
  
_"Rape fantasies?"_  
  
_She nodded. "They want to pretend they're taking a girl against her will.
That takes an awful lot of trust and confidence to pull off. Not many of us
can do it. I've known a few girls to try and indulge such fantasies, only to
end up finding out they made a mistake."_  
  
_I swallowed nervously. "Do you . . . ." I began._  
  
_"Sometimes," she said. She smiled. "Honey, I've been doing this for seven
years. I've done it all."_  
  
_I took a deep breath._  
  
_"Hey," she said, taking my hand. "Don't worry about things like that. Ninety-
nine percent of the time, the men you're with will just want a good old
fashioned, balls-to-the-wall fuck. Or two. Or three."_  
  
_I laughed, my fear fading away._  
  
_"They'll treat you like a goddess, worship everything you do, just because
you're the eager little sex kitten they fantasize about," Cleo said. "Don't
worry, honey. You're gonna be fine. Just remember: they're paying for
enthusiasm and skill. You can't wait to satisfy them in every way possible."_  
  
I went through that conversation, just the day before, as I waited for my
driver. When the knock sounded, I was startled, my heartbeat suddenly
increasing in tempo. I got up, looked through the peep hole, saw a man in a
chauffeur's hat.  
  
_Showtime_, I thought. I grabbed the long, simple coat I had hung on the wall
and slipped it on. It covered me from neck to calf. Cleo had told me that I
should always wear the coat to and from the car when leaving or coming home,
to reduce suspicion about my activities.  
  
I opened the door, making sure I had my little purse and keys. The man on my
doorstep was in his early thirties, I figured, and had a very professional air
about him.  
  
"Miss Yvette?" he asked.  
  
I smiled. I really liked the way my new name sounded. I nodded.  
  
He gave me a curt nod. "Your car awaits, Miss."  
  
I took a breath. _Here we go._ "Lead the way."  
  
***  
  
My ride was a black Lincoln Towncar, with dark windows and a lot of room in
the back. There was a little dry bar stocked with top shelf liquors, and a
little compartment for my coat. I stayed away from the alcohol, not wanting to
start my first date drunk. I needed to be clear-headed and focused.  
  
The driver didn't speak to me during the drive, and I didn't expect him to.
Cleo had told me that the drivers were only there to get me from point A to
point B . . . although, she added, they also doubled as protection, 'just in
case.'  
  
There was a radio tuner and CD player installed in the back, and I tuned in my
favorite hip-hop station, singing along softly to Britney's words. I felt a
little more relaxed, but my anxiety remained. I wondered what Mr. Thomas
Dunson would look like, what he would want.  
  
We arrived before a five-story building off the highway. The parking lot was
like the car lot of a luxury car dealer. Jaguar, Mercedes, Lexus, Porsche,
Land Rover . . . even a few Ferraris and higher-end Acuras, and some stretch
limos. My driver got out, opened the door for me.  
  
"There is a man in the lobby," he informed me. "You are listed as Mr. Dunson's
guest. He will tell you where to go."  
  
I nodded. "Thanks," I said nervously.  
  
The driver gave me a reassuring smile. "You'll do fine," he said. He held up
the tiniest cell phone I had ever seen. "All the numbers you need are already
programmed into the memory. If you need me, just speed-dial Number One. I am
never far away."  
  
I nodded, feeling reassured. I took the phone and dropped it in my purse, then
headed to the door.  
  
The building was very unassuming. I had seen it often from the highway. It did
not seem like the kind of place where rich people would gather. In the soft-
lit lobby, a man sat behind a semi-circular desk at the far end. Above him on
the wall was a simple sign in silver block letters: _'The Carousel Club.'_  
  
The man, stocky, pudgy, looking like an ex-cop, watched me approach. There was
no one else in the lobby. My heels clicked on the tile, echoing off the walls.  
  
"May I help you, Miss?" he asked, making no effort to hide his admiration of
my body.  
  
"Yes. I'm Yvette. I'm Mr. Dunson's guest," I said.  
  
He looked down at something beneath the counter, then nodded. "Take the
elevator to the sixth floor," he said. "Mr. Dunson is waiting in the Green
Room."  
  
_Green Room. Got it._ "Thank you," I said, then headed to the elevator. I
heard the man make a soft, appreciative whistle behind me. I smiled.  
  
_This is gonna be fun . . . ._  
  
At the sixth floor -- which struck me as odd, since I thought this was only a
five-story building -- I stepped out into a small lobby with red-painted walls
and soft lighting. There was something gentle and operatic wafting out from
hidden speakers. There were two doors in the far wall and a woman in a long
black gown seated on a little chair. She stood as I emerged. I thought she
looked something like Elvira.  
  
"Good evening, my dear," she said with a smile. Her voice was smooth and
sultry. I figured she could have a career as a phone-sex operator. "Are you
meeting someone?"  
  
"Yes. Mr. Dunson. I was told he is in the Green Room."  
  
'Elvira' gave me a very appraising look. "Lucky him," she said, and gestured
toward the left-hand door. "The Green Room will be toward your right, through
the Lobby."  
  
"Thank you," I said with professional grace, and headed to the door. It opened
before me, and sound flooded out.  
  
It was like an exclusive nightclub beyond, with a large sunken room about a
hundred feet to a side, and broad steps leading down to the main floor. There
was a neon-lit bar at the far end, and a broad central dance floor of polished
tile that rotated slowly on a raised platform. Thus the name 'Carousel Club,'
I figured.  
  
Strobe lights and disco balls hung from the ceiling, and naked girls writhed
in brass cages. To the left and right, steps lead up to broad archways. The
walls beyond the left arch were gold; through the right, they were green.  
  
Hundreds of people milled about, talking, drinking, dancing. I recognized some
faces from local newspaper snapshots and TV interviews, and thought I saw a
couple reasonably well-known actors and actresses. There were a few girls like
me, dressed to the nines and hanging off the arms of men much older than they.
But there were older women, too, women of society, standing with their
husbands or lovers. The male escorts were breathtakingly gorgeous.  
  
I looked to the brass cages, watching the girls dance. They were completely
naked except for heels and some jewelry, and wore golden body paint. Their
pubic mounds were shaved totally smooth. They danced as if possessed, paying
no attention to anyone around them. Their movements were very sexual and
seductive, touching their breasts and crotches, gyrating up and down and
flashing their legs open.  
  
While men and women watched the dancers, admiring them and making comments, no
one approached them to tip or talk. It seemed they were just part of the
environment, the ambiance.  
  
_Wonder how much they get paid, _I thought.  
  
The hard dance beat pounded through me as I headed across the main floor
toward the Green Room. Men and women both looked me over. I maintained my
'poise and grace,' keeping my head held up, remembering the lessons Anne and
Cleo had taught me.  
  
_"You must always be confident and self-assured."_  
  
At the entrance to the Green Room, which consisted of large, curved booths and
a few tables, soft lighting provided by amber-shaded lamps, a girl not much
older than me approached. She wore a sleeveless tuxedo shirt and short black
skirt, held a tray in one hand with a small stack of linen beverage napkins
upon it.  
  
"Meeting someone?" she asked.  
  
"Mr. Dunson," I responded.  
  
She smiled, and glanced around the room. She pointed toward one of the booths,
beside which stood a small group of men in expensive suits, joking and sipping
drinks. "Blue suit, grey hair," she said, then winked and headed away.  
  
I looked at the man she indicated. He was short, at least middle-aged, with
thinning grey hair and a thick graying moustache. _Not exactly GQ,_ I thought,
but he seemed handsome enough. I approached him, thinking, _I'm going to be
fucking him before the night's over. Hope you've taken your Viagra, Mr. Dunson
. . . ._  
  
I felt my pussy getting a little moist.  
  
". . . twenty-five minutes of negotiation, and they gave in just because I
mentioned the loss of equity on their Tokyo property! I didn't know what to do
for the rest of the day!"  
  
The men all laughed, then fell silent as they noticed my approach. Six pairs
of eyes wandered over me with the hungriness of starving men. I settled my
eyes on Mr. Dunson's. "Hello, Thomas," I said.  
  
He breathed in, giving me an impressed look. The other men, I could tell, were
instantly envious. My ego soared. I gave Thomas my complete attention, again
remembering my lessons.  
  
_"The man you are with is the most important man in the world."_  
  
"Gentlemen," he said proudly. "This is my Yvette." He gestured for me to step
close, and slipped his arm around me. I stood a good inch or two taller than
he. I acted like I had known Thomas for a while, which was evidently what he
wanted.  
  
His friends introduced themselves, fumbling over one another to take my hand.  
  
"Delighted to meet you," I said. "Charmed." "Enchante."  
  
"Well, Tommy-boy," said a rather large man in a brown suit, ogling me openly.
"Guess I have to apologize. I was beginning to think you made up this juicy
little morsel."  
  
Thomas grinned, obviously enjoying having me hanging off his arm like a prize.
He gave my ass a squeeze, then pushed up on his toes to kiss me. He smelled
like cough drops, and his moustache was scratchy. But as if he was the most
important man in the world to me, I moaned softly and gave him a tender, moist
kiss. I slipped my hand to his chest, licked his bottom lip. I was careful not
to make too much of a show of it; I was there to boost his ego and be his
devoted companion, not embarrass him.  
  
"Yvette, my dear," said Thomas, looking like a kid on Christmas morning who
just opened the one gift he had been begging for all year. "Would you like a
cocktail?"  
  
"Mmm, I'd love one," I said, smoldering my eyes. "Are you drinking your
usual?"  
  
Thomas grinned as I played along, and held up his drink. "You know me. Scotch
on the rocks."  
  
I took his glass and sipped the sharp-tasting liquid, trying not to frown.
_Yuck! Why do guys like this stuff?_  
  
"Would you like the same?" he asked.  
  
I smiled fondly upon him. "I think I'm in a vodka mood tonight," I said.  
  
He nodded. "Martini?"  
  
I kissed him again, lightly. "Sounds yummy."  
  
Thomas beckoned one of the cocktail waitresses over, ordered me a drink. He
kept his hand on my butt almost the whole time as he and his friends talked
about business. I was in the dark most of the time as to what they were
discussing, but thankfully, none of them asked me anything. They just stared
now and then, sneaking glimpses of my cleavage and legs.  
  
Thomas and I sat down in the booth, and I cuddled against him without being
too 'girly' about it. I held his hand and traced random patterns on his thigh.
The bulge of his erection was obvious. He talked some more with the other men,
and included me in on some of the conversation, mentioning aspects of our
supposed relationship. I had to think quickly as I played along.  
  
"Which company was Mr. Takamura with, again, honey?" "Oh, yes, I loved the
opening of the Hartford Theater!" "Hmm, of course I remember Dr. Rodriguez'
birthday party ball. We had a lot of fun that night, didn't we . . . ."  
  
I was careful not to drink too much, and nursed my single martini over the
course of an hour and a half. The alcohol helped me relax and become more
comfortable with Thomas and the others. He really was a sweet man. I noticed
the wedding band on his finger but got the impression he was no longer
married. Neither he nor any of the others mentioned his wife.  
  
At one point, Thomas excused himself, saying he had to use the men's room. I
gave him a kiss and a quick, casual grope, making him smile and shudder. He
couldn't wait to get me alone, I knew. And to be honest, I was getting a
little itchy as well. Not that I found Thomas particularly attractive, but the
idea that I was an escort -- that I was being paid to eventually make love to
this man -- was really turning me on.  
  
I lit a cigarette as I waited for Thomas to return. The other men were
engrossed in conversation, not really paying me any direct attention. But the
big one in the brown suit, George his name was, took advantage of Thomas'
absence. He leaned toward me across the table with a lecherous look.  
  
"Whatever he's paying you," he said. "I'll double it right now."  
  
I fixed George a look, blowing smoke in his face. He blinked profusely and
coughed. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir, and frankly, I'm
offended," I said.  
  
He pinched his eyes and sneered at me again. "Oh, come on. We all know what
you are. So what's your price, baby? I can show you a better time than that
little man."  
  
I wasn't fazed. Cleo had told me there would be moments like this. I looked
George dead in the eye and said, "I hardly think that's possible."  
  
George blinked, surprised at my response and the implication it carried. I
noticed Thomas returning across the room and gave George a smirk. "Now, if you
will excuse me, my lover is returning."  
  
I stood, leaving George stunned and wondering. Thomas gave me a wary look, but
I assuaged his fears as I cupped his scratchy little face and smothered my
lips against his. He moaned and settled his hands on my hips.  
  
"Thomas," I said.  
  
"Yes, dear?"  
  
"I'd like to dance."  
  
He gave me a dreamy look. "Anything you want."  
  
***  
  
Thomas wasn't much of a dancer, so I took the lead and rubbed up against him
sensuously. I encouraged him to touch me, and didn't protest when one of his
hands slid under my dress, right there on the dance floor, and tentatively
touched my bare pussy. He moaned in my ear as I gyrated against him, my back
to his chest. I bent my knees and pushed my ass against his crotch, making him
gasp and tremble. I could feel his stiff cock rubbing between my cheeks.  

"Oh, God!" he sputtered in my ear. "Don't do that!"  
  
I turned around and settled my arms on his shoulders, staring into his eyes.
He looked absolutely awestruck as he stared back. "Don't tell me you're gonna
cum in your pants, Thomas," I whispered, the music almost drowning out my
words. No one else around us could hear what we were saying.  
  
"If you kept doing that for five more seconds, I would have," he said
seriously.  
  
"Well, I wouldn't want that," I said. "I've got much better places in mind for
that stuff."  
  
He trembled. "L-like where?"  
  
I didn't say anything. I just licked my lips in an exaggerated way and smiled
naughtily.  
  
"O-oh, Jesus," he moaned as he understood.  
  
I grinned and kissed him again, deeply, sultrily. Thomas quivered with
excitement and ran his hands up and down my back and thighs.  
  
We walked from the dance floor, found the little table where we had left my
purse and drinks. Thomas had assured me that the Carousel Club wasn't the kind
of place to worry about having anything stolen.  
  
"I need to use the ladies' room, Thomas," I said.  
  
"Sure," he said, his face flushed. "It's uh, to the right of the bar."  
  
I smiled, gave him a little kiss.  
  
"Yvette?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"When you come back . . . can we go?"  
  
I smiled. _Oh, so you're ready for me now, are you Thomas? No more showing me
off?_ "Of course, baby." Then I turned and headed for the bathroom.  
  
The ladies' room was tastefully equipped, with oyster shell sinks, marble
counters, and a backlit mirror. The stalls were painted maroon and the air was
fragrant with the aroma of lavender from the flower-filled vases. There were a
few other women in the restroom, all of them society wives at least a good ten
years older than I. They gave me acidic looks, but I ignored them. Cleo had
also prepared me for such reactions from women.  
  
I relieved myself, wiped, stepped out of the stall to wash my hands and touch
up my face. There was only one other woman in the ladies' room as I emerged,
late forties or early fifties, her body having given way to age. Still, there
remained the shadow of a pretty young woman in her face.  
  
She gave me a disgusted look after she applied her lipstick. "Well, well. The
whores get younger every year," she said viciously.  
  
I bristled slightly at her comment, but said nothing as I powdered my nose. I
liked the smell of my new makeup; it reminded me of cinnamon.  
  
The woman continued: "I doubt you're even twenty," she said, shaking her head.
"Are you even old enough to vote?"  
  
I didn't look at her. I touched up my lipstick, rubbed my lips together,
trying to ignore the woman.  
  
She kept goading. "So tell me: how much is a fuck worth these days?"  
  
I dropped my lipstick back in my purse, turned to the woman and gave her a
direct, confident look. "I hope, when I'm you're age, I'm not as shallow and
self-pitying as you." Then I stepped past her, leaving the woman flustered and
sneering.  
  
I headed back out around the revolving dance floor, found Thomas waiting and
anxious. I smiled upon him warmly and held out my hand. "Shall we go?"  
  
I took a deep breath, his cheeks rosy. "Please," he said.  
  
***  
  
I went with Thomas in his car, knowing that the black Lincoln was somewhere
amidst the traffic behind us. Even if it wasn't, I knew my driver had been
given all the addresses of wherever Thomas might take me, including that of
his house . . . which was where he now headed.  
  
"Hey, uh, thanks for playing along tonight," Thomas said as he drove, glancing
to me. "I hope I didn't put you on the spot."  
  
"Not at all," I said. "I'm glad I was able to keep up."  
  
He chuckled. "You made my night, Yvette," he said sincerely. "Hell, you made
my year!"  
  
I smiled and laughed softly. "You're a sweet man," I said.  
  
"And you're unbelievably beautiful," he said with such heartfelt earnesty that
I blushed. "I mean, every man in that place was just . . . staring at you! I
really feel like I'm with an angel, I want you to know that."  
  
I smiled with embarrassment and sidled closer in his Chrysler. Thomas
stiffened slightly as I touched his arm, his leg. He sighed as I nuzzled his
neck and kissed his ear. He wore a nice cologne, something common among older
men.  
  
"U-um, Yvette," he stammered, his voice strained.  
  
"Hmm?" I sucked gently at his neck, tasting the saltiness there.  
  
"I-it's been a long time for me," he said.  
  
I pulled my face back, lightly scratched his temple. "It's not going to be
much longer," I whispered.  
  
He trembled visibly. "Oh, man . . . the most gorgeous woman in the world and .
. . ." he trailed off, swallowing nervously.  
  
"And what, Thomas?" I asked softly, brushing my lips against his cheek.  
  
"I-I don't wanna be rude," he said.  
  
I smiled, cupped his chin as the car idled at a light. I turned his face to
look at me. "The most gorgeous woman in the world," I said. "Wants to make
love to you, Thomas."  
  
He let out a long, staccato breath, his eyes round and grateful. "Oh, Jesus .
. . ."  
  
***  
  
Thomas was nervous to take the lead once we arrived at his house, which was a
surprisingly modest three-bedroom home. The place was a little cluttered, such
as what I would expect from a bachelor. There were pictures on the walls and
fireplace mantle of Thomas with a dark-haired woman, chronicling their life
together. Others showed children, three in all, as they grew up.  
  
The pictures, judging by hairstyles and fashion, went back more than a
quarter-century. The woman, his wife, had been very pretty, and had aged well
. . . until the last few pictures, which showed her wearing various scarves
and hats to conceal her baldness. While she was smiling in most of these later
pictures, there was pain evident on her wrinkled face.  
  
"Janice," said Thomas from behind me as I peered at the pictures on the
mantle. "We were married for thirty-two years."  
  
I turned around to face him. I could tell how much he missed her. I felt my
eyes moistening.  
  
He brought me a glass of white wine, held another for himself. "She was an
amazing woman," he continued, gazing upon the pictures. "My partner in
everything. We started a little floral business, turned it into a chain of
seventeen stores across the state. She really loved flowers. Lilacs were her
favorite."  
  
I gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Thomas."  
  
He smiled. "She passed away four years ago," he said. "Cancer. Fought it for a
long time, went into remission twice. She was a very strong woman . . . but
not strong enough."  
  
I didn't know what to say. I felt almost guilty for being there, in that
house, in which more than thirty years of love and pain had been shared. I
remembered what Cleo said:  
  
_You will find that you will be as much a therapist at times as a lover._  
  
Thomas turned away, swirling his glass of wine. "I couldn't even think of
being with another woman after Janice passed," he said. "After a couple years,
my friends started urging me to date again. I was too young, they said, to be
alone. But I couldn't."  
  
He turned back. "I never thought I would call on an escort service," he said.
"But . . . even old men get horny." He added with a self-deprecating laugh.  
  
I set my wine down upon the newspaper-covered coffee table and approached
Thomas. He was timid, afraid, nervous. But I knew what he wanted, what he
needed. I didn't say anything as I kissed him softly, gently, giving him time
to relax and not get overexcited. He made little whimpering sounds and
hesitantly touched me. He seemed reluctant to be intimate while his wife's
pictures watched him.  
  
"Let's go to bed, Thomas," I said softly.  
  
"O-okay," he answered. He gripped my hand firmly, gave me a pleading look. "I,
uh, apologize in advance if I'm, uh, you know . . . t-too quick."  
  
I smiled. "You won't be," I said.  
  
***  
  
Thomas took me to the guest room of his house, where I noticed the absence of
any familial pictures. The bed was a standard queen-sized affair with dark
blankets and white linen sheets. Thomas turned on the lights, adjusted the
dimmer switch to make the mood more romantic.  
  
I undressed him slowly, wanting to go slow so as not to intimidate Thomas or
make him cum too soon. I spent a lot of time kissing him on his lips, chest,
and abdomen while his clothes slowly made their way to the floor. He was
finally naked before me, his soft penis hanging beneath a slightly protruding
belly. He was fairly hairy, but not grotesquely so. His skin was pretty pale;
he had not had a tan in decades, I figured.  
  
I gently pushed him down on the bed and slowly, seductively, stripped out of
my dress. Thomas watched with awestruck eyes as my body was revealed. He
stared at my puffy-nippled breasts and slick pussy with abject desire. His
cock began to harden, lengthening and rising up between his legs.  
  
"Just relax, Thomas," I whispered as I got on my knees, stroking and kissing
her inner thighs. "You have me for all night. There's no need to rush
anything."  
  
He swallowed nervously, his body trembling like a baby. He closed his eyes a
moment, then nodded. "O-okay."  
  
Softly, passionately, I kissed up along his thighs toward his musky crotch. He
had thick, soft pubic hair that all but hid his testicles. His penis, growing
more and more the closer my mouth came, was surprisingly, and pleasantly,
impressive. By the time he had a full erection, it hovered like a serpentine
stone carving, with a broad, bulbous pink head.  
  
I smiled and slipped out my tongue, aware of how wet I was getting. Maybe I
was turned on because I was being paid a thousand dollars to make love to
Thomas. Or maybe it was because Thomas was so in awe of me. I didn't bother
thinking about the reasons. I was aroused, and that was enough.  
  
Thomas moaned loudly as I sucked tenderly on his hairy balls, swirling my
tongue around the soft sacs. He parted his legs more and fell back on the bed.
His cock twitched and slowly dribbled a little pre-cum. I licked up the shaft
to capture it, savoring the taste of him.  
  
"Oh, God, Yvette," he groaned. "I haven't had an orgasm in so long!"  
  
I sucked tenderly on the underside of his shaft. "Then let's make up for lost
time," I whispered.  
  
"Ohhh . . . ."  
  
I dragged my tongue up the length of him, then slipped my warm mouth down over
the head. Thomas tensed, gasped and caught his breath. His cock spasmed like a
live wire in my mouth as I pushed down, slowly and smoothly taking him into my
throat. My lips wrapped tenderly around the root of his cock.  
  
"Oh, Yvette! Oh, Jesus!" he choked.  
  
I circled the base of his straining penis with my fingers, rubbing my thumb
along the raised tube just beneath the surface, up through which I knew his
semen would flow . . . and soon, too soon. I sucked up and down Thomas' cock
with a gentle, gliding motion of my lips, enjoying the feel of that wide
spongy head easing in and out of my throat.  
  
"Oh, God! Oh, God! Ah-h-h-h-h!" cried Thomas, grabbing handfuls of bedsheet.
His cock tensed in my mouth as his orgasm began. But I pinched the base of it,
holding back his explosion. I sucked softly on the head of his dick, tasting a
little bittersweet semen as it dribbled out. I licked it away, savoring his
fluid.  
  
"Oh, Jesus!" he gasped, lifting his head to stare down at me. His face was
slack, eyes glazed. I stared back, mouthing his quivering cock.  
  
His orgasm subsided, and Thomas let his head fall back on the bed. I resumed
sucking him, his cock staying hard. His balls were heavy in my hand as I
cupped and rolled them with my fingers. Thomas moaned and even laughed with
euphoria at times, thoroughly enjoying the sensations I gave him.  
  
Again and again, Thomas reached the precipice of orgasm, but I squeezed the
base of his shaft each time, stemming the eruption. In this way, I made what
would have been a two-minute blow job last for a quarter of an hour.  
  
Finally, I could tell that Thomas couldn't take anymore. It looked like his
testicles had swollen considerably, like balloons attached to the kitchen
faucet. But that was just my imagination. Still, he was ready to burst, and I
wanted to give him the most intense orgasm he'd ever had.  
  
Bracing my hands on his thighs, I sucked up and down his twitching staff,
determined at last to drink from him. Thomas gasped and moaned, settling his
hands on the back of my head, his fingers lightly tickling my neck.  
  
He moaned aloud as he finally spurted, releasing volcanic geysers of thick,
heavy sperm into my mouth. He shook and flailed his arms, bucking on the bed,
and I had to practically hold him down as I sucked the orgasm out of him.
Never had I felt cum so thick on my tongue. And the fact that I had been
building him up over and over meant that the pudding-like load that was
catapulted between my lips was immense. I almost couldn't handle it all.  
  
Thomas finally sagged on the bed, panting and gasping for air as I nursed his
cock. I literally had a mouthful of cum, and I bathed his slowly-softening
penis in it, caressing his thighs and tightened, quivering balls. Finally,
feeling proud of myself, I pulled my mouth off him and swallowed my reward.
His cream oozed slowly down my throat, like syrup from a maple tree.  
  
I crawled up over him, kissing his rounded belly, his hairy chest, his neck,
and finally, his lips. Suddenly, I really didn't mind the moustache. Thomas
barely responded, drained for the moment. I lay against him, my arm and leg
draped over his body, my head on his chest. I pressed my steamy pussy against
the outside of his thigh, letting him know I would be ready for him.  
  
"Oh . . . oh, oh my," he moaned, lifting his arms to caress me. "Th-that was
incredible."  
  
I pushed up, and smiled upon his aged face. For man close to sixty, he was
rather handsome. I kissed his cheek tenderly. "I'm glad I could do that for
you," I said honestly.  
  
He smiled and relaxed in his afterglow, caressing my back. We lay quietly for
a while until Thomas began kissing me, with affection and arousal. His
strength was returning. "Do we really have all night?" he asked.  
  
I grinned, and nuzzled his chin with my nose. "You ready for more?"  
  
He chuckled. "I don't know how, but yes," he said. "God bless Cialis."  
  
I giggled.  
  
***  
  
Thomas wasn't much for foreplay. Men his age, I figured, probably weren't. He
gave my wet and ready pussy just a little kiss as I bent over the bed,
wantonly offering myself to him. He rolled down a condom -- with some
difficulty; it had been thirty years, he said, since he had used one, and they
had changed quite a bit in that time -- and positioned his once-again stiff
erection at the entrance to my pussy.  
  
I moaned as he pushed inside me, feeling my slick walls stretch snugly around
him. Thomas groaned at the heat of my pussy, commented on how tight I was. I
urged him to 'make love to me' any way he wanted. Thomas smoothed his hands
over my firm cheeks and up and down my back as he pumped away, steadily
increasing the pace. I squeezed my PC muscle around him, something I had read
about in one of the sex books Cleo bought for me, and Thomas responded with
gasps and moans.  
  
He kept telling me, over and over, how beautiful I was, how sexy I was, how
much I made him feel half his age. I just grinned, relishing the fuck, the
sliding motions of his cock inside me. It dawned on me that Thomas was about
the same age as my grandfather. Why that turned me on, I don't know.  
  
He stopped after a handful of minutes, shaking against me, holding back his
orgasm. He wanted it to last before he shot off again. He gingerly pulled out
of my pussy, and I curled around, slipping to my knees on the floor. Thomas'
mouth gaped as I sucked my own tangy fluid off his condom-covered cock. I
hadn't cum, but I liked the flavor of my pussy anyway.  
  
We scooted up on the bed, and I caressed Thomas' chest as he mounted me once
more. He kissed me now and then, pumping his cock in and out of my slippery
tunnel. I wanted to cum, and urged him to slow down as I rubbed my clit in a
quick, back-and-forth motion. Thomas watched as I masturbated, his cock
throbbing in my pussy. The sight obviously turned him on.  
  
I moaned and wailed softly as I came, squeezing his dick with my vaginal
muscles. My orgasm encouraged his own, and Thomas fucked with short, fast
thrusts for less than a minute, stimulating my gushing cunt, before he shook
and cried out over me. I felt his cock pulsing inside me, new he was cumming.  
  
He collapsed atop me, and I held him close, wrapping my arms and legs around
him. He panted heavily in my ear, murmuring his repeated thanks. I just smiled
and kissed his neck, his cheek.  
  
He finally rolled off me, and I scooted down, gingerly peeling off the condom.
Semen was streaked along his tumescent shaft, and I cleaned him with my
tongue. The flavor of the spermicide I was none to fond off, but I did like
the rich taste of his cum.  
  
We lay together for a while, cuddling, as Thomas told me stories of his wife.
I listened as he told me how they had met, during college, when he almost
knocked her down one day while he was running to make it to class on time.
Then as he told me of their first date -- White Castle burgers and a drive-in
movie (he shyly admitted that they had groped each other through their clothes
that first night) -- and how Janice had almost choked on a French fry. Then of
their wedding day, how beautiful Janice looked, and how the three-year-old
ring bearer, the son of a friend, had almost run out the door with the rings.  
  
"I hope I have as happy a life as you've had," I told him at last, looking
upon his face.  
  
Thomas sniffed, wiped a few tears from his eyes. I realized I had some of my
own. "Cherish everyone you meet, Yvette," he told me. "You never know who will
affect your life."  
  
I sniffled and nodded. "I will," I promised, then softly kissed his neck and
chest, tickling his tiny nipples with my tongue.  
  
Thomas hissed as his arousal was triggered once more, then chuckled with
pleasant surprise. "I don't believe this," he said.  
  
"What?" I asked, looking up and frowning.  
  
He grinned. "I'm ready again."  
  
I glanced down, saw that, indeed, his penis was growing stiff once more. I
giggled and sat up, looking for my purse and the condoms within. "Well, let's
not waste it," I said, and slipped my leg over him.  
  
***  
  
Finally and fully spent, Thomas fell asleep in the bed, holding me. I nodded
off for a while, finally waking around three in the morning. I dressed
quietly, then gave Thomas a tender kiss on his forehead. He didn't stir, but
he murmured in his sleep and smiled in satisfaction.  
  
"You're welcome, Thomas," I whispered, then took out the tiny cell phone from
my purse.  
  
The black Lincoln met me out before the house a few minutes later. My driver
opened the door for me and I slid inside. I was tired but proud. I felt good
for having brought some happiness to an old man's life.  
  
"Where to, Yvette?" the driver asked.  
  
I sighed, and lit a cigarette. I couldn't stop smiling. "What's your name?" I
asked.  
  
"James," he said.  
  
_Of course_. "Home, James," I said.  
  
***  
  
As the Lincoln pulled up before my apartment, I slipped on my long coat. I was
conscious of the aroma of sex about me. I needed a good shower. I felt almost
embarrassed about the smell -- however mitigated by my perfume -- when James
opened the door and let me out.  
  
"I'll be your regular driver, Miss Yvette," he said. "Just so you know."  
  
I smiled, and touched his cheek. He stiffened slightly. I guess I wasn't
supposed to do that, but at the moment, I was too tired to care.  
  
"Eh . . . at any rate," he said, and reached inside his blazer. He brought out
a scarlet-colored business envelope and handed it to me. "Get some sleep,
Yvette."  
  
I smiled dreamily. "Thanks. You too."  
  
James smiled. "See you next time," he said, then headed around the car to the
driver's side. I walked lazily to the stairwell of my apartment, singing a
little song in my head. I was riding a high from which I never wanted to come
back down.  

***  
  
My first 'date' was something of a trial run, a last test to see if I really
wanted to commit myself to being an escort. I was not obligated to take any
further dates until I checked back in after my night with Mr. Dunson.  
  
"Cleo Boaluca."  
  
"Cleo," I said into the phone the following afternoon, after returning home
from my classes. "It's Alyssa."  
  
I could almost hear her smile. "Well, if it isn't our sweet 'Yvette,'" she
said. "How are you?"  
  
"Mmm," I sighed, leaning back on my couch. "I feel really good, actually."  
  
Cleo giggled, sounding almost like me. "Let me tell you, you're not the only
one."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"We took a call this morning from Mr. Dunson," she said. "It's rare when a
client calls back to comment on his evening. He had some very glowing things
to say about you."  
  
I blushed deeply. "He's a very nice man," I said.  
  
"Well done, Alyssa."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"So . . . ."  
  
I breathed in deeply, let it out. "Set me up," I said.  
  
"That's my girl."  
  
***  
  
James dropped me off before a ritzy steak house downtown the following Friday
evening, just as the sun was disappearing beyond the towering buildings. I
wore a slinky red dress with white stockings and a garter belt beneath. But no
panties, of course. My client had specifically requested my undergarments. My
hair was down, also as requested, and stirred in the breeze as I headed up the
walk to the door. Men and women alike on the sidewalk gave me double-takes. I
soaked them up proudly.  
  
"Good . . . evening," said the Maitre'D behind the narrow host stand as he
looked me over. There were about half a dozen people waiting to be seated,
mostly couples, and they gave me interested looks.  
  
"I'm expected by Mr. Cabrizzi," I said.  
  
"Oh. Of course," the man said. "Right this way."  
  
Once again, I felt on display as I followed the Maitre'D through the
restaurant. Men stopped their conversations with friends, family, wives and
girlfriends as I passed their tables. And once again, I reveled in the
attention.  
  
My client this time, Mr. Gabriel Cabrizzi, was quite a bit younger than Thomas
Dunson. I put him in his mid-thirties, and was dark-haired, tall, and
surprisingly good looking. He sat at a booth with a beer before him, talking
animatedly on a cell-phone. He faltered a bit in his conversation as I
approached, and looked me over with a sly smile.  
  
"Hey, uh, Dan? I'll call you back. What? No, it can wait. I'll talk to you
later." He snapped his phone closed and stood.  
  
"Wow," he said, taking me in. "What did I do to deserve this?"  
  
I smiled coyly, turned slightly, showing off my legs and butt. Not caring that
dozens of people could see us, Gabriel reached out and touched my stocking-
clad thigh. I didn't stop him.  
  
"Very nice," he said, then returned his eyes to my face. "Yvette, right?"  
  
I nodded. "Nice to meet you, Gabriel."  
  
He took my hand, bent and kissed it like a gentleman. "Call me Gabe."  
  
***  
  
Gabe was really impressed with himself, that much was obvious. He went on and
on about his real estate business, how successful he was, how he had become a
millionaire before thirty. His phone rang several times during the meal, and
he answered it each time. It was annoying, but I didn't show my consternation.  
  
The only time he said something about me was when he commented on how 'hot' I
was, how 'sexy' I was. By the time dinner was over, I was starting to hope
that he would want to take me back to his hotel room and fuck, just to get the
night over with.  
  
Instead, we headed downtown, in a cab, with Gabe stroking my thighs the entire
time and occasionally slipping his hand up between my legs to touch my pussy.
He really wasn't turning me on with his 'man's man' attitude and crude jokes,
but I pretended he did. I didn't stop him as he slipped a finger inside my
pussy and commented, loud enough for the cab driver to hear, on how 'tight' I
was.  
  
We hit a couple of nightclubs, and Gabe showed me off like a new piece of
artwork as we walked beneath black lights that made my white stockings glow.
At one point, while dancing on the glossy black floor of one of the clubs,
Gabe hitched my dress up to my waist, exposing my ass to any and everyone who
cared to look -- and quite a few did -- and spanked my firm cheeks. I
pretended to like it and let out fake gasps of pleasure.  
  
Dinner and dancing out of the way, we headed back to Gabe's hotel room.
Unceremoniously, he stripped naked and lay on the bed, stroking his hard
penis. He was average-sized, but I had to admit he had a nice build. He shaved
most of his body hair, including around his crotch. I had never seen a shaved
penis before.  
  
At last, something about him that turned me on.  
  
He wanted to watch me strip, but told me to keep the stockings and garter belt
on. I put on a little show, rubbing myself, pushing my breasts up to my face
and licking my own nipples. He told me to stand in the middle of the room and
masturbate. I did so, and once I called upon various fantasies and memories,
managed to make myself cum.  
  
"Wipe your cum on my cock, baby, then suck it," he commanded.  
  
Dutifully, I did so, stroking his stiff penis with my slick hands. Once his
dick was sufficiently coated, I went down on him, getting on my hands and
knees beside him on the bed. The taste of my own cum on his cock fueled my
efforts, and I lapped it all up. Gabe stroked my stocking-clad thighs and
spanked my ass as I blew him, making my cheeks sting. I moaned and whimpered
around his dick with each burning slap.  
  
And the strange thing was, it turned me on.  
  
I sucked him until he was about to cum, at which point he pulled my wet mouth
off his cock and had me lay on my back. He got on his knees beside my head and
jacked off furiously, finally spurting his pungent cream all over my face and
in my mouth. He pushed his dick between my lips and I sucked the last little
bits of cream from him, swallowing with a sigh. His cum was conspicuously
heavy on my cheeks and chin.  
  
"Leave it on, baby," he said, gazing upon my sperm-coated face. "Don't wipe it
off."  
  
Gabe rolled a condom down his penis, which remained hard, and got between my
legs. I felt his cum separating and running down my face and along my neck as
he pounded away. The kinkiness of the situation turned me on, and I wrapped my
legs around him, fucking him back eagerly. He varied the angles of his
thrusts, hitting all my pleasure centers and making me gasp and cry out in
pleasure. Maybe Gabe was a rude, crass, self-impressed asshole, but he sure
knew how to fuck.  
  
He kept it up for a good half hour, talking dirty the entire time, telling me
what a 'hot young bitch' I was and how 'nasty' I looked with his cum dripping
down my face. He loved the feel of my stocking-clad legs and licked and nipped
at them while fucking me. He howled like a banshee when he ejaculated into the
condom, his orgasm helped along as I squeezed him tight with my PC muscle. I
came as well, bucking under him, giving in to the purely physical act of
fucking.  
  
He pulled off the condom after slipping out of my swollen pussy, and held it
over my mouth. I stuck out my tongue to catch the dribbles of semen he
squeezed them out of the rubber, moaning for effect as his cream slid down
along my tongue. Tossing the sticky thing aside, he kissed my cream-smeared
mouth and told me to swallow.  
  
Gabe fucked me two more times that night, once before the mirrored doors of
the closets, bending me over and grabbing my hair and tits. He pounded me hard
and fast, making me cry out in passion as I spurted my orgasm all over his
groin. Then he had me suck my cream of his cock and lick it up from his balls
and abdomen before getting me to ride him until he came.  
  
After his third orgasm, we took a shower together, and Gabe took me again
under the warm spray. He had me roll the condom down his dick with my mouth,
something I had never done before and was a little awkward at, but Gabe just
chuckled and smoothed the rubber down the rest of the way with his hands. Then
he slammed me against the tiled wall and pounded me deep.  
  
Gabe liked it rough, I realized. And I couldn't deny that I was into it, as
well. I clawed his back and bit his neck and chest, making him tremble and
grunt appreciatively. I clamped onto his nipple with my teeth when he came,
howling and ejaculating deep inside me.  
  
Then he sat on the toilet and watched me shower. I put on a little show for
him, acting like a model before the camera. I didn't make myself cum, but I
massaged my clit and nipples for Gabe's benefit and spent a few minutes
thoroughly soaping up and cleaning my anus. Gabe seemed to like that, but his
libido seemed sated. He did not try to take me again.  
  
Afterward, Gabe reclined on the bed, smoking a clove cigarette as he watched
me reapply my makeup and pull my stockings back on. I liked feeling his eyes
on me as I went through my ritual. Getting dressed was as sexy as getting
undressed, I realized. I purposely waited until the last minute before
slipping on my dress.  
  
"How old are you, Yvette?" he asked me.  
  
I looked to him in the mirror. "Eighteen."  
  
He laughed, rolling his eyes. "Damn. No wonder you're so tight!"  
  
His comment was rude and offensive, but I kept smiling. "Did you enjoy your
evening, Gabe?"  
  
"Fuck, yeah," he said, sitting up. He flicked ash carelessly onto the floor.
"You like doing what you do?"  
  
I pursed my lips in a coy smile. "Of course."  
  
"'Of course,'" he echoed. "So, how much?"  
  
I frowned. "How much for what?" I asked.  
  
He chuckled. "Don't give me that. I'm a millionaire, babe. How much to own
you?"  
  
I bristled and stared at his reflection, my smile fading. "I'm for _rent_, Mr.
Cabrizzi," I said. "Not for sale."  
  
He chuckled. "We'll see, babe, we'll see. Any chick can be owned. It's just a
matter of price."  
  
***  
  
I called up Cleo again the following day. "I'm not gonna be _owned_, Cleo!" I
declared before she even finished saying hello.  
  
"Well, good morning to you, too."  
  
I sighed. "I'm sorry," I said, and made an effort to calm down. "Good
morning."  
  
She chuckled. "I'm assuming you're referring to Mr. Cabrizzi," she said. "You
know, I went back and forth about setting you up with him."  
  
"What the hell was he talking about?"  
  
Cleo sighed heavily into her phone. "Sometimes, a client will offer to 'buy
out' a particular girl. Essentially, he has to match an amount equal to twice
what a girl would make for a given period of time, if she worked every day—"  
  
I winced. It was too early in the day for such double-talk. "Cleo."  
  
She was quiet a moment. "He's offered $350,000 to own you for six months," she
said.  
  
I was struck speechless, clutching the phone tightly in my hand.  
  
"You would get two-thirds of that," she continued. "A little over two hundred
and thirty grand."  
  
"Holy shit," I breathed, finding my voice at last.  
  
"Now, being owned means that you have to always be available for him . . . and
for anyone else he brings along."  
  
I swallowed nervously. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, he might want you to entertain business guests. It's not uncommon for
owned girls to do gang-bangs, or cater to certain fantasies. These types of
men seem to enjoy that. It doesn't matter what time of day or night, if he
wants you, you have to be ready. There are no headaches, and being on your
period doesn't mean you're safe, either."  
  
I swallowed nervously. "Jesus."  
  
"It's not often we get an offer like this," said Cleo. "Especially not for a
girl as new as you. But I get the feeling Mr. Cabrizzi wants you while you're
still 'fresh.'"  
  
I was trembling. "D-do I have to say yes?"  
  
"No, of course not," said Cleo quickly. "It is entirely up to you. If you say
no, it's not going to ruin your standing with us."  
  
"Wh-what do you think I should do?" I asked her.  
  
"Do you like him?"  
  
I hesitated for a moment, remembering the night before. "Well, he's kind'a
rude . . . ."  
  
"If you agreed to be owned by him, you would stay with him, in his house.
You'd basically be a kept woman. A sex-slave. And Gabriel Cabrizzi lives out
of town."  
  
I shuddered. "I'd have to withdraw from the semester."  
  
"Yes, you would."  
  
"You don't think I should do it, do you?"  
  
"Honestly? No. Not at all. I know Gabe. I know him _very_ well. He wants you
because you're young and still have that innocent look. Guys like him, they
want to take cute young things like you and twist them around, abuse them."  
  
I trembled, imagining all sorts of cruel and degrading scenarios. "I don't
wanna do it," I said.  
  
"I didn't think so," said Cleo, her voice soft again. "I already sent a reply
on your behalf this morning."  
  
I laughed into the phone, feeling relieved. "You're like my big sister, you
know that?"  
  
"I know, honey. I'm gonna look out for you."  
  
I let out a sigh of relief, reached for my cigarettes. "Okay, so . . . got
another one for me? Someone normal?"  
  
Cleo laughed. "Well, now that you mention it, there's a businessman in town
who would like a little company tonight . . . ."  
  
***  
  
Throughout the rest of spring, I averaged four dates a week. Most were
businessmen, but a few were locals who had the money and nothing better to do
than enjoy an eager teenaged girl for the night. I went to parties,
restaurants, public functions and private clubs in my role as escort, and
became more and more adept at conversation and high society. I developed quite
the sharp wit and learned a few things about business, enough to impress my
dates and their friends.  
  
I gave myself willingly to every man I was paired with. On rare occasions,
James dropped me off at a client's house, where I remained for the night,
acting as private dancer and personal slut, satisfying my client in every way
he wanted before calling James to pick me up in the wee hours of the morning.  
  
Many of my clients were courteous and respectful, treating me like a princess
to be admired. Others were crass and rude, seeing me as little more than a
high-priced hooker from which they were determined to get their money's worth.
I always managed to find something attractive or arousing about nearly every
man I was with, and more often than not enjoyed the sex I shared with them,
whether it be tender and sweet or rough and animalistic. I liked it both ways.  
  
But some men -- a very small percentage of those I spent time with -- had no
redeeming qualities, and while I bucked and thrashed against them like the
eager little whore I essentially was, faking my orgasms, I couldn't wait for
such dates to be over.  
  
Cleo told me she was careful to pair me with men whom she thought I would
like, but when it came down to it, she really did not know every man's tastes
and preferences, especially among newer clients. Sometimes, my clients were
the result of a roll of the dice, as it were. Sometimes I hit jackpot,
sometimes I did not.  
  
For the most part, however, I was enjoying myself. The majority of my clients
were gracious men who treated me well and appreciated what I did for them,
both in the bedroom and out. I even earned a few regulars, men I liked that I
allowed to request me (Cleo said I could list some men as 'favorites,' so that
when they called the service, I was one of the first to be made available for
them).  
  
Life was good. I worked when I wanted, took time off when necessary to devote
to studying. The money I made insured I would never have to worry about my
bills. I felt in control of my life.  
  
***  
  
The end of my first year of college brought about a sense of relief. I had
studied hard for my finals and was rewarded with three As and two Bs. My grade
point average sat at a very comfortable and respectable 3.6.  
  
As the summer began, I was anticipating taking a vacation to Mexico, or maybe
a Mediterranean cruise. I could certainly afford it, after all. Through Cleo,
I had opened a 'corporate' account into which I deposited most of my money,
some of which was invested and slowly began earning me dividends. I was free
to draw upon the account whenever I wanted.  
  
I decided to take some time off from 'dating.' While I enjoyed my profession,
I felt I needed a break from the parade of men. I wanted to enjoy being, as
Cleo said, 'little old me.'  
  
In the meantime, Julie and I had become pretty close friends. While I had not
told her about my profession, over time she began to wonder why I never dated
guys from school and where I went three, four or five nights a week. Whenever
she came over, she commented on my clothes and decorations -- while I heeded
Cleo's advice about being too gregarious in my spending, I still liked to
surround myself with certain creature comforts -- and it was obvious she was
beginning to suspect something.  
  
"What do your folks do again?" she asked one afternoon, a week after finals.
We sat watching TV and eating popcorn, just a couple of teenagers. I liked my
'girl time' with Julie. It was a relaxing contrast to the evenings I spent as
a 'society girl.'  
  
"My dad's an electrician," I told her. "Mom works at a real estate office."  
  
Julie nodded. I could tell her wheels were spinning.  
  
I sighed, picking up the bowl of popcorn from my lap and setting it on my new
claw-footed mahogany coffee table. "Just say it, Julie."  
  
She gave an innocent look. "Say what?"  
  
"Or . . . ask, whatever," I said, frustrated. I met her gaze, waiting.  
  
She took a breath, making her full breasts swell, and looked away a moment. A
little smile crossed her face. "You don't have a job," she said. "And when you
did, you lived like a typical college student. Now, it's like, every time I
come over, you've got a bigger TV, or better furniture . . . you've gone from
two mattresses stacked on the floor to one of those 'SleepNumber' beds with
six-hundred-count sheets. Not to mention all the new jewelry, and those
clothes in your closet . . . ."  
  
"You've been in my closet?" I asked, defensive.  
  
She gave a sheepish, apologetic look. "I snuck a peek, once," she said. "Look,
I'm not trying to intrude—"  
  
"Oh, really?"  
  
Julie stared at me. "What's going on?" she asked softly, full of concern for
me.  
  
I looked away and lit a cigarette. "Nothing."  
  
"Where do you go at night?" she asked, pressing the issue. "I mean, sometimes
I'd call at one, two o'clock in the morning on a school night, and you don't
answer."  
  
"Maybe I'm sleeping," I said wryly.  
  
"You don't have a boyfriend," Julie continued, then laughed sharply. "And you
don't have a girlfriend. But sometimes, when I'd see you in class, you'd have
that look."  
  
I tapped my cigarette, not looking at her. "What look?"  
  
"Like you got some," she said knowingly. "And got it good."  
  
I sighed, pulled on my cigarette. I realized my hands were shaking a little.  
  
Julie uncurled from the floor and crawled up on the couch, facing me. "Look,
Alyssa," she said emphatically. "I'm not the _National Enquirer_. I'm not
gonna go blab your secrets to anybody. I'm just your friend. And, to be
honest, I'm a little worried about you."  
  
I bit my lip, contemplating whether or not to tell her the truth.  
  
"Are you having an affair with a married man?" she asked, her lips curled in a
devilish grin. "Or . . . one of the professors?"  
  
"Julie . . . ."  
  
"Come on, tell me!" she insisted. "I swear, I'll never tell anybody! Promise!
So who is it? Professor Karnowski? I've seen the way he checks you out—"  
  
I finally looked to her. "You really wanna know?"  
  
She bit her lip, big brown eyes glowing. "Yeah," she whispered.  
  
I took a deep breath to steel myself . . . and told her.  
  
***  
  
Julie stared at me in disbelief once I was finished. Her mouth hung open in
shock. I could tell she thought differently about me now. I hoped it wasn't a
bad thing.  
  
"You . . . you're a . . . _call-girl?_" she asked breathlessly.  
  
I nodded, and lit another cigarette. I blew a plume of smoke into the air,
watched it dissipate in the air as a breeze blew through the open balcony
door. "Yup."  

"Holy shit!" Julie exclaimed.  
  
I looked to her, saw the way she had clapped her hands over her mouth. Her
eyes were even wider than before. Slowly, she dragged her hands away from her
face, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. She was smiling, strangely
impressed. "What's it like?"  
  
I shrugged. "I have fun, most of the time," I said. I tapped ash off my
cigarette. "Most of the men are pretty cool."  
  
"So, what do you do with them?" she asked, genuinely interested. "Do you do
kinky stuff? Like, melted honey and whips and chains and shit like that?"  
  
I laughed. "Sometimes I get kinky," I admitted. "But I pretty much get the
normal guys."  
  
"And they pay you?"  
  
I sighed. "Yeah. They pay me."  
  
"How much?"  
  
I looked Julie in the eye. "Why all the questions? What, you wanna do it?
'Cause I can probably set it up."  
  
Julie gasped and reared back, giving me a startled look. "N-no!" she
exclaimed. Her eyes bounced up and down. "I-I was just curious. That's all."  
  
"Julie."  
  
"What."  
  
"I was kidding."  
  
She slowly lifted her eyes and tentatively smiled. "Oh."  
  
I pulled on my cigarette, tapped it over the Waterford ashtray. "Look. I'm not
gonna try to make excuses for why I do it. I like it, I really do. I'm not
gonna do it forever, but for right now, until I get tired of it . . . ."  
  
Julie was quiet, picking her nails. "Are we still gonna be friends?" she
asked.  
  
I laughed suddenly. "Of course we are," I said. "Why would you even ask that?"  
  
Julie shrugged and smiled. "I like being your friend," she said simply.  
  
I smiled back. "And I like being yours."  
  
We shared a moment, then, one of those -- and there had been more and more
such moments over the course of the previous months -- in which I thought that
perhaps Julie and I might become more than just friends. God, she had such
full, soft lips, and a cute, round face. In some ways, she seemed even younger
than I. She was certainly less experienced, that I knew.  
  
At that particular moment, I felt the urge, which I instinctively knew she
would not refuse, to push her back and peel of her clothes. I imagined tasting
her, another girl, for the first time, imagined the expression of pleasure on
Julie's cherubic face as I pried her open and slipped my tongue—  
  
We were both startled by the loud knock at the door, bringing us out of our
mutual revelry.  
  
_Who could that be?_  
  
Julie settled a hand on her heart as we both looked to the door. My own was
pounding, like that of a little girl who was about to be caught, in the
bedroom with a boy, by her mother. With a self-admonishing sigh, I got up from
the couch and answered the door.  
  
"Gary!"  
  
He smiled sheepishly, standing there in jeans and a polo shirt, his hands in
his pockets. "Hi."  
  
"Oh, God!" I exclaimed happily, and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him
close. I hadn't seen Gary in months, not since that one and only time we had
made love. I squeezed him tightly, pressing my body against his. He seemed
startled by my reaction to his unexpected return, but quickly lifted his arms
and hugged me back.  
  
I lifted my head, and kissed his lips. "I missed you," I said.  
  
He looked surprised. "You did?"  
  
I giggled, and grabbed his hands, pulling him into my apartment. "Of course,
silly," I said.  
  
Gary smiled, looking relieved. He saw Julie, however, and his smile faded. "Oh
. . . hi."  
  
I giggled again. "Gary, this is my friend Julie. Julie, this Gary."  
  
Julie lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers. "Hi." Her eyes wandered over
him, as did mine. In the months since I had last seen him, Gary had obviously
been working out. His pudge was gone, his waist looked more trim, his
shoulders a little more broad. Damn, he looked a good four or five years
younger.  
  
"So . . . what's going on?" I asked, holding his hands.  
  
Gary seemed uncomfortable talking in Julie's presence. I picked up on that
right away. "Come on," I said, and pulled him toward the balcony. Gary
followed, and I closed the door behind us. I sat down on one of the folding
wooden chairs I had recently purchased, gave Gary an expectant look.  
  
"Terry left me," he said.  
  
My smile vanished. I felt immediate sympathy for him. "Oh, Gary," I said, and
shot to my feet, hugging him again. He held me close, squeezing my shoulders.  
  
"I'm sorry, baby," I whispered, rubbing my cheek against his chest.  
  
Gently, he pushed me back. I sat down once again. Gary took out his cigarettes
and lit up, pacing as he smoked.  
  
"She found out about us," he said. "Actually, she found about those Sunday
afternoons. You remember Saul?"  
  
I nodded, frowning.  
  
Gary sighed. "I discovered he was doctoring tech reports, and falsifying time
sheets for some of the guys in shipping in exchange for kickbacks. I had to
fire him."  
  
I sighed, understanding the gist of what happened next. "So he told your
wife."  
  
Gary nodded. He gritted his teeth, his expression revealing his pain. "She
took Steve and Joyce. She took my kids, Alyssa!"  
  
I trembled, feeling my eyes swell with tears. "I'm sorry," I said amid a puff
of air.  
  
Gary was quiet, smoking silently, staring at the wooden floor of the balcony.
"Yeah, well . . . can't do anything about it now."  
  
"I wish I could," I said earnestly.  
  
Gary looked to me, reading my face. His eyes drifted down my body, settling
upon my hands. He smiled suddenly.  
  
"You still have the ring," he said.  
  
I looked down at the band he had given me, ran my thumb across the top. The
diamonds caught the sunlight, refracting light in half a dozen brilliant
shades. The butterfly seemed to glow, but maybe that was just my imagination.
"Yeah."  
  
"I kept wanting to call you," he said. "I wanted to see you. I just—"  
  
"Gary, it's okay."  
  
His eyes were lined with red. He was trying not to cry. "God, I've missed
you."  
  
I stared into his eyes. "I've missed you, too."  
  
He bit his lip, pulled on his cigarette, then flicked it over the railing.
"What've you been up to?" he asked.  
  
I shrugged. How could I tell him? "Just . . . you know. School and st—"  
  
"I wanna make love to you," he said abruptly.  
  
I stopped, blinking, looking away. "Gary—"  
  
"I-I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know why I said that."  
  
I stood slowly, wiped my hands on my jeans. I reached for Gary's hands, held
them in a tight grip. I looked up at his face. "I'm not the same girl you used
to know," I said.  
  
He pursed his lips, nodded slowly. "You got a boyfriend now?"  
  
"Kind'a. It's . . . casual."  
  
He nodded again. "I respect that," he said, then snorted ruefully. I could
tell he was disappointed. "Bad enough I cheated on my wife, huh? Don't want
you doing the same."  
  
"Gary, baby—"  
  
"Don't."  
  
I frowned. "Don't what?"  
  
He gripped my hands, bore into my eyes. "Don't make me think we could be
together again."  
  
I started to speak, then stopped myself. I lowered my eyes. "Okay."  
  
Gary took a breath, let it out. "Um . . . I should go."  
  
"You don't have to."  
  
He laughed darkly. "Yeah, I do," he said, and slid open the door. I followed
him back inside. Julie still sat on the floor, watching TV, but I could tell
she wasn't paying attention to it.  
  
Gary headed to the door, pulled it open. He stopped and turned back. "Maybe .
. . maybe I could call you sometime?"  
  
I smiled. "I'd like that."  
  
Gary matched my smile, just for a moment, then turned and headed down the
stairs to his car. I waited until I couldn't see him anymore before closing
the door. I leaned against it with a heavy sigh.  
  
"So, um," came Julie's voice from the living room. "Wanna play Scrabble?"  
  
I started laughing. I don't know why, really. Maybe I needed to release the
tension somehow. I shoved away from the door. "Sure," I said.  
  
***  
  
Later that evening, after Julie left, I sat watching TV after taking a long
bath. Surrounded by the fragrance of the Fa soap I now used -- it made my skin
so soft and supple -- I felt relaxed and ready for bed. I was just waiting for
my eyes to get heavy. I smoked a cigarette, watching some program on Discovery
about Siamese twins.  
  
When the knock came, I wasn't entirely surprised.  
  
I knew who it was. I rose to my feet, not bothering with clothes, and opened
the door wide. I wanted him to see me in all my glorious nudity.  
  
Gary stared at me, eyes becoming immediately glazed over in passion. He
lowered the bouquet of roses and the bottle of strawberry vodka in his hands.  
  
I gave him a smoldering look. "Wanna . . . come inside?" I asked.  
  
Gary didn't miss the double entendre of my question. "God, yes," he breathed,
stepping over the threshold. He dropped the roses and bottle to the floor --
thank God for Berber carpeting! -- and gathered me in his arms. I wrapped my
arms and legs around him and smothered my lips against his. His hands cupped
my cheeks, supporting my weight. I felt the tips of his fingers brushing my
puckered anus and slick lips.  
  
"Oh, Alyssa, I've been dreaming about you," he whispered between fervent
kisses.  
  
"I'll make those dreams come true," I promised, sucking on his lips and
running my hands over his chest.  
  
Gary chuckled. "Hope you don't have to work tomorrow," he said.  
  
I grinned, staring into his dark eyes. "Even if I did, I'd call in."  
  
***  
  
I cried and moaned as I came for the third or fourth time, shoving my ass back
against Gary as he pounded into me from behind. My pussy clamped down hard on
his dick, wanting to make him cum as well. He grabbed a handful of my long
blonde hair, jerking my head back, and drove his cock deep inside me. I felt
his balls slapping against my dripping clit over and over.  
  
"Alyssa!" he cried. "I'm gonna cum, baby!"  
  
I slipped forward, feeling his hard dick pop out of my cunt, and whirled
around on all fours. Eagerly, savagely, I sucked his slick penis into my
mouth, moaning at the taste of my own cum. Gary gasped and shoved in deep,
pushing his cock into my throat as he came.  
  
The warm fluid rush of his orgasm flowed down my throat, and I swallowed the
first few spurts before pulling back to savor the rest of his essence on my
tongue. Gary trembled and moaned above me, holding my head close, massaging my
scalp, hissing with pleasure as I nursed his sensitive dick.  
  
He eventually collapsed against the bed, supporting himself for a moment on
one hand as I continued sucking his spent dick. It flopped out of my mouth,
shiny, wet, and dripping. Gary rolled over onto his back on my bed, his feet
still on the floor. I kissed and licked all around his crotch, lapping up
little drops of pearly jism here and there, suckling gently on his sweaty,
musky balls. Gary mumbled something, petting my hair.  
  
I finally lifted up and slid over him, pressing my sticky lips to his. "I
really missed you, Gary," I said.  
  
He brought up heavy hands and stroked my back. "I . . . I love you, Alyssa . .
. ."  
  
***  
  
We were like a couple, the following day, and for the next couple of weeks
after that. Gary stayed with me every night, and we made every single day. He
took me to lunch, dinner, movies, and we went shopping together. For those
precious, wonderful days, I forgot all about my profession as an escort,
forgot all about the dozens of men I had been with. It was just me and Gary,
and I loved every little moment.  
  
My nineteenth birthday happened to fall in that time, and after dinner with my
parents ("He's such a nice man," my mother told me. "Where'd you meet him?")
Gary took me down to the coast to celebrate. He gave me a diamond-studded
bracelet, engraved with our initials separated by a heart ('GJ luvs AG'), and
a book of erotic poetry. We made love tenderly on the beach. For the first
time, with the waves lapping at our feet and the morning sun warming our naked
bodies, we told each other 'I love you' at the same time.  
  
It was strange, I remember, as I realized my love for him. I had thought that
I would never think of Gary as anything more than a dear friend, a cherished
lover. I thought that my love was reserved only for Ian. But I was wrong. I
loved both men, for different reasons. And I loved them both equally.  
  
But unlike Ian, Gary was a man I could have.  
  
By the time we returned home, I was seriously considering giving up everything
and spending the rest of my life with Gary. I started imagining writing my
name as Alyssa Jackson, driving a mini-van full of kids to school, going to
PTA meetings and shopping for anniversary gifts. I wondered where Gary and I
would go on our honeymoon.  
  
I went out shopping a couple days after we came back from the coast, picking
up items to make Gary's favorite meal: steak and potatoes. I loved his simple
tastes. I selected the best ribeyes from the meat counter of the supermarket,
grabbed a bunch of broccoli and a couple of big, ripe spuds. I thought about
picking out a bottle of wine, but wasn't sure if I would be carded. I decided
I would let Gary head out for 'refreshments,' once I got back.  
  
The apartment was quiet when I stepped through the door. I knew Gary liked to
watch the Sci-Fi channel, and being a Friday, some of his favorite shows were
on. Yet Gary wasn't on the couch as I had expected.  
  
"Honey?" I called out.  
  
"In here."  
  
The tenor of his voice bespoke something ominous. I set the bags on the floor
and approached the bedroom. I quivering feeling began in my chest. "B-baby?"  
  
I stepped into the doorway, saw Gary sitting on the bed. It was still unmade
from that morning's lovemaking. He held a tiny black cell phone in his hand,
running his thumb across the surface. My heart fell in my chest. It was my
phone, the one James had given me.  
  
"Were you ever gonna tell me?" he asked.  
  
I fell against the door frame, slapping my hand over my heart. "H-honey—"  
  
He shot me an acidic look. "Don't even," he said harshly. "A woman called,
asked for you. I asked who she was, and she hung up on me."  
  
I struggled to catch my breath. My world was falling apart.  
  
"That got me thinking," he continued. "I had seen the clothes in your closet,
your new jewelry box. Maybe I shouldn't have, but I started looking. And I
found . . . ." he reached under the sheets beside him and produced a little
moleskin notebook. _My_ moleskin, which I used as a sort of journal for my
dates.  
  
He flipped it open, glanced through some of the pages. "Thomas Dunson," he
said. "Robert Avery. Mykel Johnson. Alejandro Ruiz." He slapped the little
book closed and glared at me. "You've been busy."  
  
"G-Gary—" I began.  
  
"You. Fucking. WHORE!"  
  
I fell to my knees on the floor, the tears flowing down my face.  
  
"I told you I loved you!" he shouted angrily, lurching to his feet. "And now I
find out . . . I knew what you were before, Alyssa. That's how we met, I know
that. But I never thought . . . I was so wrong about you."  
  
I convulsed, looking up at him through the watery film of my tears.
"P-please," I managed to say.  
  
He seethed as he glared down upon me. "Save the begging for when your next
client is shoving his dick in your face," he spat, then stomped past me.  
  
"Gary!" I cried, reaching for him. I wanted to chase after, but I didn't have
the strength. "_Gary_!"  
  
The door slammed shut behind him, making the walls rattle. I collapsed on the
ground, beating my fists impotently against the carpet.  
  
"Gary . . . I love you . . . ."  
  
***  
  
I didn't answer the phone for days. I knew it wasn't Gary calling. I didn't go
out. I turned on the TV and flipped through the channels blankly. I didn't
shower or bathe. I smoked cigarette after cigarette, drank every beer and
bottle I had, which was quite a bit, and ordered pizza because I didn't want
to leave my apartment.  
  
The delivery boy who brought my order stared at me like he was looking at a
hag. I suppose I did look like something out of a nightmare, with my runny
makeup smeared across my face and the reek of cigarettes and alcohol on my
breath. Even flashing my smelly, stubbly pussy didn't have the effect it had
had before.  
  
I remember sitting on my couch, surrounded by empty beer cans and bottles of
liquor, the Waterford ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, holding a
kitchen knife poised over my left wrist. The bracelet Gary gave me glittered
dimly in the light. I swayed drunkenly, waiting for the courage to make that
decisive cut that would end it all. I was only vaguely aware of the pounding
on my door.  
  
"Jus' a minit," I mumbled, and closed my eyes, settling the blade against my
skin.  
  
The door burst open.  
  
I cried out, startled, jerking my hand away.  
  
"Ohmigod!" gasped Julie, staring at me. Behind her stood Cleo. Ian leaned
against the door, having smashed his way in. Their eyes were wide with worry
and fear.  
  
I looked down at my wrist, saw the thick red line of blood as it trickled down
my arm. I looked up at them, at my friends, my vision blurry. "Oops." Then the
world went black.  
  
***  
  
I stared at the gauze wrapped around my wrist as I sat in the hospital bed.
All day long, I had been imposed upon by doctors, nurses, and social care
workers. Their questions had become tiresome and repetitive.  
  
"I was drunk and depressed!" I finally shouted at one of the latter, a pudgy
little Hispanic woman who shrank back from my verbal assault. "Jesus Christ!
Haven't you ever felt like shit before?"  
  
They had stopped coming after that. It was a small comfort.  
  
I glared at the TV suspended from the wall. All it showed was the standard,
non-cable channels and a bunch of crap in Spanish. That, and the 'mood'
channel, which flickered with fields of daisies and bluebonnets while playing
Kenny G-type junk.  
  
_Knock, knock._  
  
I looked to the door as Julie popped her head in. She had a cautionary smile
on her face. "Hey."  
  
I gave her a sour look, turned back to the TV. "Go away."  
  
". . . okay."  
  
I glanced to the door after a moment. She wasn't there. "Hey!" I cried
desperately.  
  
Her head popped around the door again. "Yeah?"  
  
Emotions overwhelmed me, and my eyes became blurry. "I'm sorry," I blubbered.  
  
Julie smiled and stepped into the room. "It's gonna be okay," she said, her
round cheeks dripping with tears as well.  
  
I held out my arms, like a little girl seeking absolution in the arms of a
forgiving parent. Julie laughed softly, then rushed to my side and hugged me
close. I smothered my face against her pillowy breasts and squeezed her with
all my might.  
  
"I'll never do it again," I sputtered. "I promise. I'll never do it again."  
  
Julie petted my stringy, greasy hair. "You better not," she said, her voice
choked. "Cause you're the best friend I got and I'm not gonna fucking lose
you."  
  
Hearing those words was all it took to break down the last of my barriers. I
cried uncontrollably, sobbing and choking like a baby against Julie, finally
pouring out all my pain and grief. And like the true friend that she was,
Julie let me, holding me close and giving me the warmth and support I needed.  
  
***  
  
Julie, Cleo and Ian stood in my hospital room as I signed the release papers.
I had declined the option to seek psychiatric help, despite my doctors' and
nurses' urgings to do so. With my complete sobriety had come a sense of
acceptance over what had happened. I had let Gary back into my life, only to
push him away again once he had discovered what I had become. In a moment of
drunken depression, I had almost given in to weakness.  
  
I vowed that I would never be that weak again.  
  
They took me home, sat with me in my living room for a while. We all tried to
be flippant about the whole thing, and even I tried joking about it. But it
wasn't convincing.  
  
Cleo left first, giving me a kiss on the cheek. She had a date to meet. I
smiled after her as she stepped through the door. Then Julie went, a couple of
hours later, leaving me with a curiously lingering kiss on my lips. She told
me to call her, "later," after glancing suspiciously to Ian, who sat beside me
on the couch.  

"Are you all right?" Ian asked me after Julie had left. I rolled forward on
the couch, tapping my tenth or so cigarette over my ashtray. Julie had cleaned
up my apartment while I was in the hospital. The clean aroma of Pine Sol and
other cleaners filled the air.  
  
I shrugged. "I will be," I said.  
  
"He really meant something to you, didn't he?"  
  
I sighed heavily, staring out. "I really don't want to talk about him, Ian."  
  
He fell quiet. We watched TV for a while. I was aware of the grimy feel of my
skin. Between my self-loathing and my stay in the hospital, I hadn't washed
our showered in a week. I wondered how Ian put up with the smell.  
  
I pushed up from the couch and headed to the bathroom, peeling off my clothes.
"I'm gonna take a shower," I said.  
  
Ian didn't say anything. He just watched me go.  
  
***  
  
I scrubbed my skin nearly raw, turning the water dial to make it as hot as I
could stand it. I washed my hair, shaved my legs and pubic mound of the
stubble that had formed. Finally feeling human, I switched off the spray and
toweled dry. I had forgotten about Ian in the living room. I just wanted to go
to bed.  
  
I looked in the mirror, saw a more familiar me. The bags were gone, as well as
the redness from my eyes. I was once more a teenaged Catholic school girl. For
a moment, I thought I had stepped back in time to before it all started,
before that day in the mall with Miguel and Rick . . . .  
  
But I had not. The joys and mistakes of my life remained. I had no choice but
to go on. I touched the raised welt of the cut on my wrist. It was itchy, but
I refrained from scratching it. I hoped, in time, that the scar would fade.  
  
I flipped off the light switch, stepped into my bedroom. I stopped, looking at
Ian laying in my bed. He had pulled up the indigo silk sheets to his waist.
His muscular chest was bare, rising and falling as he breathed slowly. His
head was tilted toward me on the pillow, eyes open, watching me.  
  
For a moment, I thought about covering up. I thought about telling him to
leave. But those thoughts faded quickly, like morning mist under the sun.
Instead, I padded across the carpet to the bed and drew down the covers.  
  
He was hard, his penis hovering stiff and long above his toned abdomen. Yet
there was no sense of immediate desire coming from him. I looked to Ian's
face, saw the stoic look. He was letting me make the decision.  
  
I didn't say a word. I just slipped my leg over him and moved up until I
straddled his face. I wasn't wet, but that changed quickly as his tongue
slipped between my puffy lips and into the hot center of my sex. I closed my
eyes, letting my passion simmer and grow. I rolled my hips in slow circles,
gently grinding against his mouth. He brought up his hands and gripped my firm
cheeks, my hips.  
  
"Uhn . . . ahhh . . . ." I moaned softly, pushing down firmly against Ian's
mouth. I hadn't been with him in months, and my desire was telling. His tongue
probed more insistently into my pussy, starting the trickling flow of fluid
that dripped into his mouth. He sucked my lips and smacked his own, and I
moaned with ever-increasing pleasure.  
  
I reached down and gripped handfuls of his silver hair, pulling his head
deeper between my thighs as I rode his face. I rubbed my clit against his
upper lip and nose, making the lower half of his face shine with my juice. I
pumped my cunt down against his mouth, and Ian stiffened his tongue to make it
like a small cock that thrust up inside me. I fucked his face with hard, short
motions of my hips, wanting him . . . using him . . . .  
  
I shuddered and moaned loudly when I finally came, gushing my fluid onto his
tongue. Ian moaned, tasting me, sucking me. I let the warm rush flow through
my body, and groped my breasts as I mashed my sopping pussy against his face.
I ran my hands through my damp hair, pulled on thick wet strands as I hissed
with my much-needed release.  
  
Then, abruptly, I pulled off Ian and slid down in the bed, turning away.  
  
My pussy quivered with aftershocks. Ian didn't move for several moments. I
nibbled my thumb, waiting for him. When he finally spooned up against me, his
hard cock pressed against my cheeks, I sighed deeply. I grabbed Ian's hand,
settled it upon my left breast. My nipple throbbed against his palm. He kissed
my shoulder, my neck and settled comfortably beside me.  
  
And finally, I fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
It was another week before I called Cleo. Ian had left the morning after our
little tryst, and had not been back. Honestly, I wasn't disappointed. The
dynamic of our relationship was precarious; the more time Ian spent with me,
the more he lost control of me, and he knew it. So, to expect him to remain
would be asking him to give up his influence, and that, Ian would not allow.  
  
"Hi, Cleo."  
  
"Hey, honey," she said warmly. "How are you feeling?"  
  
I laughed softly. "Honestly?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Horny."  
  
Cleo chuckled, a breathy, warm sound. "Alyssa, you don't have to come back.
Not yet, or not ever."  
  
I frowned. "Am I kicked out?"  
  
She laughed again. "I think you misunderstood me, baby," she said
affectionately. "You're always welcome to come back, but you're not expected
to."  
  
"I wanna come back."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
:"Yes."  
  
"Well . . . there are a couple of men we can set you up with. They'll be
gentle, I know. I've been with both of them—"  
  
"Cleo."  
  
"Yes, dear?"  
  
"Give me a special client. Someone who just wants to fuck."  
  
" . . . Alyssa, I don't think—"  
  
"I do." I said firmly. "I want it raw. I don't wanna hear any sob stories. I
wanna fuck and I wanna get fucked, as much as possible. Set it up or I walk
away."  
  
She sighed again. "Be ready by nine," she said.  
  
***  
  
I wasn't given any special instructions although I had been told I was going
to an exclusive dance club. So I dressed in my little black dress and matching
fishnet stockings. I strapped on my 'ultimate' come-fuck-me shoes -- black
heels with gleaming silver spikes -- and applied blood-red lipstick and severe
mascara. I covered the scar on my wrist with a spiked leather band. Staring at
myself in the mirror, I decided I looked like a Gothic slut queen. My hair
fell loose about my face, brushing back and forth over my dark eyes. I felt
like a predator preparing for the hunt.  
  
James dropped me off before the front door of an exclusive rave, one of those
places where you stand in line while the bouncer decides who's hot enough to
get in. I strode past the line of a hundred and more would-be partiers, only
peripherally hearing their denouncements and jibes. The overly muscular
bouncer gave me an appraising look as I stepped up before him.  
  
"Look, you're hot, baby," he began. "But get in line like—"  
  
"Yvette," I said, cutting him off and glaring at him through my bangs. "For
Mr. Garza. Raul Garza."  
  
The bouncer regarded me a moment, then looked down at the small clipboard he
held. He nodded, then smirked. "Welcome to Club Zero," he said.  
  
***  
  
The music was pounding and primal, infusing me with raw, sexual energy. The
club was dark and smoky, with flashing lasers and glittering strobes. I made
my way through the crowd, having been told at the front door, by a raven-
haired girl with a pierced eyebrow, that Raul Garza was to be found by the
'western DJ booth.' I would recognize him by his thick, shaggy hair and red
silk shirt.  
  
Men leered at me as I passed them, calling out and even reaching for me. I
ignored them, shrugging them off. I was looking for one man in particular.  
  
Raul Garza was easy to make out in the crowd. He was a tall man, lanky,
athletic, good-looking. His crimson shirt was halfway unbuttoned, providing
glimpses of his hairy chest as he moved. The loose cuffs of his sleeves graced
his hands. A thick gold necklace hung around his neck; a Rolex graced his left
wrist. He wore expensive leather pants, the creases of which caught the strobe
lights of the club.  
  
Around him, girls and women flocked like naïve moths to a flame. He flirted
and casually reached for them; they giggled and flirted back, but lacked the
confidence to follow through. I did not.  
  
I boldly intruded, stepping between Raul and a couple of stupid girls who
giggled and posed they way they were expected to. I barely heard their
insulted protests over the music as I met Raul's eyes directly.  
  
He seemed to recognize me right away. Not me, as a person, but me as the woman
he had sent for. I took him to be the type with too much money and not enough
brains to use it wisely. Probably some rich entrepreneur's son. A playboy with
an inflated view of himself.  
  
"Hello, Raul," I said.  
  
He smirked, impressed with himself as he assessed me with draconian eyes. "Oh,
I so hope you are Yvette," he said.  
  
I grinned. "That's me, big boy," I said. "Come on."  
  
I dragged him to the dance floor and proceeded to put on a show. All sense of
etiquette fled from my mind, not that Raul would have appreciated it. This
wasn't the place for a dainty lady of the evening. Raul wanted a carnal,
sluttish, dance-floor queen, and that's what I gave him.  
  
The crowd thinned out around me as I whirled and danced, tossing my hair about
and running my hands up and down my body. Sweat oozed from my pores as I
really got into it. I tugged on my dress top, making my tits pop out once in a
while, my polished puffies catching the light from the strobes. I hiked up the
hem of my skirt, splayed my legs and squatted down, leaning back with my hips
gyrating and humping the air, letting anyone who cared to gaze upon my trimmed
snatch. And many looked.  
  
Applause erupted from the crowd, encouraging me. Men and girls alike
surrounded me, groping, touching, fondling. I reveled in the attention, and
pulled random, anonymous faces to my breasts, feeling their tongues and lips
upon my nipples. I reached for hands and guided them between my legs. I
groaned as I felt fingers digging deep inside me, pumping hard and fast in
tempo to the music. Someone got behind me -- male or female, I didn't know and
didn't care -- and thrust their wet tongue past my anus.  
  
Other hands roamed over my body, and I sucked on fingers that came close to my
mouth. I tasted sweat, nicotine, alcohol, and occasionally, the tart, sweet
flavor of pussy. Whether or not it was mine I didn't care. The attention
intensified by hedonistic rush. I loved being the slut on display, even as I
hated what I was making myself do.  
  
A girl got on her knees and shoved her face between my thighs, devouring my
needy cunt. I gripped a handful of her dark hair and shoved my clit into her
mouth, riding her face as hundreds of eyes watched, making her suck the cum
out of my pussy when I came.  
  
I bent over backward, keeping the girl's head between my legs, and a man
stepped up, pulling his cock out and slipping it into my mouth. I sucked him
hard and deep, taking his length all the way into my throat, and accepted
every sticky, runny drop of semen he gushed into my mouth. I straightened,
still dancing, caressing my body, and let some of the cum in my mouth dribble
out and down my chin to my naked breasts. I made an exaggerated display of
swallowing the rest and licking my glazed lips. There was more cheering.  
  
Then, somehow, Raul was before me, grinning and holding me close. I ground
against him, telling him without words that I wanted -- _needed_ \-- to fuck.
My top remained down and my skirt stayed up. Cum glistened on my chest. I
didn't bother to wipe my chin. I rolled my hips, grinding my naked pussy
against Raul's leather-covered cock. His hands squeezed my tits roughly. I
grabbed his head and forced it down, pushing one of my puffies into his mouth.
He sucked hard and bit down, sinking his teeth into my tender flesh. I cried
out and nearly came again.  
  
I hadn't had a single cocktail, but I felt drunk nonetheless. My dress was
little more than a black band of cloth around my waist as Raul pulled me
through the club. Hands from the crowd graced my naked hips, breasts, and
pussy. A girl jumped out and latched onto me for a moment, fastening her mouth
to one of my tits and groping my tight box.  
  
"I just love your videos!" she cried, sucking her slick fingers as Raul pulled
me away.  
  
"Stupid cunt," he muttered derisively once we reached a relatively quiet
alcove. He looked me over. "She thinks you're a porn star."  
  
"I am, tonight," I said, running my own fingers between my legs and licking my
sweet juice from them.  
  
"Oh?" asked Raul, fishing out a set of keys from his pocket. "Are you? Are you
ready, Yvette?"  
  
"Yes," I hissed.  
  
He gave me a snide look, then clutched my hand and pulled me out of the
alcove. Down a short hallway we went, beside a large mirror on the wall, to a
door that Raul unlocked with his keys. I figured he either owned the place or
was in with the manager. I didn't really care about such details.  
  
Raul shoved me inside, making me gasp and stumble. I looked around quickly,
noting a couple of large couches, ottomans, and chairs. The immense window
that looked out onto the dance floor outside was the other side of the mirror
I had seen. It maintained my exhibitionistic arousal. I could see the hundreds
of people outside, could pretend that they saw me.  
  
"Take it all off," Raul said, leering at me. "Except for the stockings and
heels."  
  
I needed no further encouragement. I was there to be a slut, after all. I
pulled off what remained of my dress, letting the cat's head charm on my gold
waist chain dance above my pussy. The flimsy dress dangled off my finger
before I let it fall to the floor.  
  
"Bring it on," I challenged.  
  
Raul stared at me, his lust obvious. He stepped back through the door as I
waited. In short order, he returned, holding the door open as several men
entered the room. Four, five, six of them . . . they all looked upon me
hungrily.  
  
I wasn't the least bit intimidated or scared. My confidence was borne from the
fact that I knew these men wanted me, that they would practically beg to have
me. Unashamedly naked before half a dozen men, I settled my hands on my hips
and stared them down. "Well?" I asked. "Who's first?"  
  
The guys all exchanged excited and intimidated looks. Raul moved around
between us. "You can only fuck her if you have a condom," he said to them.  
  
Immediately, the men all started fumbling in their jeans and slacks, searching
for that elusive package. But one man didn't bother. He was stocky and dark,
and unzipped his baggy jeans as he approached me.  
  
"I saw that little show you put on the floor," he said, extracting his hard
cock. "I want some of that. Suck it, slut."  
  
I grinned and dropped to my knees, tossing my hair back. The stocky man thrust
his hips out, jabbing his stiff penis toward my face. I licked my lips, opened
my mouth, and swallowed him whole on the first plunge, grinding my chin
against his balls.  
  
"Oh, shit!" he grunted, grabbing hold of my head.  
  
In short order, men surrounded me. They pulled on my body, getting me up onto
all fours atop one of the broad, round ottomans. I kept the stocky man's cock
in my drooling mouth as I felt someone pushing into me from behind. I
whimpered and moaned, experiencing the thrill of being filled from both ends.
The men's rude, crass voice filled the air.  
  
"Fuck yeah!"  
  
"Do that bitch!"  
  
"A cock in her mouth and one up her cunt!"  
  
"Yeah, you like that, don't'cha, bitch!"  
  
"Do it, dude! Fuck the slut's mouth!"  
  
Their offensive words fueled, but as to why, I will never really know. I
reveled in the role of the slut, the whore, the gang-bang girl. The cocks
pounded in and out of me at both ends. I sucked hard on one, squeezed the
other with my pussy. I was a woman possessed, desiring nothing other than
crude, raw hedonism.  
  
It wasn't long before I came, gasping and panting around the thrusting cock in
my mouth, drool dripping down my chin, and the men followed soon after. A
flood of warm syrup gushed to my tonsils just as I felt the firm throbbing of
the cock inside my pussy and the tight grip of hands clutching my cheeks. The
shuddering moans of the man fucking me told me he was cumming, filling the
condom.  
  
The dick in my mouth pulled out, making semen drip from my lips. I swallowed
what I could, licking my lips before another cock took its place, plunging
into my hungry mouth. The spent dick in my cunt slipped out, and another
pushed in. I moaned, sucking and fucking desperately. My hands were lifted and
wrapped around throbbing penises. I stroked and tugged on them, keeping them
ready for their turn in my holes. I grunted with each hard shove of the cocks
that penetrated my cunt.  
  
I came again and again, eventually becoming incoherent. The men took turns in
my mouth and cunt, fucking me as I was bent over on all fours, then as I was
flipped over and laid on my back. Men masturbated over me, and I heard them
joking crudely and commenting on my body and eagerness to satisfy them. Semen
was splattered all over my face, upon my tits, on my swollen pussy.  
  
At one point, after at least half a dozen men had fucked my increasingly loose
pussy, they pulled off their condoms and poured the warm, gritty contents into
a martini glass. It was tilted to my lips, and I struggled to gulp it all down
as the men -- there had to be at least ten or more in the room by then --
chanted "Chug! Chug! Chug!" They applauded loudly as I swallowed the last
gooey drop.  
  
I lost track of how many cocks invaded me, how many spurts of semen splashed
into my mouth or upon my body. I was aware only of a numbness, a detached
feeling, as my body was used, defiled. After a while, I stopped cumming, but
the men did not. I was getting tired, and I wanted to stop, but it did not
deter them. I didn't need to move other than to work my jaw and hold my legs
open. I was a plaything, a receptacle.  
  
It was hours before it was all over.  
  
I lay upon one of the couches, tasting the mingled cream of well over a dozen
men in my mouth. My pussy throbbed; I was incredibly sore and gaping. I forced
open my eyes, looking up at the ceiling, but my vision was blurry. My head was
spinning, yet I had not consumed a single drop of alcohol. I realized I was
light-headed from all the sex. Men I didn't know -- and never would -- had had
their way with me. And I had let them, willingly and eagerly.  
  
Someone was cleaning my body with a warm, wet cloth, starting at my face and
working down. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation, the only moment of
tenderness I had felt the entire night. When the gentle warmth slipped between
my legs, I spread my thighs wide. I murmured with pleasure, even though my
swollen pussy ached from all the relentless pounding.  
  
I felt something soft, yet firm, press against my swollen labia, realized it
was a mouth. But not a man's mouth. This was tender and sweet, and knew just
where to lick and suck. I lifted my head a moment, glancing down. All I saw
was a head of long blonde hair between my thighs. I heard the unknown woman's
muffled moans and sighs as she lapped at me.  
  
And then a shadow passed over my face, a man's slender but muscular thigh. A
hard cock hovered before my face for a moment before easing past my lips. I
sucked it automatically, even though my jaw was tired. I watched the man's
hips move back and forth as he fucked my mouth, tasted the sweet oozing oil on
my tongue.  
  
The woman's mouth left my pussy, and the man pulled back from my face. I
looked up, smacking my lips, and saw Raul smiling down upon me. He moved down
my body, his cock slick and wet and poised to enter my swollen tunnel.  
  
"I'm going to fuck you now," he said.  
  
"Mmmmm . . . ." was all I could respond.  
  
I felt him push his cock inside me, which made me wince at yet another
penetration. He started moving faster and faster, and I could just see the
blonde-haired woman on her knees behind him, watching as he pumped his slick
shaft in and out of me. It was only then that I realized he was fucking me
with his naked cock.  

It was too late to protest now, and honestly, I didn't want to. I clutched
Raul's hard body and met his every thrust eagerly. My pussy was inflamed from
all the cocks it had known already that night, yet still, I wanted to make
Raul cum. I wanted to feel it inside me. I needed that one last indignity.  
  
He finally tensed and grunted, then sighed loudly with his release. The hot
flow of his cum filled my aching cunt, and I moaned with one last, soft,
rolling orgasm as well, squeezing his gushing cock. I felt like a fire was
being put out inside me, the flames of my reckless passion doused by the seed
of this stranger.  
  
Raul slipped his dripping, cum-smeared dick from my cunt and moved back up
over me, easing his pole down into my mouth. I eagerly sucked and licked him
clean, tasting our mingled essence. I moaned around his dick as I felt the
woman's mouth once again on my pussy, licking out Raul's cum. The feeling was
delicious. She spread my lips wide apart and lapped as far into my hole as her
tongue would reach. She smacked her lips and moaned, devouring his cum and
mine mingled together.  
  
Raul finally pulled out of my mouth and leaned over to kiss my sticky lips.
"What a good little whore you are," he whispered in my ear. I could only
murmur in response.  
  
After several minutes, I sat up on the couch, looking around. The air in the
room was thick and cloying with the aroma of spent semen, and stains soaked
into the floor and ottoman. But no other trace of the men remained. I saw an
open door to a small bathroom, and stumbled on wobbly legs toward it. My pussy
was tender and red from all the abuse it had suffered. I realized I would have
to wait a few days before taking another client.  
  
I looked briefly at my face in the mirror. Most of my makeup was gone. My eyes
were puffy, but the mascara had not run. A few dried streaks of semen
decorated the bridge of my nose and forehead. My lips felt tender and numb.
Strands of my long blonde hair were sticky and dark with sperm. Every breath I
expelled from between my lips carried with it the aroma of cum.  
  
I washed up quickly, returned to the room and retrieved my dress and purse. I
called James, and he told me he knew the club pretty well and how I could
leave without being noticed. I met him in a dank, poorly-lit alley behind the
building a few minutes later, standing on shaky legs. I collapsed in the back
of the Lincoln, every muscle below my waist aching.  
  
I cried softly for a while, berating myself for what I had done. But I felt
strangely cleansed, despite the stench of cum that surrounded me. In a way, I
felt, I had exorcised my demons.  
  
But, damn was I exhausted. _How many men, Alyssa?_ I asked myself. _How many
cocks did you fuck and suck tonight?_  
  
I licked my lips, feeling them dry. My mouth was pasty with the residue of so
many different flavors of semen. I had heartburn from all the fluid that had
graced my throat.  
  
"We're home, Miss Yvette," James said to me, looking at me in the rearview
mirror.  
  
I didn't budge. I couldn't. My strength had fled.  
  
James put the Lincoln in park, got out. He opened the rear door, reached
inside. I wondered if he was disgusted by the smell that surrounded my body.
If he was, he didn't show it. He lifted me effortlessly, and I curled up in
his arms, hanging onto him. I really didn't know this man, but he was my
protector, my guardian. I knew I could trust him.  
  
He carried me up the flights of stairs to my apartment door, and I managed to
find the wit to unlock it with my key. Once inside, James set me down on my
couch and began pulling off my clothes. I wondered for a moment if he intended
to fuck me, but he disappeared into my bedroom and came back with a blanket
from my bed. He wrapped my body snugly, then started a pot of coffee in the
kitchen.  
  
With effort, I sat up, holding the blanket around my body. "Why do you do it?"
I asked him.  
  
James turned to me, looking over the little breakfast bar of my apartment. "I
might ask you the same question," he said.  
  
I lowered my eyes, feeling ashamed. "Does it . . . does it ever bother you?"  
  
I heard him sigh, and he came around toward me. Without the chauffeur's hat to
cast shadows over his face, I realized he was actually very handsome, and did
not appear as old as I had always believed. He had a square jaw and small
eyes, a slightly crooked nose. There was an element of strength to him.  
  
"Honestly," he said. "Only on nights like this."  
  
I felt the tears forming again. "I don't know why I did it," I said, trying to
control my voice. "I-I just felt that—"  
  
"Yvette," he said, then stepped closer. He lowered himself before me.
"Alyssa."  
  
I blinked, staring at him. "You know my name?"  
  
He nodded. "I know just about everything about you," he said matter-of-factly.
"What I don't know is why a beautiful girl such as you would allow herself to
be abused the way you were tonight."  
  
I sniffled. "I deserved it," I whispered.  
  
His strong eyes searched mine. "Maybe," he said. "But I'll tell you right now:
if you keep doing things like this, you're going to have a different driver."  
  
He stood and headed back into the kitchen. I followed him with my eyes,
watched as he poured a cup of coffee. The aroma of Arabica beans filled my
apartment. He brought the cup to me, having already added cream and sugar the
way I liked it.  
  
I couldn't help but smile. "How do you know so much about me?" I asked.  
  
James' eyes were stoic. "It's my job to know," he said. He stood, turned to
the door, then paused. "Oh. Here." He took out another crimson envelope,
dropped it on the coffee table. It was thicker and heavier than any of the
others he had given me before.  
  
I stared at it for a long moment, then lifted my head as my driver -- my
protector, my guardian -- opened the door. "James."  
  
He hesitated a moment, not looking at me.  
  
"I don't want another driver."  
  
He didn't speak, but I thought I detected a slight curl at the corner of his
mouth. He just nodded curtly, and left.  
  
I sipped my coffee, found the remote for the TV and switched it on. Four in
the morning, there wasn't much on except infomercials. I really didn't want to
watch anything; I just wanted the reassurance that I wasn't alone in the
world.  
  
I finally reached for the red envelope. On every occasion I had opened one, I
had found ten one hundred dollar bills inside. I breathed in as, this time, I
counted ten, then twenty, then thirty, then forty . . . .  
  
I stopped counting, slapped the envelope down in my lap. The amount of money I
had received for my first gang-bang was ridiculous. Rather than feel rewarded,
I felt even more cheapened, and ashamed. It was my last humiliation.  
  
_Never again, Alyssa, _I told myself._ You've paid your penance. Never again._  
  
_. . . to be continued . . ._




        Pretty Baby Ch. 04


**Part Four: Back In The Groove**   
  
I was still a little sore the following morning after the gang-bang. There
were faint bruises on my inner thighs and knees, and my hips hurt from being
spread open for so long. Bu the discomfort would fade, I knew. As I hoped my
heartache over Gary would.  
  
Julie came over that afternoon, bringing sweet and sour chicken and Diet Coke.
I hugged her at the door, thanking her for her friendship. We sat on the floor
and ate in silence for a while. I could sense that Julie had something on her
mind. But I waited for her to bring it up.  
  
"You went out last night," she said, giving me a skittish look.  
  
I picked at my fried rice. "Yeah."  
  
"Was it . . . was it like that?" she asked awkwardly.  
  
I knew what she meant. My eyes flashed to hers, so big and round and sweet. I
remembered when I felt as innocent as she looked. "Yeah. It was like that."  
  
She sighed. I could tell she was disappointed. "Why?" she asked.  
  
I shrugged. "It's my job," I said.  
  
Her hands fell to her lap and she gave me a look that seemed to say, 'don't
give me that shit.'  
  
I wiped my mouth. "You wanna know the truth?"  
  
Her eyes were unwavering. "Yeah. I wanna know the truth."  
  
I breathed in, gathering my courage. I did not look at her as I spoke. "I
didn't know what sex really was for the longest time," I said. "I mean,
everyone _knows_ what it is, but . . . see, I always had this idea, this image
of sex as . . . something special, something _unique_, to be shared between
two people who really love each other."  
  
Julie stared at me. "It can be that way," she said.  
  
I nodded. "I know. And it's been that way for me . . . a few times."  
  
Julie didn't say anything, waiting for me to continue. I put down my
chopsticks and reached for my cigarettes. I lit one, breathing out smoke. I
wondered why I was so nervous. Maybe it was because I had never really thought
about the journey I had begun until that moment.  
  
"But I found out, pretty quickly," I continued, pulling on my cigarette. "Sex
can be something else. It can be a tool. And that's not necessarily a bad
thing."  
  
"I don't think that way," Julie said.  
  
I cocked my head. "You sure?"  
  
She frowned. "I'm not like you," she said emphatically.  
  
I scoffed, defensive. "_Every_ woman is like me, at least once in a while."  
  
Julie ground her teeth. Now she was uncomfortable, looking down. She poked at
her stir fry as she listened.  
  
"When I'm with a man, he knows what he's going to get," I said. "I don't have
to be coy, or pretend to play hard to get. He's going to get laid, and he
knows it."  
  
"Because that's what he's paying for," Julie said accusingly.  
  
"And when you go out with a guy, it's different?"  
  
Julie glared. "I'm not a whore," she said bitingly.  
  
I laughed darkly, feeling a righteous need to justify myself. "So what _do_
you call yourself after a guy has paid for dinner and a movie, brought you
roses, maybe scored some beer at the corner store? When you're flat on your
back, and he's inside you, and you're screaming your lungs out 'cause it feels
_so fucking good_—"  
  
"You don't get it," said Julie, her eyes vibrating with a mixture of emotions.
She was hurt and angry, and I couldn't blame her. "It's different, Alyssa. I
don't go out with a guy because I'm going to sleep with him. I do it only if I
want to."  
  
She pushed herself to her feet and stared down at me. "Have you ever been with
a guy who _didn't_ pay you to fuck him?" she asked rudely.  
  
I couldn't answer.  
  
Julie snorted derisively. "I thought so. You know, one of these days, you're
gonna take a look in the mirror and not like what you see." She headed to the
door, paused a moment, still glaring at me. "And by the way, when I go out
with a guy, I usually go _Dutch_." Then she jerked open the door and slammed
it shut behind her as she left. I listened to her footfalls as they retreated
rapidly down the stairs.  
  
I suddenly felt like throwing up.  
  
***  
  
I was worried about having had unprotected sex with Raul. Cleo had told me
that under no circumstances was I to ever 'ride bareback' when with a client.
If she ever found out I had had unprotected sex, I would be dropped
immediately. Naturally, therefore, I didn't tell her.  
  
I headed to the drug store, bought one of those mail-in kits that guaranteed
results within seventy-two hours. I took the test, sent it in. The following
few days were nerve-wracking. I hated to even consider the possibility that I
might have contracted HIV.  
  
Finally, I called the one-eight-hundred number, put in the code for my order,
and waited.  
  
"Your HIV status is . . ." said a computerized woman's voice. I bit my lip and
waited, crossing my fingers.  
  
"Negative. Thank you for using—"  
  
I slapped my phone closed and fell back on the bed with a relieved sigh. I
stared up at the ceiling, crossing myself. _Thank you, God!_  
  
***  
  
I met Cleo for lunch at a little outdoor café that same afternoon. She sounded
surprised to hear from me again, despite my telling her that I had wanted to
come back. I received the impression that she thought my gang-bang would have
turned me off, maybe 'sobered' me up a little. And in a way, it had.  
  
"How're you feeling?" she asked once we had ordered.  
  
I nodded. "Good," I said. "I've been doing a lot of thinking."  
  
I couldn't see her eyes behind her dark sunglasses. "And?"  
  
"I want to go on," I said. "I want to be with the kind of men I was with
before."  
  
Cleo slipped off her sunglasses, gave me a direct look. "Are you sure," she
said, enunciating the words carefully.  
  
I nodded. "Yeah. I'm positive."  
  
"No more craziness? No more, 'I wanna fuck and get fucked?'"  
  
I shook my head. "I've learned my lesson."  
  
"You better have," she said. She reached for her cigarettes. "All right. I'll
go through the requests, see what we have."  
  
I smiled. "Thanks, Cleo."  
  
She gave me a strange look. "You know, there's something about you I don't
understand," she said.  
  
I frowned. "What's that?"  
  
"Well . . . I can understand why a girl would want to be an escort. It's
exciting, and it makes you feel desired and appreciated. Not to mention in
control."  
  
I listened, waiting.  
  
"But what I don't understand is why you seem so . . . comfortable doing it. I
mean, I've been at this for over seven years now, and since day one, it has
always felt like a job. Sure, I enjoy it, but . . . but you . . . it's like
you _prefer_ it this way. Going from man to man, catering to them so
completely. It's like, no matter what they want, you want. And I don't think
it's an act."  
  
I thought about what she said, picking my nails. "I don't know any other way,"
I said in a small voice.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
I lifted my eyes, trying to read Cleo's thoughts on her face. "Did Ian ever
tell you how we met?"  
  
She shrugged. "He said he met you through a business associate."  
  
I laughed softly. "Yeah, I guess that's one way of putting it."  
  
"Why does it matter?"  
  
I sighed heavily. "Ian . . . was my first," I said.  
  
Cleo arched an eyebrow in interest.  
  
I went on: "See, I . . . there was an auction, on line, and it was supposed to
be secret, but Ian heard about it. He made the highest bid."  
  
Cleo leaned forward. "Wait a sec. You auctioned off your . . . your
_virginity_?" she asked, dumbfounded.  
  
I nodded. "Yeah."  
  
Cleo studied my face for a long moment, then eased back. "Well, that's a new
one."  
  
"The first time I did anything, I was paid for it," I continued. "It's just .
. . part of who I am, I guess."  
  
Cleo lit a cigarette, gave me a contemplative look as she exhaled. "It doesn't
have to be."  
  
I nodded. "No, but . . . it is right now. And I like it that way."  
  
"You might change your mind one day," she said.  
  
"I hope so!" I blurted out with a nervous laugh. My mirth faded quickly. "But
probably not any time soon."  
  
Cleo smiled slightly. "All right," she said. "I'll set you up again."  
  
***  
  
My date the following night was named Arliss Montgomery. The name conjured up
an image of some stately gentleman from Colonial times, tall and handsome with
a distinguished look about him. I dressed in a long green dress and a
transparent scarf, and confined my hair in a bun with a gold Venus clip. I was
told that we were going to a 'society function' at a hotel downtown. It was
evidently some kind of benefit for a charity that all the rich and somewhat
famous supported.  
  
When I met Arliss, he wasn't exactly what I had imagined. Certainly, he was
tall and handsome, but I had not anticipated that he would be black. That
certainly didn't offend me, of course. I just had not entertained the
possibility.  
  
His age was difficult to ascertain. He had few wrinkles on his strong face,
and his very close-cropped hair was jet black. From what I had come to
understand about black men, he could have been anywhere from twenty-five to
fifty.  
  
He seemed very impressed with what he saw when I met him in the lobby of the
hotel. Like a true gentleman, he took my hand and kissed my fingers, and
graced my chin as he studied my eyes. He introduced himself formally, and
slipped his arm around my back. He commented favorably on my dress, told me I
looked 'very elegant.'  
  
I was turned on already. Arliss was smooth, intelligent, handsome, and well-
dressed in his black tuxedo and Mandarin shirt. And more than that, he didn't
act like a man who knew he was going to have sex with me by the end of the
night.  
  
Once we made it to the ball room where the event was held, Arliss picked up a
couple flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and we toasted. His eyes bore
into mine in a casually seductive way. I was more than conscious of my
dripping pussy. I reminded myself to thank Cleo in the morning.  
  
The guests at the function were a veritable who's who of the city's social and
business elite. The charity itself was something that concerned a new hospital
addition or something like that. Not much was said on the matter. The guests
were more interested in talking up their own projects and investments. I had
come to understand that such events were occasions for the ambitious to elicit
their own 'donations.'  
  
I hung off Arliss' arm, and he introduced me by name to those we spoke with. I
was aware that I was definitely one of the youngest women in the room, and
figured more than a few of those I met knew my profession. Still, Arliss'
'taste' for having chosen me was complimented.  
  
I learned that Arliss was something of a hotshot lawyer from Florida who often
did business in town. Many people knew him, and he dropped names in a casual
way that indicated he truly knew the people he spoke of. His sense of
confidence and personal worth rivaled that of Ian, I realized. And that turned
me on.  
  
At one point, Arliss excused himself to speak with a group of important-
looking men, and asked for me to wait beside the large Roman fountain in the
middle of the room. I did so, looking around at the various personalities in
the room, and noticing the way some of the men were inspecting me.  
  
"Alyssa?"  
  
I turned at the sound of my name, instantly chastising myself for answering to
it. I wasn't Alyssa, after all. I was 'Yvette.'  
  
"Hey! I barely recognized you! Wow! Look at you!"  
  
It took me a minute to recognize the girl before me, since I had only met her
once, and that had been months ago . . . when she was with her mother and
father. She was dressed in a classy blue gown, her face dolled up like mine.
She looked gorgeous. She was much more busty than I had originally thought,
and her breasts threatened to spill out from her top. Her long, curly,
reddish-brown hair was piled atop her head with a few seductive tendrils
hanging down around her face. My heart rose in my throat.  
  
I smiled self-consciously. "Hi," I said. "Um . . . Erin, right?"  
  
She grinned, showing off her perfect teeth. "Yeah! Wow! You remember me?"  
  
I chuckled. _Of course I remember you. You're the daughter of the man who took
my virginity!_ "I have a pretty good memory," I said. "Um . . . enjoying the
party?"  
  
She shrugged, looking around as she held a glass of champagne. "Eh," she said,
then smiled at me. "How about you?"  
  
"Kind'a boring, actually," I said.  
  
Erin laughed. "Yeah, no shit. These things always are."  
  
I smiled back. I liked Erin, I decided. She was a girl like me . . . in most
respects, anyway. Except, she had a rich father and I worked for him.  
  
"So, um . . . you here with your folks?" I asked. _Oh, please, oh, please
don't let Ian be here!_  
  
Erin shook her head, then leaned close, giving me a look as if she was sharing
a secret. "Nah. I'm here on a date," she said, making her eyebrows dance.  
  
I felt a moment of dread. _A date? Ohmigod . . . is Erin an escort? Holy shit,
if her own father is pimping her out . . . ._  
  
"We've been dating for a while," she continued, smiling to herself. "He's a
great guy. My dad likes him."  
  
I breathed in inward sigh of relief. "That's always good."  
  
Erin chuckled. "No shit," she said. "My father's pretty picky. He didn't like
my last two boyfriends. Guess that's why they're exes, right?"  
  
I laughed, nodded.  
  
"So . . . hope you don't think I'm insulting you or anything, but—"  
  
I smiled. "How'd a waitress at a crappy little restaurant end up coming here?"  
  
Erin blushed, still smiling. "Yeah."  
  
I shrugged. "I'm on a date, too," I said.  
  
Her eyes flashed. "Yeah? Wanna compare?" she asked playfully.  
  
I laughed again. "Sure. What's your guy do?"  
  
"He's a lawyer," said Erin.  
  
"Mine, too."  
  
"_And_ he's really good-looking."  
  
"Mine, too."  
  
"_And_ he's got a real serious future."  
  
I rubbed the rim of my glass. "Where is he?"  
  
Erin looked around, then nudged her chin toward a group of tuxedo-clad men,
talking and joking. "That's him," she said with a glow in her eyes. "The
younger guy, standing next to the tall black one."  
  
I looked for a moment. The man Erin indicated was in his mid-twenties, I
figured, with short black hair, nice features, a good build. He was making too
much of an effort to laugh at the jokes of the other men around him, I
figured, who were at least a decade older.  
  
"His name's Ross Brady. Isn't he hot?"  
  
I nodded. "Yeah, he's a good catch, Erin," I said, my eyes lingering on
Arliss, standing next to Erin's boyfriend. For a moment, my soon-to-be lover
glanced to me, his dark eyes passing over me in a seductive way. I felt a
twitch between my legs, conscious of my lack of panties. A drop of fluid
slowly trickled down the inside of my thigh.  
  
"So, who's your guy?"  
  
I turned back to Erin and sipped my champagne. "Actually, he's standing next
to your boyfriend," I said. "The tall one."  
  
Erin's smile drained. She stared at me in disbelief. "Nuh-uh!" she exclaimed
quietly. "That's Arliss Montgomery!"  
  
"Oh? You know him?" I asked innocently.  
  
"_'Know him?_'" she repeated, awe more than evident on her face. "He's only,
like, the best lawyer in Florida! They say he wants to move here, start a new
practice! Holy shit! You're dating Arliss Montgomery! I am _so_ freaking
jealous!"  
  
I chuckled and shrugged. "Eh. He's all right."  
  
Erin giggled and smacked my arm. "Wow! How'd you score him?"  
  
I sipped my champagne. _He picked up the phone and told Cleo he wanted to fuck
a blonde teenager. _"We just sort of . . . met," I said. "He's a really nice
guy. A gentleman."  
  
Erin shook her head, impressed. "Wow," she said again. Apparently, that was
her favorite word. "Okay, you win."  
  
"I think we both win," I said. "Your Ross Brady looks like a real nice guy."  
  
Erin bit her lip and leaned close. "He's got an eight-inch dick," she
whispered, then eased back, giggling. "I measured it."  
  
I chuckled. "I don't think you want me to tell you how big Arliss is," I said.
_Yeah, as if I knew! But I will . . . soon._  
  
Erin rolled her eyes. "No, please don't," she said. "I'm already jealous
enough."  
  
Erin and I talked for a little while longer, occasionally glancing to our men.
At one point, Erin's boyfriend gave her a wink, then looked me over in a very
interested way. That made me a little uncomfortable. I liked Erin. I didn't
want her to think I had any designs whatsoever on her boyfriend.  
  
_Although, for the right price, I'd fuck Mr. Ross Brady any way he wanted,
then send him back to Erin, panting and spent . . . ._  
  
Thankfully, she didn't seem to catch the look her boyfriend gave me. She just
prattled on about how she had gone through her entire wardrobe just to find
the right dress for the evening.  
  
And then, what I had dreaded might happen . . . happened.  
  
Arliss broke away from the group he was speaking with, and brought Erin's
boyfriend with him. The two were talking excitedly -- Ross moreso than Arliss
-- as they neared, something about some guy named 'Habeas'' corpse. I shifted
nervously on my feet.  
  
"Hey, baby!" said Erin, beaming, giving Ross a deep kiss. She curled her arms
around his neck and lifted one of her legs -- very nice legs at that, I had to
admit -- to rub against his. "You done playing with the other boys?"  
  
Ross chuckled, said something I couldn't catch. Arliss gave me a look as he
took my hand and gently pulled me to him. Feeling the need to mimic Erin's
actions, or maybe upstage her, I wasn't sure, I reached for Arliss and pulled
his head down. I sucked softly on his lips, emitting a soft, faint moan. Damn,
he had nice lips! Arliss kissed me back eagerly, and smiled as we parted.  
  
"I'm glad you haven't been lonely in my absence, Yvette," he said.  
  
I glanced to Erin quickly, noting her frown at the name Arliss addressed me
by. I shot her a look, hoping she would play along. "Y-yeah," I said,
stammering slightly. "She's a _friend_."  
  
Erin narrowed her eyes slightly in suspicion, but the look faded quickly and
she smiled. "Yeah," she said. "'Yvette' and I have known each other for a long
time."  
  
I gave her a little smile of gratitude. _Thanks, Erin._  
  
She looked back. _You owe me._  
  
***  
  
I was a little distressed when Arliss invited Erin and Ross along to dinner in
the restaurant in the hotel's lobby, but I really couldn't protest without
giving a good reason why. Besides, Erin was already playing along, so I
figured she would hold up the façade throughout the evening. But I did not
doubt that I would have some explaining to do before the night was over.  
  
Arliss and Ross got along pretty well and talked about lawyer stuff through
our meal. We had been taken to a table off to one side of the dining room, and
Arliss had done all the ordering. Our waitress was a woman not much older than
I, very professional in demeanor, and while I was sure she wanted to card Erin
and I when Arliss ordered a round of Bellinis, she did not.  
  
"Hey, Yvette," Erin said to me after the roast duck appetizer and before the
main course arrived. "Let's go freshen up."  
  
I felt compelled to follow her, even as I dreaded the impending conversation.
She was going to ask me why Arliss called me 'Yvette,' and I would have to
make something up . . . .  
  
Erin grabbed my hand and directed me to the ladies' room. As soon as we were
through the door, she busted out laughing, covering her face and staring at
me, wide-eyed with amazement.  
  
"Holy shit!" she cried, stomping her feet on the tiled floor. "You're one of
those girls!"  
  
I frowned, consternated by her exclamation. I ducked my head down to see if
there were any feet in the stalls. But we were thankfully alone. "Shhh!" I
hissed.  
  
Erin convulsed, giggling, her face blushing deeply. "Oh my God!" she
sputtered. "I knew it! I freaking knew it!"  
  
I sighed, heading to the sink. Erin watched after me, her mouth hanging open.  
  
"Wow," she said, calming down. "I never would'a thought. So . . . that night
that you waited on us, what was that? Recruiting?"  

I stared at her in the mirror, startled at her words. "What?"  
  
Erin rolled her eyes and stepped up beside me. "Please," she said, taking out
her compact. "I know all about my dad's little 'side business.' I think my mom
does, too, but she'll never say anything."  
  
I was shocked. "You _know_?" I asked.  
  
Erin fixed me a look. "Sure I do," she said. "Look. You grow up in a rich
family like mine, you . . . accept a few things."  
  
I blinked, tried to concentrate on my makeup. "Like what?"  
  
Erin shrugged and painted her lips. "Like your dad screwing eighteen-year-old
girls on the side," she said casually. Her eyes darted to mine for a moment in
the mirror, reading my reaction. "You know, at first, I thought you were just
having an affair with him. But when I saw you tonight, and _especially_ when
Arliss called you 'Yvette,' I figured it out."  
  
I breathed out. I was floored. I never imagined Erin would know about 'Daddy's
side business.' "How'd you find out about it?"  
  
Erin shrugged. "I'm nosy," she said. "I've heard my dad on the phone
sometimes, when he thought I wasn't there. And other things. I just kind'a
pieced it all together."  
  
That feeling of dread returned, and Erin noticed.  
  
"Hey," she said, her voice reassuring. "I'm not gonna bust you or anything.
What could I do, anyway? The only person at that table who doesn't know you're
a call girl is Ross, and if he found out, he'd probably be calling you up
tomorrow."  
  
I blinked. "No, he wouldn't."  
  
Erin rolled her eyes again. "_Please_. I know how guys are. Ross might be the
guy I'll marry, but I saw the way he was checking you out. He finds out your
goodies are for sale, he'll be the next in line to unwrap them."  
  
I didn't know what to say. There wasn't anything I could say, other than,
"Wow."  
  
Erin chuckled. "Yeah. Wow."  
  
"I just . . . I just can't believe how casual you are about all this," I said.  
  
Erin rolled her shoulders. "Eh," she said dismissively. "It's part of how
things are, you know? At least in my world. I'm not sure how things work where
you come from, but in my world, girls are trophy wives and guys have affairs.
And the fact that my dad runs an 'escort' agency—" she said, making quotation
marks with her fingers. "—Is no big deal. At least he's not picking up skanks
off the street."  
  
_Like I used to be,_ I thought. I put my makeup away and faced Erin directly.
"You're not gonna say anything?"  
  
She smacked her lips, made a kissing motion to make sure the color was
uniform, then turned to me with a smile. "Nah, I'm not gonna say nothing," she
said. Her eyes flashed. "Have you slept with him yet?"  
  
I laughed, feeling the tension broken. "Not yet," I said.  
  
She fixed me a look. "So how do you know it's big?" she asked.  
  
I chuckled. "Come on, Erin," I said, heading to the door.  
  
"Sure . . . '_Yvette_.'"  
  
***  
  
Arliss had a room at the hotel, and after dinner, he and I left Erin and Ross
to head upstairs. Erin gave me a knowing look and smile as I curled my arms
around Arliss' and accompanied him to the elevator. I could not shake the idea
that she was more than a little interested -- and excited -- about my
'adventures' as an escort. I wondered if Ian's little girl had fantasies about
it.  
  
Arliss had not said anything directly sexual to me all night, although the
carnal tension had been there since the moment we said 'hello.' Once alone
inside the glass elevator, however, which carried us up along the outside of
the hotel, Arliss pushed me gently but firmly against the glass and started
seriously kissing me.  
  
I moaned, giving in readily to him, sucking ardently on his lips and tongue. I
hadn't wanted a man as bad as I wanted Arliss since . . . well, since Gary,
but that thought wasn't in my conscious mind. I only knew that I was
practically desperate for this smooth, powerful man. And I didn't want to wait
until we got to the room.  
  
Neither did Arliss. He broke our kiss and reached back, slapping the emergency
stop button. Ten or so stories off the ground, the elevator lurched to a stop.
An alarm bell rang, but neither I nor Arliss paid any attention to it. It
faded after a minute as Arliss and I kissed hungrily, running our hands over
each other's bodies.  
  
He jerked down the top of my dress, making me gasp in passion, and lowered his
head to suck on my puffies. Oh, God, did he have a wonderful mouth! I nearly
came on the spot, feeling his thick tongue massaging my sensitive nipple. One
of his hands slid up my thigh, under my dress, finding my soaking cunt. I
rolled my hips, pushing back against his fingers as they slipped between my
slick folds.  
  
"Oh, yeah!" I panted in a heated whisper. "Oh, yeah, baby, I want you! I want
you so fucking much!"  
  
"Mmmm," he growled, sucking most of my left tit into his mouth. His finger
smacked wetly against my pussy, already stirring the beginnings of an orgasm.  
  
He popped my nipple out of his mouth and kissed me again, driving his tongue
past my lips. "You want it, baby?" he asked in an impassioned voice.  
  
"Oh, God, I gotta have it," I moaned, groping through his slacks, feeling the
growth of his impressive penis. I pressed my fingers around it, stroking him
through the expensive material of his trousers.  
  
"What do you gotta have, baby?" he asked, his breath hot on my cheek as he
massaged my breasts with his large, strong hands. The glass against my back
was cold, but quickly warmed up as I squirmed against it. I wondered if anyone
below could see what was going on. The thought inspired me, turned me on. I
almost hoped someone was watching, seeing how desperate and slutty I was.  
  
"Your cock," I said, nipping at his neck. "I gotta have your cock." I wasn't
acting, either; I really was desperate for him!  
  
"And what do you wanna do with it, little girl?" he asked, pinching my nipples
and panting in my ear. His dick throbbed in my hands. It felt enormous!  
  
"Oh, God," I moaned, rubbing myself against him, smearing my juices along his
leg. I was so close to cumming . . . "I wanna suck it, fuck it, anything you
want, I wanna do!" I exclaimed.  
  
He grumbled again, a deep, primal, passionate sound, and pushed down on my
head. I willingly sunk to a squat, spreading my legs wide. The skirt of my
tight dress rode up over my hips, fully exposing me. I felt the cool glass
against my cheeks as I practically ripped open Arliss' pants to get to his
cock. Once again, I hoped we were being watched. I imagined people looking out
through the windows of the surrounding buildings, watching a hot little blonde
teenager lowering herself before a handsome black man, her legs spread, ass
exposed, sleek pussy dripping . . . .  
  
The monster sprang out at me, so thick and heavy that it couldn't stick
straight out. Uncircumcised, Arliss' cock was the color of milk chocolate and
tasted even better. I licked up and down the mighty shaft, squeezing and
stroking it with my hands. I turned my head to the side, letting our
'audience' watch my tongue lap at Arliss' mighty penis. His manly aroma filled
my senses, increasing my desire for him.  
  
I kissed and licked all over his cock until it was shiny and slick, lifted it
with my hands and pushed the foreskin back. The pink head was tapered and
glowing, dripping with pre-cum. I lapped it all up eagerly, moaning at his
flavor. Arliss sighed, settling his hands on my head, urging me on.  
  
My lips stretched around that impressive tube of flesh as I guided it inside
my mouth. I knew I wouldn't be able to deep-throat Arliss' serpent, but I did
manage to suck enough of his length that I was able to flutter the opening of
my throat around the head.  
  
"Oh, baby!" he cried out, his cock twitching in my mouth. Encouraged, I sucked
back and forth, dragging my firm wet tongue along the underside, massaging the
nerves of his penis. Arliss shuddered, a powerful man reduced to jelly by my
skilled and eager mouth.  
  
I stroked his cock with both hands, squeezing, pulling, tugging on it to get
my reward, keeping my lips locked around the head. I imagined our 'audience'
getting so turned on that they would simply _have_ to masturbate, watching my
blonde head bobbing back and forth. I felt the black man's cock tense and
stiffen, his balls drawing up along the outside of my hand. Arliss grunted,
holding his breath, digging his fingers into my scalp. He was close, so close,
I could tell.  
  
I slipped my shiny lips off his cock, looking up at Arliss' impassioned face
through a haze of lust. "You wanna cum, baby?" I teased him, pumping his wet
shaft with my hands.  
  
He grinned, leaning over me, one of his hands against the window, the other on
my head. "God damn, you know I do," he shuddered.  
  
"I wanna taste it, Arliss," I whispered heated, my lips brushing the straining
head. My tongue slipped out to tickle him.  
  
"Yeah, baby? You wanna taste my juice?"  
  
"Mmm," I moaned, squeezing him harder, twirling my hand around the sensitive
head. "Give it to me, baby, right in my mouth."  
  
"Show me, baby," he grunted, shaking, right on the verge of orgasm. His face
was contorted with pleasure. "Show papa how you take that load . . . oh,
fuck!"  
  
"Yeah!" I panted, whimpering like the excited teenager I was. I cupped my open
mouth around the head of Arliss' cock, pumping the shaft, squeezing his
swollen balls in my hand, staring up at him . . . _Are they watching? _I
thought in erotic delirium._ Are they watching me make this gorgeous man cum
in my mouth? Are you watching, Erin? Let me show you how a _real_ cocksucker
takes a load of cum!_  
  
"Ahhhh . . . ." moaned Arliss in release, flooding my mouth with waves of
creamy, bittersweet sperm. I sighed at tasting him, feeling the heat of his
orgasm as it inundated my mouth. I squeezed and pulled on his mighty cock,
coaxing up every spurt and surge of cum he had to give. They fell thickly into
my mouth, heavy and warm, his flavor electrifying my taste buds. _Oh, God! Mmm
. . . ._  
  
I felt the rich puddle of his sperm growing on my tongue, flowing to the back
of my throat. Arliss had such a look of erotic amazement on his face, staring
wide-eyed as his spitting dick fed me. I was so turned on by making Arliss
ejaculate that my pussy twitched with my own orgasm, spraying sweet fluid onto
the elevator floor and the window behind me. I quivered and whimpered through
my open mouth as my rush ran its' course.  
  
My cherry lips became slick as I kept working Arliss' cock, and I felt a
trickle of liquid drip from the corner of my mouth and down my chin. I cradled
his smooth-shaved balls, rolling them in the palm of my hand, squeezing gently
to push out every last sweet drop. Holding his cock over my face, I watched as
they dripped from his slit and onto my hungry tongue.  
  
Satisfied that Arliss had gotten a good look at my sperm-filled mouth, I
slipped my lips down his length, sucking hard and making my lover tremble. His
cream was warm and satisfying when I finally let it slide down my throat. Then
I kissed up and down his heavy length, rubbing his dick against my cheek,
sighing in satisfaction.  
  
"Oh, damn, baby," he moaned, running his hand through my hair affectionately.
"You're . . . incredible."  
  
"Mmmm," I murmured, gently swabbing my tongue around the slick head of Arliss'
cock. I imagined our 'audience' applauding.  
  
_How's that for charity? And only a thousand dollars a dish . . . ._  
  
***  
  
Arliss obviously got off on having sex in public -- or at least semi-public --
places, and to that end, we headed out to the balcony of his room once we had
peeled off all our clothes. Arliss had a well-toned, muscular body with no
body hair whatsoever. His sleek physique turned me on, especially with the
contrast of his dark skin to my slightly-tanned complexion.  
  
I had him lay back on one of the plastic chaise lounge chairs and straddled
him in reverse-cowgirl. I slipped the condom down his thick cock and slowly,
sweetly, impaled myself upon him.  
  
_Oh, sweet baby Jesus!_ No matter how wet I was, I really had to work to get
his thickness inside me. The circumference of his cock was well more than that
of my wrist, and my pussy spasmed around him. Never had I felt anything so
enormous pushing inside my little tunnel! I started cumming even before he
bottomed out inside me, and once I started, I didn't stop.  
  
I wailed and moaned loudly as I bounced up and down atop him, my multi-
orgasmic cries echoing out from the balcony and over the city below us. I have
no doubt that people, around us in the other rooms, on the street far below,
in the offices in the buildings across from the hotel, heard me cumming. I
wanted them to. I wanted them to know that a horny teenager was getting one of
the most intense fuckings of her young life. I wanted to inspire the whole
city with my passion and abandon.  
  
My cunt rippled along Arliss' impressive cock, sucking hard on him, harder
than my mouth had. His strong hands gripped my hips and guided me up and down,
occasionally reaching around to stroke my sensitive clit and heighten my
already explosive orgasms. I literally screamed with my most intense orgasm
yet when Arliss pinched my clit and shoved his cock all the way up inside me,
moaning as he came as well. I could actually feel the balloon tip of the
condom inflating inside my womb.  
  
Possessed by kinky desire, I slipped off his cock, wincing as my cunt was
emptied, and whirled around as I fell to my knees. Arliss' cock remained long
and thick, glistening with my juices and the lubrication of the condom. A
thick white teardrop of sperm hung from the tip, the reservoir of his seed. I
sucked it into my mouth, tasting my own sweet cum and feeling the warmth of
his essence. I flopped the latex-encased cum bubble around on my tongue,
grinning up at Arliss.  
  
"Fuck, you a kinky girl," he sighed, collecting his breath.  
  
"Think that's kinky?" I asked, then carefully rolled the condom off his
mammoth shaft. Holding it up, I tilted my head back, opened my mouth wide, and
let his thick cream dribble out onto my tongue. I squeezed every drop of juice
from the condom, then casually tossed it over my shoulder, off the balcony. I
showed Arliss my semen-slathered tongue, then swallowed his load with a sigh.  
  
He chuckled. "Now, that's kinky," he said, petting my hair. I kissed all
around his groin, truly worshipping his cock as I rubbed it against my cheeks
and lips.  
  
"We're not done yet, baby," I whispered sultrily. "We've got all night, after
all."  
  
He groaned. "Oh, ma-a-a-n . . . ."  
  
***  
  
It seemed a little ironic that, while I spent four or five nights a week
dating various men, I almost never saw a movie. In fact, the last time I had
been in a theater was with Ian, and, well . . . I don't even remember what
movie had been playing, or even what it was about.  
  
So I decided to treat myself. I headed down to the local theater, dressed
casually, the only jewelry I had on being the pendant Ian gave me. I wore it
practically all the time when I wasn't on a date, in fact. Maybe it was a
little too flashy to wear with khaki shorts and a blue tank, but I didn't
care. The pendant meant something special to me.  
  
I picked a movie to see from the scrolling marquee above the box office, got
my ticket, headed inside. In the mood to indulge, I got a Coney Island topped
with mustard and relish, a package of peanut M&amp;Ms (a naughty little smile
crossed my face as I recalled the circumstances around the last time I had
M&amp;Ms at the theater), and a Diet Coke. I had about half an hour before the
movie started, so I grabbed a seat at one of the little bistro tables in the
lobby.  
  
As I finished my meal, the sound of raucous feminine laughter gained my
attention, and I glanced up naturally as a group of girls came through the
door, laughing at some joke. I recognized Julie right away, as well as a
couple of other girls from classes we had shared. My natural smile at hearing
the laughter vanished as I saw my friend.  
  
I listened to them laughing about something they had seen on TV, a show or
commercial, I wasn't sure which. I was instantly jealous of just how much they
acted like _girls_. Carefree, enjoying youth . . . I wished my life was like
that, where the most serious things I had to think about were what to wear and
which boys thought I was 'cute.'  
  
They didn't see me, heading en masse toward the concessions area, and I really
didn't want them to, especially Julie. So I gathered up my food and soda,
intending to head outside. I wanted a cigarette, anyway--  
  
"Hey! Alyssa!" I recognized the voice, but couldn't attach a name to it.  
  
I groaned inwardly. _Too late_. Making an effort, I turned around, pretending
to have just seen them. I forced a smile as the other girls approached me.
"Oh, hey," I said.  
  
Julie stared at me, her smile fading. She blinked a few times, then grabbed
the arm of the girl in the lead, giving her a look. "Hold on," Julie said to
her friend, then stepped away from them.  
  
"Hi, Alyssa," she said, looking sheepish.  
  
I shared her expression. "Hi."  
  
"Um . . . how you doing?"  
  
I shrugged. "I'm okay. You?"  
  
"Yeah, pretty good."  
  
We stared at each other for a moment, then sighed in unison. "This is stupid,"
I said. I touched her arm, gave her a sincere look. "I'm sorry."  
  
Julie let out a nervous laugh, smiled genuinely. "Yeah, I'm sorry, too."  
  
I shifted a little on my feet. "I wish I . . . I wish I knew what to say."  
  
"You just did," she said sweetly, settling it. Just like that. "So . . .
seeing a movie?"  
  
I nodded. "I already got my ticket. That new comedy, you know, with Will
Farrell, um—"  
  
"Hey! That's what we're seeing!" she exclaimed. She grabbed my hands. "Come
on, sit with us!"  
  
I squirmed slightly. "Eh, well—"  
  
"Oh, come on!" Julie urged and tugged on my hands. I stumbled after her, then
jerked my hand back.  
  
"Hold on," I said, and grabbed my drink and candy. I followed Julie to the
others, none of whom I had seen since the end of the semester. I wrestled with
my memory to recall their names. I had never been real friendly with any of
them, just Julie, and felt like an outsider. Even in high school, I had never
been part of any cliques. I was always the girl outside the box.  
  
The other girls, however, seemed to naturally accept me into the group,
perhaps just because I was Julie's friend, and included me in on their
conversation. They talked about classes, boys, movies, music, all the usual
'stuff' . . . stuff I never talked about. I had become so accustomed to
talking with older men and people of society that I was out of touch with my
own demographic.  
  
Thankfully, a couple of the other girls were smokers, too, so after getting
their refreshments, we all headed back outside to kill time until the movie
started.  
  
"Holy shit! Cool cigarette case!" exclaimed one of the girls, named Lindsey.
She snatched the gold case from my hand, flipping it open and showing the
others. "That's so sick! Where'd you get this?"  
  
_Private jeweler. Two hundred and twenty bucks. Package deal with the
lighter_. I fidgeted a little, glancing to Julie, who looked a little
uncomfortable. "Um . . . it was a gift," I said. I forced a smile that I hope
looked genuine. "From, uh—"  
  
"Is that real gold? That can't be real gold!"  
  
"Hey, don't scratch it," I said, taking the case back.  
  
"What, you got a sugar daddy, Alyssa?" asked one of the others.  
  
"I heard she was sleeping with Professor Karnowski," said another, Tina,
giving me a mischievous look.  
  
Lindsey gasped, eyes girlishly wide. "Nuh-uh!"  
  
I rolled my eyes. "I'm not sleeping with any of my professors," I said firmly.
_They couldn't afford me, anyway. Well, maybe the ones with tenure could._  
  
"Well, you either got a sugar daddy or a real good freaking job," said Tina
probingly.  
  
I sighed, then decided to take a chance. "Actually, I'm a high-priced call
girl," I said flippantly.  

Julie gasped, giving me a look that said, _'are you crazy?'_  
  
The others stared at me for a moment, then exploded with laughter, deciding,
as I had hoped they would, my statement a joke. They screeched and hollered,
and Lindsey wrapped her arms around me, hanging off me as she laughed. I
laughed along with them, feeling immense relief.  
  
"God!" exclaimed Lindsey. "For a sec, I almost believed you!"  
  
"Yeah, right, if she was a call girl, she'd be driving a Lexus or something,"
said Tina dismissively.  
  
"Nah. Mercedes," I said.  
  
"Ooo, yeah, like, one of those convertibles . . . ."  
  
As the others discussed what kind of car they would have if _they_ were call
girls, I glanced to Julie, who gave me a look of relief that matched how I
felt. _Okay, you pulled it off, _she told me with her eyes._ Now don't scare
me like that again!_  
  
I just smiled.  
  
***  
  
Over the following months, I established a routine. I dated four days a week,
sticking to 'normal' clients. Some of my previous regulars were delighted to
find out I had returned, and I met with them. They made me feel precious and
appreciated, and I made them feel satisfied in ways few other women could. Or
so they told me.  
  
When not dating, however, I spent a lot of time with Julie and her friends.
Julie still wasn't happy about my continued profession, and we never talked
about it. When I was hanging out with her and the others, however, thoughts of
the men I saw rarely intruded upon my mind. I was enjoying just being a girl
with them.  
  
In order to head off any further suspicions about my apparent lack of dating,
whenever we were hanging out at the mall or the theater, I flirted with boys
and got a few phone numbers here and there. Maybe my new circle of friends
never saw me alone with any of them, but through innuendo, I managed to convey
that I was 'seeing someone.'  
  
Aside from my clients, I also managed to find time now and then to be with
Ian. I never said those 'three little words' to him again -- after Gary, I
told myself I never would -- but I did love Ian, and not just when we were
making love. Whenever we went out, it was always casual, just Ian and Alyssa,
blue jeans and burgers. We managed to forget about the other parts of our
lives when we were together.  
  
More than any other man, Ian made me feel appreciated. He repeatedly told me
how 'precious' I was to him, how much he 'adored' me. Adoration, for Ian, was
as close as he came to love. To admit anything more would compromise his
control.  
  
By August, my popularity among all the girls at the agency (I learned through
Cleo that there were eighteen of us) and the number of glowing comments I
received regarding my services prompted Cleo to increase my rate. Instead of
finding ten hundred-dollar bills in the little red envelopes James gave me, I
started counting thirteen of them. I was moving up.  
  
***  
  
"I've received a special request for you," Cleo told me on the phone one
Wednesday morning as I lay in bed. The evening before I had spent with the son
of some German diplomat. He'd had a sexy accent and was delightfully kinky.
Dieter had wanted to watch me give his limo driver a blow job before enjoying
my charms for himself, which turned me on and reminded me of the 'old days.'  
  
"A 'special' request?" I asked as I sat up in bed and looked for my smokes. I
had a slight hangover. _Damn that sweet German Gewurtztra-whatever wine!_  
  
She laughed gently into the phone. "Not that kind of 'special,'" she said,
then reconsidered her words. "Actually, to be honest, I don't know."  
  
I frowned. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Well, it's not often that a woman calls our agency," Cleo said.  
  
That piqued my interest. I lit up, blew smoke with a sigh. "A woman? You mean
. . . a lesbian?" An image instantly popped into my mind of some middle-aged
dyke with short hair, wearing a strap-on dildo and glossy leather boots. I
shuddered.  
  
Cleo chuckled. "While we do -- very rarely -- receive the occasional request
by a lesbian, there are other agencies for that. No, when a woman calls, she
usually wants to surprise her husband with a sexy little gift. Sometimes, the
woman is involved, sometimes not."  
  
I chewed my lip, feeling a little twitch between my legs at the prospect of
being with a man and a woman at the same time. "Do you know anything about
her? I mean, what she wants?"  
  
"All I know is that it is a young couple," said Cleo. "But . . . the
impression I got was that the woman will definitely be involved."  
  
My heart palpitated. I felt a tingling in my nipples. Then I thought about
Cleo's first words. "You said this was a request? For me?"  
  
"She asked for you by name," Cleo confirmed. "She even described you, just to
make sure she would get the right girl."  
  
That had me wondering. I couldn't imagine any woman I had met, as Yvette, that
had ever given me the impression that something like this would happen.
"What's her name? Or the man's?"  
  
"Um . . . Erica Riley," Cleo said. "She went through one of our corporate
accounts, so there's no real way to confirm if that's her name. Chances are,
though, it isn't."  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
Cleo chuckled. "Women are for more worried about their image than men," she
said. "Especially women with money. If a lady is going to hire an escort to
show her and hubby a good time, she's going to cover her tracks."  
  
_Makes sense._ "I don't know."  
  
"Well . . . at the risk of being forward," Cleo said. "In my book, nothing
beats a good menage a trois."  
  
I laughed. I was feeling more than a little warm, imagining tasting another
woman. I remembered how good it had felt when those nameless girls had gone
down on me at the gang-bang. "I guess I don't have to ask if you've ever done
that."  
  
"No, you don't," said Cleo meaningfully. "Honey, if you're worried about
knowing how to make love to another woman, don't be. Trust me, you already
know how."  
  
I shuddered. The very thought of being with a woman, while feeling a man
inside me at the same time, was starting the river flowing between my legs.
"I'll do it," I said.  
  
"I knew you would," said Cleo. "I'll get you all the information later today."  
  
"Okay," I breathed, touching my pussy. Damn, was I wet!  
  
"And, honey?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
I could almost hear her wink. "Have fun."  
  
Cleo hung up, and fell back on the bed, forgetting about my cigarette
smoldering in the ashtray. Desperately, I spread my legs and madly rubbed my
aching clitoris until I was moaning and bucking in orgasm.  
  
***  
  
All of my dates thus far had been in town. Only rarely had I ever left the
city with a man, and that was only to go to some little retreat at the coast
or a second home in the country. For the first time, I was getting on a plane
to meet my lover . . . or in this case, _lovers_.  
  
I would be gone for three days, with Cleo assuring me I would be paid
appropriately. I was glad the request had come when it did; I was due to start
my Sophomore year in another week.  
  
I was a little anxious about leaving the city at first, until I found out that
James would be accompanying me. I laughed at the irony: the escort had an
escort. Once we arrived at our destination, James, as always, would disappear
into the background. But he would never be far away.  
  
Over the summer, James and I had become closer as friends. We talked often
before and after my dates, usually in the Lincoln as he took me to and from. I
found out he was older than I thought, almost forty, and had been a cop for
ten years before deciding to go into private security. He had been driving for
the agency for about three years, and had been the regular driver for two
other girls before me.  
  
"What happened to them?" I had asked one time.  
  
He had simply shrugged. "One of them retired," he said. "The other . . . she
got pretty messed up. Drugs."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Does it bother you at all, what we do?"  
  
James had chuckled and given me a look. "Why should it? Hell, if I had the
money, I would be calling you, too."  
  
I couldn't help but smile, the way he said that. Not, 'calling the agency.'
_'Calling you.'_  
  
There had been times when I had been tempted to find out what would happen if,
just if, I asked James to crawl into the back of the Lincoln with me. But that
wouldn't have been feasible. I didn't want to meet any of my dates after
having just had sex, and I doubt James would want to be with me after I'd been
with another man. Still, I always had the little black phone . . . .  
  
I wondered why I was attracted to James. Certainly, he was handsome, but I
really didn't know him that well. Maybe it was because of our slowly-growing
friendship, professional as it was, or maybe it was because he was the only
man who saw me before and after I'd had sex with someone. There was something
intrinsically naughty about getting in the back of the Lincoln every night,
smelling of sex, my hair disheveled and pussy still swollen from a night of
fucking, with James knowing what I had been doing.  
  
I wondered if he ever got jealous, or if he ever fantasized about me. He was
so stoic and professional that it was impossible to read him.  
  
We talked casually on the plane, with James sitting in the aisle seat. I
noticed the way he gave other men warning when looks when they checked me out.
The way he acted around me made it pretty obvious to others that he was not my
lover, and he was just standoffish enough that he did not come off as a family
member. No, it was pretty obvious that he was my bodyguard.  
  
_I wonder if anyone thinks I'm a movie star or something_, I thought with a
giggle as we headed through the airport. I sure didn't look like it, wearing a
denim skirt and a leather jacket over a pink halter. Aside from some of my
jewelry, I didn't look like I had money. I guess people just assumed I came
from a good family or something like that. Just a spoiled little girl 'on
holiday.'  
  
The trip to Lake Tahoe was thankfully brief. I didn't get airsick, I just
hated the cramped conditions. I had only been on a plane once before, during a
summer vacation to Mexico when I was growing up. God, that seemed so long ago
. . . .  
  
At least we were flying first class. The complimentary champagne helped me
relax. James, of course, didn't drink.  
  
James had already arranged for a ride, which was -- surprise! -- a Lincoln
Towncar. We picked it up at the rental agency and proceeded to the address we
had been given. It wasn't a hotel.  
  
The resort community had a lot of little properties around one side of the
lake, most of them time-share condominiums. It was to one of these that we
headed. I was impressed with the Spanish villa-like house, with its pink
stuccoed walls and shingled roof. There were large earthenware pots by the
front door, and I could see that a high sandstone wall surrounded the
property. There appeared to be a pool in the back, with an extensive deck that
overlooked the lake. The next closest property was a quarter-mile away.  
  
_Well, whoever Erica Riley is_, I thought. _She's definitely got money. This
place sure isn't cheap._  
  
James brought up our bags, produced a key that had been provided by Cleo. The
house's interior was spacious, airy, and very comfortable. The main room was
dominated by leather furniture, a huge stone fireplace with a big flocate rug
before it, and a good-sized dry bar. The kitchen was immense, with the
breakfast and dining areas open. Huge glass doors opened to the back deck.  
  
The pool was your typical rectangular, Olympic-style affair, with a couple of
round wooden tables, chairs and chaise lounges to either side, beer house
umbrellas on poles to provide shade, and another small bar close to the house.
The view of the lake was breathtaking. Waterskiiers trailed in the wake of
speedboats far out on the water, and I saw a few yachts floating here and
there. The sun was bright, but not too harsh despite the heat. There was a
cool, crisp breeze rolling off the lake.  
  
I noticed that a large round mat had been placed on the deck just before the
nearest edge of the pool. I smirked. _More than big enough for three people,
_I thought._ Hmm . . . sex outdoors. Can you say 'afternoon delight?'_  
  
The exhibitionist in me was anticipating the idea.  
  
James nodded curtly as he came up beside me. He had checked out the house
right away, looking in all the rooms, following his trained instincts. "No one
home," he said. "Not that I expected anyone to be."  
  
I frowned. "So . . . what now?"  
  
"Now," said James, taking an envelope from the inside of his windbreaker. He
ripped it open, took out a letter.  
  
"'Dear Yvette;  
  
We're so delighted that you agreed to join us. We are going to have a
wonderful weekend, let me assure you.  
  
Please get comfortable, as comfortable as you wish. You will notice the pool,
of course. There are bathing suits in the closet in the master bedroom, and
sunscreen in the cabinet by the pool bar. Our house is yours; whatever we
have, you are welcome to. We will be joining you shortly. Relax. Have a
cocktail. And don't feel bad if you are nervous; this is our first time in
such a situation as well.'"  
  
I felt a little blush in my cheeks as James finished. _'Please get
comfortable, as comfortable as you wish.'_  
  
_Hmm . . . ._  
  
"The rest is for me," James said, scanning down the letter. "Looks like I have
a room waiting down the road. Not too far away. Whoever these people are, they
know how it works."  
  
"Yeah," I nodded, feeling a little suspicious. "Seems that way."  
  
"All right," said James, putting the letter away. He looked to me. "Keep the
phone close, just in case, okay? I know this area fairly well. I'm not gonna
be more than a few minutes away."  
  
I nodded and smiled. "Thanks, James," I said, then lifted up and gave him a
soft kiss.  
  
He actually blushed. His lips curled slightly. "Have fun, Yvette."  
  
I smiled after him as he left. Then I got ready.  
  
***  
  
Finding the bathing suits were pretty easy, especially considering the hand-
written note with my name on it, attached to the multiple hangar from which
hung my choices.  
  
I picked up one of the suits as I stood naked in the closet, after having
taken a quick shower and applied my 'elegant' makeup. I decided to put my hair
in pig tails and chose a light pink shade of lipstick. I wore my gold waist
chain, matching ankle bracelet, and a serpentine bangle around my upper right
arm. I added little diamond studs to my ears and a couple of simple rings to
my thumbs. Six-inch platform heels added a last little touch of appropriately
slutty 'class.'  
  
I took up one of the bathing suits . . . if you could call it that. _This
isn't a bikini. This is a string of spaghetti and a ravioli!_  
  
I went through the four skimpy garments that had been provided for me. 'Erica
Riley' was either a really good guesser, or she knew me enough to know my
size. Of course, considering that I had probably met her wearing one of my
body-hugging dresses, any woman would be able to guess my size.  
  
Again, I tried to figure out who she was, but decided I would just have to
wait.  
  
I selected a burgundy bikini and slipped it on. The fabric vanished between my
cheeks and plump vulvae, no matter how I tried to stretch it, leaving just a
little V-shaped patch that revealed my pubes. I thought about shaving away my
little 'mohawk,' but decided to leave it alone. The top was equally skimpy,
doing nothing to support my breasts (not that they needed any) and just barely
covering my puffies.  
  
I modeled before the full-length mirror in the bedroom. _Damn, Alyssa, you are
one hot bitch!_  
  
I glanced briefly to the king-sized bed with the gold silk sheets and earth-
toned comforter. I hoped it was sturdy enough.  
  
I was in a persistent state of arousal as I headed back through the house to
the pool. I found the sunscreen, massaged it into my skin, aware of how hot I
was getting . . . and it wasn't because of the sun shining down upon me.  
  
I rummaged through the bar, looking through the various bottles. I grinned
when I found a half-empty bottle of strawberry-flavored vodka hidden amongst
the shelves. I poured myself a martini, sipped it as I walked around the pool.
I stood out at the edge, looking over the lake.  
  
_God, this place is gorgeous, _I thought._ This is paradise, if any place
could be called that. Hmm . . . a few years as an escort, save up my money,
invest it wisely . . . I could own a place like this by the time I graduated._  
  
I sat down on one of the lounge chairs after tossing the towel I had brought
with me from the bedroom onto the table beside it. Easing back, I watched the
waterskiiers and yachts and sipped my martini. _Man, could I get used to this
. . . ._  
  
I heard the sound of heels clicking across the tile beside the pool. My
heartbeat increased in tempo and I felt blush rising to my cheeks and breasts.
I briefly considered getting up to meet my hostess, then decided to wait. I
was enjoying the delicious anticipation. I would let her make the move.  
  
A pair of slender, feminine hands slipped over my shoulders from behind, the
skin tanned, fingers adorned with rings. One of those supported a large rock
of a diamond, easily a full karat, upon her ring finger. They were the hands
of a young woman, I realized. They reached to the swell of my breasts, then
slowly moved back up. I sighed softly. She had a really nice touch.  
  
"Hi, sweetie."  
  
With a start, I recognized the voice in my ear, the aroma of her gentle
perfume. I looked up, craning my neck as she walked around the edge of the
chaise, watching as she came into view.  
  
Like me, she wore a barely-there bikini that showed off her sexy, toned body.
She had more of a tan than I did. Her breasts, a good cup size larger than
mine, all but spilled out of her green bikini top. The bottoms vanished
between swollen vulvae and made it obvious that she shaved her pussy smooth.
Like me, she wore heels and just enough jewelry. Her thick, russet-brown hair,
with some sun-kissed highlights, cascaded around her beautiful face. The sun
brought out the tiny freckles on her cheeks and shoulders.  
  
"Erin," I breathed.  
  
She grinned, her glossy dark lips catching the sunlight. Her eyes wandered
over my body approvingly. "Wow," she said.  
  
I couldn't do anything but stare back. _This_ was the woman who had requested
me? Ian's daughter? I worked my jaw, trying to figure out what to say. But my
vocabulary had vanished.  
  
Erin looked amused. "You? Speechless?"  
  
I blinked. "Where's Ross?" I asked.  
  
She arched an eyebrow. "Anxious already?"  
  
I blushed. "No," I said. "Sorry, I just . . . I didn't anticipate this."  
  
Erin sat down on the edge of the chaise, one of her well-rounded cheeks
pressed against my thigh. She did not try to hide her attraction to me. "He'll
be here in a little bit," she said. Her dark eyes -- just like her father's, I
realized -- glittered. "I figured it would be best if we got comfortable,
first, just you and I."  
  
I wondered if 'comfortable' meant pulling of our bikinis. If so, I wasn't
about to say no. Erin was hotter than Julie and just as voluptuous, and I
realized with sudden clarity that I wanted her. I couldn't imagine a more
beautiful girl to be the first I would make love to.  
  
"I'd like that," I said.  
  
Now it was Erin's turn to blush, feeling the steadily growing sexual tension
between us. Her nipples were thick and hard, pushing through her tiny top. I
didn't have to look to know that mine were, as well.  
  
"Sorry about the deception," she said, brushing my hand. I immediately laced
my fingers through hers. Her eyes gave me a knowing look. "But I don't think
Daddy would approve if he knew I had hired one of his girls."  
  
I lifted my martini, warmed from the sun but still cool as the liquid flowed
over my tongue. "That turns you on, doesn't it?" I asked, following my
instincts. "That I'm one of 'Daddy's girls.'"  

Erin looked away with a small smile, gently gripping my hand. "What's it
like?" she asked, then returned her gaze to mine. "Making love to my father."  
  
I breathed in, squirming ever so slightly on the lounge. Under any other
circumstance, I would have felt uncomfortable discussing my sex life with a
girl's father. "He's very . . . powerful," I said, unable to find any other
word to describe Ian.  
  
Erin bit her lip. "I used to have these little . . . fantasies," she said,
then blushed, her lips curled in a taboo-inspired smile. "I don't think my
father would ever want to, and I probably wouldn't either, if it came down to
it, but . . . I know my father is very handsome." Her eyes flashed devilishly.
"And I've seen him in his speedo."  
  
I gave her an intent look. "He looks even better naked," I said.  
  
Erin drew in a deep, dramatic breath, no longer able to hide the full scope of
her arousal. She squeezed my hand. "Don't do that to me, Alyssa," she said
heatedly.  
  
I smiled, pursing my lips. _So . . . Ian's little girl has incest fantasies,
huh? Hmm . . . ._  
  
"Yvette," I said, correcting her.  
  
Erin smiled, laughing softly. "Right. Yvette."  
  
"So, is that what this is?" I asked, sipping my martini again. "Is this about
your father? You can't make love to him, so . . . you find someone who has?"  
  
Erin stared at me, her smile fading slightly. "Something like that," she said.
Her eyes drifted down barely-concealed body. "Of course . . . maybe this is
just about wanting to be with you."  
  
I could see the arousal on her face like the glow of candlelight. And there
was no way, even if I wanted to, that I could deny my own fierce attraction to
her. For some reason, the fact that Erin was Ian's little girl just made her
more desirable. How strangely appropriate that the first woman I would make
love to would be the daughter of my first true lover.  
  
I sat up, set my martini on the ground beside the chaise. I didn't take my
hand from hers. I faced Erin directly, bringing my face close and studying her
eyes. I sensed the nervousness, the apprehension, the desire within her. I
lifted my hand, touched her warm cheek. She trembled slightly.  
  
"Well, Erin," I said, my voice scarcely more than a whisper. "It doesn't
really matter why I'm here. What matters is that you've paid for me . . . and
for these three days, I will do anything you want."  
  
Erin shuddered, letting out a faint whimper. Her lips quivered, so soft and
full and wet. Taking the lead, as if I was no stranger to another woman's
touch, I pulled her beautiful face close and touched my lips to hers.  
  
Never will I forget that kiss. Kissing another woman is unlike any other
sensation in the world. Soft, sweet, wet, just a little firm . . . I almost
had an orgasm right then as I gently sucked on Erin's lips, pulling just a
little, tasting her sweet breath and feeling the tip of her tongue slipping
out to meet mine.  
  
Erin was a little hesitant at first, not due to lack of desire, but lack of
experience. I pressed my advantage, conveying the idea that I knew what I was
doing, hopefully providing encouragement for Erin. She gave in after a mere
few moments, and kissed me back eagerly, giving in and letting me control the
moment. I shifted on the chaise, sliding my arm around her body, feeling the
little tremors beneath her skin. Erin's telling nervousness, strangely enough,
assuaged my own. I was the sexual professional, after all.  
  
I realized Cleo had been right: I did know how to make love to another woman,
even if I had never done so before. Drawing upon what I always liked being
done to me, I touched and caressed Erin's body slowly, giving her time to
relax and get used to being with me, while simultaneously building up her
arousal.  
  
I eased her down onto the chaise, slipping my legs out of the way and
supporting myself over her. Erin pushed up a little to get comfortable,
staring up at my face as she breathed in and out. I didn't take my eyes from
hers as I reached up behind my neck and untied my bikini. I pulled the garment
away and dropped it to the side.  
  
Erin stared at my naked breasts, licking her lips. I had grown proud, and
rightly so, of my puffy nipples. The unique eroticism of my breasts was not
lost upon any who saw them. Erin was no exception. Her lips parted, her eyes
glowed as she took in my puffies.  
  
I didn't say anything to Erin; words would have startled her, no matter what
they were. Instead, I leaned over her slowly, not wanting to intimidate her by
being too aggressive. Erin needed a slow touch, a gentle initiation into
Sapphic love, and so did I. I savored every moment, wanting to remember every
single detail.  
  
I kissed her once again, more insistently this time, and Erin responded
eagerly, showing no hesitation this time as she pushed her lips against mine.
The soft wet sounds of our kissing, of lips sucking lips, tongues tasting
tongues, and the gentle moans we both made, were all either of us could hear.  
  
I pulled on her top, exposing her firm, full breasts, and ran my hands over
the warm, fleshy mounds. Erin sighed deeply, whimpering again, and I took that
as encouragement. Kissing my way slowly down her neck, eyeing the stiff, dark
pink nipples that thrust up to the sky like the peaks of mountains begging to
be scaled, I made my way to my goal. I cupped her firm tits in my hands,
pushing them together, kneading them.  
  
Erin moaned loudly, scooting up even more on the lounge. I moved about on my
knees, hovering over her body, my own breasts hanging over her face. I settled
my hands on either side of her curvaceous body and lowered my head.  
  
Mouths wrapped around nipples at the same moment, and both Erin and I emitted
muffled moans as we sucked and pulled eagerly on one another's flesh. My body
trembled, feeling her stiff, rubbery protrusion dancing against my tongue, her
own tongue swirling around my sensitive nipple. Her skin tasted salty and
sweet, not unlike my own. I instantly realized that I was going to greatly
enjoy making love to Erin.  
  
My hands ran up and down her body, and hers lifted to touch mine as she gave
in a last. All nervousness, apprehension and anxiety was thrown aside,
abandoned, replaced by the pure desire we harbored for one another. Our mouths
passed back and forth between each other's breasts, sucking, licking, kissing,
nipping at tender and sensitive flesh. We shook and moaned, enjoying soft,
sweet orgasms that made us want more.  
  
After . . . _how long? Minutes? Half an hour?_ I realized that an even greater
prize awaited me. Erin was poised on the very edge of the chaise, her strong,
supple thighs fanning back and forth. Her tiny bikini bottom did a poor job of
concealing the object of my sudden and overwhelming desire. I reached further
down with my hands, stroking gently the firm skin of her inner thighs, feeling
the flex of her tendons. Erin squirmed beneath me, gasping hotly around my wet
nipples.  
  
"Oh-h-h-h, God," she panted, running her hands up and down my back.  
  
My only response was a long, soft moan as I licked my way down Erin's taut
body. I tickled her navel with the tip of my tongue, feeling the hot bursts of
her breath on my abdomen. She whimpered as I kissed and licked closer and
closer to her sex, inhaling the increasingly pungent aroma of her arousal.
Erin rolled her hips as if she was impaled upon an imaginary lover.  
  
I pulled aside the tiny strip of fabric over her sex, beholding a truly
beautiful, hairless pussy. Erin gasped loudly. Her hands gripped my thighs as
they framed her head. Her chin brushed the top of my pubic mound.  
  
"Uhhnn," she moaned. "Oh, God . . . ."  
  
I gazed with rapt desire upon Erin's glistening, exposed pussy. She possessed
sleek, soft pink lips that flared out from between fleshy vulvae. Her clitoris
was a skinny, long thing wrapped up in its protective sheath. The smell of her
inflamed my senses as I breathed in. I licked my lips in preparation for the
feast.  
  
And then I saw him.  
  
Standing at the glass door to the house, staring in aroused wonder, his jaw
slack. He wore only a tight black male bikini, the bulge of his engorged cock
obvious. Ross was, indeed, a very handsome man. Athletic, tanned, I envied
Erin for having such a sexy boyfriend. I eyed his crotch speculatively,
grinning as I realized I would eventually be tasting what lay beneath that
single layer of fabric.  
  
But for the moment, my hunger was not for a man, but for a woman.  
  
I caught Ross' gaze, locked his eyes with mine for a moment. _Watch me,_ I
told him silently. Then, with a hungry growl, I lowered my head and pressed my
mouth to Erin's pussy, instantly sucking.  
  
"OH-H-H-HMIGODDDD!!" she cried loudly, bucking her hips up. Her fingers dug
into my cheeks, her breasts pushed against my abdomen, her breath panted hot
against my pussy.  
  
I devoured her ruthlessly, inspired by the sweet, tangy, sharp flavor of her.
Her cunt tasted both familiar and different. I loved it, and thrust my tongue
deep, seeking the source of her trickling fluid. I sucked and pulled on her
lips, pried her open with my fingers, lapped at the entrance of her vagina.
Erin writhed and moaned beneath me, thrashing her head back and forth. She
sucked the inside of my right thigh, bit for a moment into my flesh. She was
lost utterly to abandon, reduced to pure passion by the pleasures of my mouth.  
  
And then I found her clit.  
  
I could tell she was on the edge of eruption when I slurped my wet mouth -- I
could feel her essence dripping along my cheeks, and it was all but soaked
into my lips -- from her swollen and quivering genitals and slipped back the
hood of her straining pearl. For a moment, Erin trembled, feeling the breeze
wash over that most sensitive part of her anatomy.  
  
I touched it with my finger, making little circles. Erin cried out, her body
tensing. She panted between my legs. She wanted to cum. She _needed_ to.  
  
I glanced to Ross for a moment. He had moved closer, tentatively, as if afraid
to disturb us, and remained at a distance. He squeezed his cock through his
briefs. I could tell he was torn between watching the delicious spectacle
before him and joining in. I smiled lustily, and again, spoke to him with my
eyes.  
  
_All in due time, Ross,_ I told him. _But for now, watch me make her cum._  
  
Once again, I lowered my head, and pursed my lips around Erin's clit, sucking
and tugging on it the way I always liked having mine sucked. Evidently, Erin
liked it the same way.  
  
"J-J-J-JESSSUUUSSS!!!" she screeched, arching her back deeply, only her
shoulders and ass touching the chaise. "HOH! HOH! HOHHHGGGOODDDD!!!"  
  
I struggled to hold on as Erin exploded volcanically, her fluid gushing out
from between her slick lips. I sucked hard on her clit, feeling it shrink in
my mouth, then slipped down and latched greedily onto her flowing hole. I
literally drank from my lover's cunt, grinding my mouth against Erin's
spurting pussy, moaning at the rich, sweet taste of her.  
  
Erin heaved and cried as she came again and again, exploding with multiple
orgasms that I eagerly sucked out of her. In the midst of her dramatic
release, Erin jerked aside my own tiny thong and plied her mouth to my cunt,
sucking hard between gasps and moans.  
  
Her oral attention only spurred me on, but eventually, as I neared my own
orgasm, I pulled my saturated mouth from Erin's cunt, pushing up on my hands
while pushing down with my hips. I ground into her mouth, allowing myself to
be selfish for a moment, to want nothing other than the blissful release of
orgasm.  
  
I opened my eyes again.  
  
Ross had stepped closer, watching in amazed fascination at what I had done to
his girlfriend. His cock was straining, pushing the tight bikini away from his
body. I eyed it hungrily, licking my dripping lips. I felt rivulets of Erin's
juice trickling down my chin and neck. I panted as I felt my clit begin to
throb in Erin's enthusiastic mouth.  
  
Ross didn't need much of an invitation. He knew what I wanted, what he wanted
to give me. Stepping up to me, he pushed down his tiny swimsuit, revealing a
long, thick cock, bulging with veins and dripping with pre-cum. He had trimmed
his dark pubes to just a little patch above the shaft of his penis, and his
balls were conspicuously smooth.  
  
_Oh, such a beautiful cock! _I opened my mouth wide, breathing huskily.  
  
No finesse, no false modesty. Just raw lust. Ross grabbed my head and thrust
his dick deep into my mouth. I moaned at tasting him, my tongue sliding along
the underside of his shaft as my lips wrapped around him. He pushed in deep on
the very first plunge, invading my throat and shaking against me. I sucked
hard, instantly light-headed, grinding my chin against his smooth testicles.  
  
The feel of him, the taste of him, the delicious lashing and sucking of Erin's
warm mouth on my needy cunt . . . I convulsed as I came, flooding Erin's
mouth, her cheeks and chin. She squealed and moaned, the sounds muffled as she
sucked and slurped and smacked her lips wetly, eating me as eagerly and
desperately as I had eaten her.  
  
I pulled back on Ross' stiff cock, catching my breath. I looked up to his
face, panting laboriously on the wet head of his dick, thick saliva stretching
like a heavy bridge between his penis and my mouth. He stared back with abject
desire, giving me a worshipful, pleading look.  
  
I gulped, readied myself, and as Erin continued licking and moaning into my
pussy, I dove back down on Ross' cock, swallowing him to the root then sliding
all the way back up. I sucked madly, literally fucking his rock-hard prick
with my mouth, wanting only to make him cum, to feel and taste that sweet,
sweet fluid that was soon to flow . . . .  
  
I could not blame him for not holding out any longer than he did. It was only
a minute or two after that first delicious plunge into my mouth before Ross
came, ejaculating fiercely in my mouth. I swallowed the first hot spurt of his
cream, then slipped back, my mouth open and eager, and brought up my hand,
masturbating him through the remainder of his orgasm. Strands and ropes and
drops of thick semen splattered my lips, cheeks, chin and onto my outstretched
tongue. Ross shuddered, gasping, holding onto my head for balance.  
  
I slipped my mouth back down his sensitive penis, sucking out the last few
bits of cream and making him moan loudly. Erin shifted under me, disengaging
her lip-lock from my cunt, finally aware of the presence of her boyfriend. I
pulled a little longer on Ross' cock, milking it with my hand and mouth,
before easing back and letting Erin slide out from under me. I sank back on
the chaise, practically breathless. The mingled flavors of cock and cunt
filled my mouth. I licked and smacked my lips.  
  
On her knees beside the chaise, Erin looked up at her boyfriend, then to me,
her own mouth shiny and dripping. Slowly, she smiled, taking in the sight of
my cum-dripping face and her satisfied and temporarily sated boyfriend. Ross
just gave her a sheepish look and a shrug.  
  
Erin giggled, then pushed up, obviously fascinated by the white streaks of her
boyfriend's cum that decorated my face. She grinned.  
  
"You little slut," she said, but her words were no insult. "Sucking my baby
off like that."  
  
I grinned back, then lifted my hand and pushed some of Ross' juice into my
mouth with a finger as Erin watched wide-eyed. I gathered the gooey cream on
my tongue. "Wan' some?" I asked Erin, as if daring her.  
  
Erin's eyes glazed. Then she cupped my face and pressed her slick lips to my
own, sucking Ross' cum off my tongue as I thrust it into her mouth. We kissed
heatedly, torridly, for several moments. Erin pulled back, smacking her lips.
She made a face. I didn't have to be a genius to realize Erin had never tasted
cum before. But she didn't seem all that turned off by it. Strands of semen
stretched between our faces. Erin and I giggled like the teenaged girls we
were, smearing our fingers in Ross' cum and sucking them clean.  
  
"Oh, shit," moaned Ross, overwhelmed by the scene. "I gotta sit down."  
  
Erin and I both laughed at Ross' words, made room for him on the lounge chair.
Ross fell down heavily, catching his breath. Erin wrapped her arms around him,
snuggling against her boyfriend's chest and grinning happily. I leaned back,
watching them for a moment, seeing mirror images of myself and Gary in the way
that Erin was so playful and affectionate with her boyfriend. I felt like an
intruder.  
  
_Christ, why are you thinking of him now? _I asked myself angrily._ This isn't
the time!_ I found my towel, wiped my face, looked around for my cigarettes.
_Damn it, I left them inside . . . ._  
  
"You okay, Al . . . Yvette?" asked Erin, lifting her face from Ross' chest.  
  
I smiled. "Yeah, I'm good," I said. I pushed away my thoughts of Gary, forced
myself to remember where -- and what -- I was. I was there for Erin and Ross'
enjoyment, not to get mushy over thoughts of a man I would probably never see
again. "I just really want a cigarette," I added with a little laugh.  
  
Erin and Ross both laughed. He pushed up, having found his strength again.
"Where are they?" he asked.  
  
I smiled up at him. Yeah, he was a hottie, all right, I had to admit. "Black
purse, on the counter by the door," I said.  
  
He gave me a wink -- he looked like such a boy and a man at the same time; I
had to commend Erin's taste in men -- and headed away.  
  
"Hey," said Erin, touching my leg.  
  
I looked back to her.  
  
She gave me a playfully threatening look. "Don't you go getting ideas about my
fiancé."  
  
I smiled, laughed softly, then looked to the engagement ring on her finger.
Although I had seen it before, I had not made the obvious connection. I held
her hand, gazing fondly upon the ring. I felt the welling of emotions within
me. "When's the big day?"  
  
Erin smiled, admiring her ring. "Next summer," she said proudly. "June 15th.
That's our . . . 'second and a half' anniversary."  
  
I smiled, but knew it didn't look genuine. "You're lucky," I said.  
  
Erin studied my face. "Hey," she said, her voice sympathetic. She touched my
cheek. "You're not gonna do this forever, right? You'll find somebody."  
  
I held back my tears. "Don't, Erin, okay?" I asked. "Just don't."  
  
Her eyes dipped. "I'm sorry," she said timidly.  
  
"It's all right," I told her. "Just . . . for right now, while I'm here . . .
I'm not your friend, okay? I'm just a girl who's really good at fucking."  
  
Erin lifted her face, startled for a moment by my statement. But then she
slowly began to understand. I wasn't part of her world, and probably never
would be. I was something she had always found exciting in an abstract sort of
way, like a ballerina or a professional athlete, yet suddenly, I had shown her
the real person behind the façade of sex and glamour. A real human being, not
just a vixen, but a person with emotions and thoughts and pain. A person with
a history, and not all of it good.  
  
She looked away. "I-I'm really sorry, Alyssa," she whispered.  
  
I smiled. I couldn't blame her for wanting the excitement I could provide, for
thinking that my life was as carefree and easy as hers. She really didn't know
any better.  
  
I slipped my arms around her, nuzzled her neck, kissed her ear. Despite the
moment, she breathed in sharply. Erin was pretty easy to turn on, I realized.
_Like father, like daughter . . . ._  
  
"Hey," I whispered. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be."  
  
She turned her face toward mine, revealing the sense of guilt she felt for
having made her simple assumptions about me. "You can leave if you want," she
said earnestly. "I mean it."  
  
I smiled, bit my lip. "Not a chance, baby," I said. I passed my hand down over
her breasts, gracing her nipples. "You got me for two more days . . . and
you're definitely gonna get your money's worth."  
  
***  
  
After a couple rounds of cocktails, conversation, and cigarettes (well, I was
the only one smoking), I took the lead once again. Erin and Ross were excited
by my presence, that much was obvious, but they were still relatively
inexperienced. Erin, adhering to the 'good girl' rules of the society in which
she had come of age, had only known two boys before meeting her fiancé. Even
with her natural confidence (inherited from her father, no doubt), she was
still a 'babe in the woods' compared to me.  

And Ross, despite his swimmer's body and GQ looks, had spent the bulk of his
life in serious study, with little time for romance or even casual sex. While
I was younger than both of them, I was acutely aware that I possessed volumes
of sexual experience that would take them years, if not decades, to match.  
  
Taking each of them by the hand, the three of us, naked bodies glistening in
the late afternoon sun, headed around the pool toward the large round mat. I
had them both sit, then lowered myself slowly to my knees. Erin and Ross bowed
to my experience, understanding that I was running the show.  
  
I took their hands and placed them on my body. I kissed them both, tenderly,
lovingly, slowly fueling their passion. They responded eagerly, their libidos
simmering.  
  
I pulled Erin's face to my breasts and gently pushed Ross' down toward my sex.
I spread my legs wide as I leaned back on my knees, bringing Erin with me. She
hungrily licked and sucked my nipples, running her fingertips up and down my
body. I pushed my pussy against Ross' mouth, gripped a handful of his hair.
Erin pulled her slack face away from my body to watch her fiancé go down on
another woman. I could tell that the sight of his tongue worming around my
clit turned her on.  
  
They didn't need much encouragement after that.  
  
I got Ross to lay on his back, his thick cock -- it really was as magnificent
as Erin had bragged -- thrusting up in the air, more than ready. I handed Erin
the condom, and she grinned as she scrolled the rubber down her fiancé's
shaft. She curled up beside him as I squatted over Ross and slowly eased his
cock inside me. Erin was as fascinated with watching sex, I realized, as she
was participating in it.  
  
I used every trick I knew, from experience and from the books Cleo had bought
for me, to coax out his orgasm. Ross groaned and panted when he came,
responding in ways that amazed Erin. Once he was spent, I gently pulled off
the condom, let his semen drip out onto his crotch, and proceeded to lick up
every last, sweet drop. Erin was captivated. Ross all but passed out.  
  
***  
  
We fucked all weekend long, four, five, six times a day. None of us ever wore
clothes, not even when Erin and I pampered Ross with home-cooked meals served
out by the pool. We christened every room in the house, from the master suite
with its king-sized bed, to the living room with the big, plush, white flocate
rug.  
  
At times, Ross was too tired to join in, and during such instances, Erin and I
satisfied each other, kissing and licking and fingering one another to orgasm.
On one such occasion, I was inspired by the sight of a brass candlestick, and
used it like a dildo in Erin's eager cunt as Ross watched, amazed at the way
his fiancé screamed and sprayed her orgasmic fluid in the air when she came.  
  
I took it upon myself to be more than a sex object for Erin and her future
husband. I decided to educate her, and showed her how to use her PC muscle to
maximize Ross' orgasm, how to time her own to match his, how to give a long,
sweet blow job. When Ross erupted in her mouth for the first time, she
dutifully sucked it all down, something she had never done before, and
declared that 'cum isn't as bad as I thought!'  
  
More than the sex, Erin and I did a lot of talking. My earlier vehemence that
'I'm not your friend,' was forgotten as Erin and I really got to know each
other. I told her some things about my life, she told me some things about
hers. I really liked her sense of humor, her playfulness, the casual way in
which she could go from being sexy to serious in the blink of an eye. We would
talk for hours while Ross, essentially a guy, watched ESPN and talked on his
cell.  
  
I tried to ignore what I was feeling for her, or at least I told myself I did.
I couldn't tell if she felt the same way, but I liked to think, in at least
some little way, she did. At the very least, Erin and I had formed a
connection much like the one I had with her father.  
  
My flight out from Lake Tahoe was scheduled for eight p.m. that Sunday night.
That morning, the three of us awoke in the big king-sized bed, uncurling arms
and legs and sharing soft 'good morning' kisses. Erin and I remained in bed,
touching and kissing, as Ross headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. By the
time he returned with a wicker tray laden with bacon, eggs, orange juice and
coffee, Erin and I had already made each other cum.  
  
We headed out to the pool after breakfast, and jumped in sans bathing suits,
screaming, splashing, laughing. Erin and I were, for at least the short time I
was with her, the best of friends. Her buoyant laughter and exuberance were
infectious, making me feel, for the first time in quite a while, my real age.  
  
Ross knelt by the pool, feeding Erin and I our lunch from a wooden pallet of
summer sausage, crackers, and Havarti cheese that he had prepared. We opened
our mouths eagerly in a more than suggestive way as we floated like naked
nymphs in the water by the pool's edge, accepting the treats he fed us. We
gave Ross looks that let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he was going to
enjoy both our charms at least once more before I had to leave.  
  
I finally decided it was time. Not just time to fuck, but time for something
else. I pulled myself from the pool, water dripping down my naked body, and
smacked my little feet across the tile to the cabinet beside the patio bar.
Erin and Ross both watched me as I came back. It was hard to tell which of
them gave me the hungrier look.  
  
"There's something I've wanted to try for a while now," I said, cradling the
bottle of lotion between my breasts. I looked them both in the eye. "I've
been, uh . . . waiting for the right occasion. Waiting for someone I could
trust."  
  
Erin gave me a wide-eyed, wondering look. "What's that, Yvette?" she asked.  
  
I dropped to my knees, giving Erin a sly little smile. Fixing her fiancé with
a direct look, I said, "Ross, honey."  
  
He swallowed nervously. "Yeah?"  
  
I handed him the bottle of lotion. "I want you to be the first to fuck my
ass," I said.  
  
His eyes widened like saucers. "O-ohhh . . . ."  
  
I smiled at him, biting my lip and batting my eyes.  
  
Ross took a breath, gave Erin a questioning look. It was pretty obvious that
he was enticed by the idea of anal sex; his cock was sure responding in the
appropriate way. But I had to admire his wanting his future wife's input.  
  
Erin flicked her eyes back and forth between us for a moment, her expression
inscrutable. Then, slowly, she smiled, her round cheeks coloring. "Do it,
baby," she said huskily to her fiancé, pushing up. She brought her face close
to mine, staring into my eyes. "Tell me what I can do."  
  
I grinned.  
  
***  
  
A little sucking, a little licking, and I got on my knees, bending over and
lowering my shoulders to the mat. I curled my arms under my body, arched my
back and sighed as Ross eased his condom-clad cock into my waiting pussy. He
fucked me slow and deep, smoothing his hands over my firm cheeks, patient to
let me tell him when I was ready.  
  
Erin lay on her side against me, running her hands over my body and sharing
small kisses with me. I smiled, murmuring my enjoyment as her hand slid down
between my cheeks, gently massaging my virgin anus. Her fingers were slathered
with lotion, which she gently, then with more insistence, rubbed into my
sphincter.  
  
I sighed, relaxing, feeling the steady rocking motion of Ross' penis inside
me. I sought out Erin's mouth, kissed her tenderly. "Put your finger inside,"
I whispered. "Slowly. Just in and out."  
  
Erin complied, studying my face, watching the play of expressions as her
finger penetrated me. I winced a little, grunted, tried not to push. After a
few minutes, in which Ross never changed his pace -- I wondered what he
thought about his fiancé finger-fucking another girl's back door -- I opened
my eyes, looking at Erin through a hazy film of lust.  
  
"More," was all I said.  
  
She smiled excitedly, and slowly slipped another finger inside my rectum. I
bucked, lifting my head, gritting my teeth. My pussy spasmed around Ross'
cock.  
  
"More!" I cried.  
  
Three fingers, now, stretching my anus open. Erin pumped them in and out
slowly, her face glowing with excitement. Ross dribbled more lotion, cool and
thick, onto my asshole. I could feel some of it oozing inside me. I suppressed
the urge to clench my muscles, and let my anus be loosened by Erin's strong
fingers.  
  
My forehead dropped to the mat. I panted, caught between pleasure and pain. I
was so close to cumming, but something held me back. Something blocked me. My
lower lip vibrated as I breathed in and out.  
  
Erin lifted her head, speaking to Ross. "She's ready, baby," she said
anxiously. "Do it."  
  
Ross moaned, and pulled his cock out of my cunt. I whimpered in anticipation,
automatically held my breath as I felt him press the slick head of his dick
against my butt hole. Once he was lined up, he gripped my hips with both hands
. . . and pushed.  
  
"Uhn!" I grunted, snapping my head up. My sphincter stretched, protesting the
intrusion, but the sensitive nerves around my forbidden opening were alive
with sensation. I could feel even the tiniest movement of Ross' cock as it
slowly penetrated me.  
  
"Ngyahh!" I cried as I felt the head of his cock pop inside my ass. "Ohgod . .
. ohgod . . . ."  
  
Erin ran her hand up and down my back soothingly. She was watching my face
closely. "Do you want him to stop, sweetie?" she asked.  
  
"Uhhnnnno," I grunted. I reached back, slapping my hand to Ross' hip, pulling.
"Go on, baby, push it in!"  
  
"Oh, fuck," he moaned, and impaled me, slowly, steadily, filling my ass with
his cock.  
  
"Ahhh!" I cried, feeling my jaw trembling. "Okay, okayokay! Stopstopstop!"  
  
"Don't move, baby!" said Erin quickly, over my body.  
  
Ross stopped, his cock throbbing inside me. He sighed in satisfaction. "Jesus,
baby, it's so hot! So tight!"  
  
Erin's face appeared beneath mine. She looked up at me, her excitement
obvious. "Does it feel good?" she asked, slipping her hand down beneath me,
between my legs.  
  
I bit my lip, trying to control my labored breathing. "Kind'a," I squeaked.  
  
Her fingers stroked my swollen lips, spreading them apart to find my clitoris.
"How 'bout now."  
  
"Mmm," I moaned softly, responding to her touch. Tingles spread out from my
crotch. The thickness, the sheer weight, of Ross' cock inside me was
indescribable. "B-better."  
  
She lifted her head, kissing and sucking tenderly along my neck, making me
hiss with pleasure. "Now?" she asked breathlessly.  
  
"Ohhhhbabygodjesus," I sighed, and pushed back against Ross.  
  
Ross was no idiot, and he recognized my capitulation. Maybe he could feel my
sphincter relaxing. Or maybe, after two days of fucking me in every position
known to man, he had learned something about how I responded. Whatever the
reason, keeping a firm grip on my tight hips, he eased his cock back, making
me wince, then pushed it back in, making me moan.  
  
He fell into a rhythm, pumping in and out of my tight, burning ass steadily,
slowly increasing the speed and depth of his thrusts. In short order, as
Erin's fingers flailed on my clit, slipping inside my tight tunnel, her lips
and tongue sucking along my neck and down to my nipples now and then, Ross was
fucking my ass with as much intensity and drive as he had my cunt over the
previous days. Whatever pain or discomfort I had at first experienced was
forgotten quickly, replaced by exquisite pleasure.  
  
After a while, Ross stopped moving, holding still and leaning back on his
hands, letting me fuck him with the animalistic urgency that raged through me.
I bucked and rolled, pounding my ass hard against him, driving every one of
his stiff eight inches as deep into my rectum as they would go. Erin fondled
my clit and sucked my puffies desperately, affected by my passion,
masturbating her own pussy frantically with her free hand.  
  
The strange, if intense, sensation of a cock in my ass held off my orgasm, as
much as I was enjoying the fuck. But Erin was obviously inspired. She came
before I did, moaning and biting down on my nipple, lifting her hips off the
mat and panting against my breasts.  
  
Then, moving quickly, she scrambled down beneath me, grabbing my ass as she
positioned her face beneath my pussy. I heard her gasp at what she saw -- I
could only imagine the sight of my cock-stuffed ass from her point of view --
a gasp that turned into a muffled groan as she lifted her head and latched
onto my dripping cunt . . . .  
  
That did it. Oh, my _God_ did that do it! Erin's eager mouth, her fervent
sucking, her hands squeezing my hips, Ross' stiff, pulsing cock . . . .  
  
To describe just how and what I screamed as I came would be futile. All I
remember is the indescribable lightning rush of orgasm, only ten times
stronger than anything I had ever felt before. I felt like my body was
literally exploding. I dug my hands into the mat beneath me, gouging it with
my fingers as I impaled myself hard on Ross' cock. I was dimly aware of Erin
sputtering beneath me, trying to accommodate the literal spray of cum I
unleashed. I didn't even know that Ross was cumming as well.  
  
I collapsed over Erin, devoid of strength, heaving and gasping for breath. My
vision was blurry and the world seem turned upside-down. I felt movement
beneath me as Erin scooted out and turned herself around. I slumped to the
mat, wincing when Ross' cock popped out of my ass. He fell over beside me,
drained as well.  
  
Erin and I stared at each other dazedly, trying to read what the other felt. I
was literally shaking. Never had I experienced anything so incredible.  
  
Erin's pretty face glowed, literally dripping with my fluid, as she smiled.
"Wow," she said, giggling.  
  
I wheezed and panted. "Yeah . . . wow," I agreed.  
  
***  
  
I was still in a daze as James and I got on the plane that would bear us back
home. He didn't say anything to me beyond what he had needed to, and sat
immobile beside me. Had I thought about it, I might have believed he was
jealous, or disappointed for some reason. But I didn't think about it. My mind
remained in that little villa, with Erin and Ross . . . more with Erin.  
  
I touched Ian's Pendant as it hung from my neck. Erin had commented on it that
afternoon when I put it on, saying how beautiful it was. She didn't ask how I
came by it, and I didn't tell her. For some reason, that pendant not only
signified my love for Ian, but . . . .  
  
But for Erin, as well.  
  
_Love? _I thought._ Isn't that going too far? Sure, the sex was great, but . .
. love? You're not in love with Erin, Alyssa. She's a woman, and she's
engaged, and all she wanted from you was what you gave her._  
  
But my smile wouldn't go away, nor would my thoughts, my fondness, my . . .
_adoration_ for Erin.  
  
_They always say, you fall in love with your first time . . . ._  
  
***  
  
Cleo met us at the airport after we touched down. I was still walking on a
cloud, and Cleo noticed, giving me an amused smile. She told James he could
go, that he would be called when it was time for my next date. He left rather
quickly, I thought.  
  
Cleo took me to a little place near the airport, a 'classy dive,' as she put
it, and we sat at the long bar. I wasn't carded. There were a few others in
the place, all men who gave us interested looks. But none of them ever
approached, not that I wanted them to.  
  
"So . . . how was it?" Cleo asked over the rim of her glass of wine.  
  
I smiled, feeling warmth in my cheeks. My backside was still a little sore,
but pleasantly so. "It was . . . incredible," I said wistfully. _Damn, I can
still taste her!_  
  
Cleo chuckled softly. "Told you," she said. "So who was she? Did you recognize
her?"  
  
I bit my lip. "Yeah, I recognized her," I admitted. "She was someone I met
when I was with Arliss."  
  
Cleo nodded, then slid a thick red envelope toward me across the bartop.
"Here," she said with a small smile.  
  
I looked around, then opened the envelope, flipping through the bills. My eyes
widened.  
  
"Five thousand," said Cleo. "In case you don't feel like adding it up."  
  
I blinked. "That's . . . I mean—"  
  
"That's over a thousand dollars more than you should be getting, is that what
you were gonna say?" she asked.  
  
I slipped the envelope inside my jacket. "Yeah."  
  
Cleo shook her head. "You're something else, you know that? I mean, the other
girls, they're hot, they do what their clients want, but you . . . I can't
figure it out."  
  
I reached for my drink. "I can't, either."  
  
_. . . to be continued . . ._




        Pretty Baby Ch. 05


_(Author's Note: This installment contains some very graphic and painful
imagery that may be offensive to some readers. Such events depicted are not
intended to excite or arouse; rather, they further the plot of the story)_  
  
**Part Five: Betrayal and Retribution**  
  
I was still in a daze after coming back from Lake Tahoe. Making love with Erin
and Ross had been the most incredible erotic experience of my life. I only had
to close my eyes, and I felt like I was back at that little villa, tasting
them both. Never had I been so fulfilled and satisfied.  
  
The first day of the semester was the following week, so I decided to hold off
until I was settled in and got a feel for my classes before accepting dates.
Julie and I went shopping for books and new clothes, and while I offered to
pay for some of her purchases, she refused. I understood why, and didn't push
the issue.  
  
The day before classes started, I was sitting on my couch, nothing on but a
long wrinkled T-shirt, when a thunderous pounding sounded at the door.  
  
I gasped and jumped up, looking through the peep hole. I only had to see the
thick shock of silver hair to know who it was. I turned the locks and
deadbolt—  
  
Ian shoved the door open and stormed past me into my apartment, making me gasp
and stumble back, slapping a hand to my chest. I stared after him with fear
and apprehension.  
  
He whirled about in my living room, gritting his teeth. I had never seen Ian
show emotion before, and the display was intimidating.  
  
"How could you?" he asked gruffly.  
  
I stared at him a moment, my fear vanishing, replaced with annoyance. I shoved
the door closed and glared at him. "Well, hello to you, too," I snapped.  
  
"My . . . _daughter_," he said with some difficulty.  
  
I brushed past him, shooting him an acidic, cocky look. "Yeah? What about
her?"  
  
He stared after me as I headed to the kitchen and took a bottle of strawberry
vodka from the freezer. I could feel his eyes on my back as I poured some into
a glass, adding some Diet Coke. I turned back around, a mix of emotions
whirling in my mind.  
  
Ian was glaring, but as my eyes met his, he looked away. He pulled off his
jacket, tossed it on the couch as if my apartment was his. He was dressed in a
suit, something I rarely saw him in. He pulled at his tie, grunting and
grimacing, finally ripping it off. I tried not to show my amusement at the
spectacle, and hid my smile by lifting my glass.  
  
He hurled the tie aside, paced back and forth with his hands on his hips. "Do
you know what my daughter's middle name is?"  
  
I sipped my drink, licked my lips. "No."  
  
I finally faced me. "Riley," he said. "Erin. Riley. Holloway." He enunciated
each word carefully, meaningfully. "Rebecca and I named her after her
grandfather. Bet you didn't know that."  
  
I shook my head, looking down into my drink.  
  
"He was a great man. He started the family fortune by purchasing two piece-of-
shit little newspapers and turning them into giants. I started off in the mail
room at less than a dollar an hour. I _earned_ my way up, even though I was
the old man's son. I had to _prove_ to him that I could take over the business
once I was old enough."  
  
I lowered my glass. "And now you're a pimp," I said.  
  
Ian's features twisted. "You don't know _what_ I am!" he roared, making me
flinch. I almost dropped my glass. I had never seen Ian angry before, never
even close to it. This new side frightened me.  
  
He whirled away, pacing again. He ran his hands through his silver hair. "Do
you have any idea what I'm worth?" he asked at last. The chaotic pattern of
the conversation confused me.  
  
A few crude responses came to mind. I decided not to say anything.  
  
"One-hundred and twenty-seven million dollars, last I checked," he said, but
he didn't seem particularly proud of the figure. "A good portion of that
stands to be inherited by my children, Michael and Erin. Of course, you've
never met Michael. He's been in Asia for the last two years. But Erin . . .
Erin you know pretty well, don't you?"  
  
I lowered my glass, feeling ashamed. "I . . . I didn't know it was her," I
said.  
  
"No, you wouldn't," he said, his voice calm again, yet still forceful, still
strong, as he stepped closer. "Not until you got there. Not until you saw her.
I know you two met before. You could have said no, Alyssa. You could have
refused."  
  
I lifted my eyes, felt a surge of defiance as I boldly met his gaze. "You're
not gonna make me feel guilty about making love to your daughter, Ian," I
said.  
  
My words stung, I knew. I had wanted them to. He winced, turned away. I could
tell he was struggling with his thoughts, but couldn't imagine what was truly
going through his mind.  
  
"And is that really the reason she . . . contacted you?" he asked.  
  
I laughed sharply. "No, actually, she wanted to have a wild threesome with me
and her fiancé," I said, rudely enjoying the way I was getting to him. "Man,
we fucked all weekend long! I'm surprised you can't tell, 'cause I sure as
hell—"  
  
"Enough!" he barked.  
  
I fell quiet, but I didn't back down. I kept my eyes on him, fuming.  
  
"Her fiancé, huh?" he said, and jerked his cell phone out of his pocket.
"Well, he sure as hell won't be once I'm done with him."  
  
My anger blazed. "Don't! You! _Dare_!" I screeched, the pitch of my voice
almost high enough to shatter glass.  
  
Ian snapped his head in my direction, looking shocked, surprised, maybe even
intimidated. He blinked, his face blank.  
  
"What do you think it was all about, Ian?" I cried, slamming my drink down on
the counter, spilling half it's contents. I all but charged Ian as I came
around the breakfast bar of my kitchen, shoving my finger toward him. My words
came rapid-fire from my mouth: "You think I'm after your fucking money? Or,
you think Erin and I cooked something up to get at you, huh? To get back at
Daddy for cheating on Mom and being a fucking pimp? Well, we _didn't!_ She
asked for me! But let me tell you, you self-impressed, I-know-what's-good-for-
everybody _mother fucker_! She sure as _fuck_ would have a reason to hate you!
_I sure as hell do!"_  
  
I spun away, then turned back and kept going, pouring it all out: "God damn
it! You're so fucking infuriating, you know that? You act like you've got all
the answers, but you really don't know shit! It's all numbers and business
with you, isn't it? You really don't give a God damn, up-the-ass _fuck_ about
anyone, do you? It's all about Ian Holloway! The great and wonderful Ian
Holloway, like you're the fucking Wizard of Oz or something!"  
  
I stopped my tirade, glaring at him, then looked down, folding my arms under
my breasts.  
  
His voice was strangely calm. "Alyssa—"  
  
"Fuck you," I spat, as a last, frustrated stab.  
  
He sighed. "Are you done?"  
  
I huffed, squeezing my arms. "Yeah, I'm done."  
  
Ian breathed out heavily, turned away from me. He was quiet for a long time,
facing away from me, running his hands through his hair, standing with his
hands on his hips, fiddling with his titanium watch. He finally fell onto my
couch, took up my cigarettes and lit one.  
  
"This was never a business I wanted to get into," he said off-handedly.  
  
"Then why did you?" I asked.  
  
"About eight years ago," he said, almost as if talking to himself. "I was
driving home from work, late at night. No, correction: I wasn't driving. I was
in the back. Anyway, there was some construction on the highway, so my driver,
Sam, got off the highway and took some back roads. I trusted him to know where
he was going."  
  
Ian tapped ash off his cigarette, pulled on it, made a smoke ring. He watched
it dissipate in the air.  
  
"We stopped at a light," he continued. He laughed sharply. "It was a really
long light. I looked out through the windows, and I saw this pretty young
woman, standing on the corner. Long, dark hair, tight jeans, just the barest
of tops to keep her modest. She was smoking a cigarette, waving at the cars
passing by. Once in a while, she'd look my way."  
  
I listened to him, watching his face, remaining silent.  
  
"I'll never . . . I'll never understand why, but I rolled down the window. I
didn't say anything. But she noticed. Boy, did she notice! She was over there
in a flash! She looked . . . so pretty, but so . . . desperate."  
  
Ian sighed again, smoked his cigarette, flicked off some more ash over my
crystal ashtray. "She got inside just before the light turned green and Sam
took off. I always had the feeling he didn't like having her in the car.
Anyway, we talked a little bit, then she gave me a price, and . . . well . . .
."  
  
I moved closer, got on my knees on the floor beside him. I had never seen Ian
like this. I had never seen him so . . . _human_. I looked away, took up one
of my cigarettes as Ian went on with his story.  
  
"Afterwards, she gave me her phone number, but I really didn't think about her
too much after that. Not for a couple of weeks, until I saw her again, on the
same street, in almost the same clothes. It was almost like a compulsion. I
had to pick her up.  
  
"This time, it was just me. No driver. And she . . . she was a lot more
friendly. She wanted to go back to her place. I said, 'sure.'"  
  
Ian gave me a little smile, not one of condescension, but one that told me he
was entrusting me with something.  
  
"I never felt bad about being with her," Ian said. "Sure, society says I
should have been. I was a married man, after all. In sixteen years, I never
stepped out on my wife. Not once. Other men in my circle, within two, three
years . . . they all had mistresses. It was just . . . part of life. Part of
our world."  
  
"Girls are trophy wives and guys have affairs," I said, recalling Erin's
words.  
  
Ian smiled ruefully. "Yeah," he said, then suddenly jabbed at his chest and
gave me an emphatic look. "But I _never_ gave in!"  
  
I stared up into his eyes. "Yes, you did," I said softly.  
  
His self-righteousness vanished. "Yeah," he said. "I did. And I hated myself
for it, for a while, even though I loved every . . . every damn moment."  
  
Ian pulled on his cigarette again. "Rebecca found out about it. I expected her
to be angry. I wanted her to hate me, I guess. But she didn't. You know what
she told me?"  
  
I looked into his face as he gazed upon me, his features revealing as much of
his pain as he would allow. "What?" I asked.  
  
Ian swallowed down tears. "She told me to 'be careful,'" he said. He laughed
harshly. "'Use protection.' That wasn't what I needed to hear. I needed to
hear that it was wrong, that she wanted me to stop seeing . . . _her_. That .
. . that I wasn't being a good father. Anything! But Rebecca just shrugged it
off. She accepted it."  
  
"And you kept seeing that girl," I said.  
  
Ian nodded. "Yeah," he said with a nod. "Two, three, four times a week. She
was a sexy girl. A smart girl. She didn't try to trap me into anything; she
knew she couldn't. But she did have an idea."  
  
I nodded, understanding. "To start a business," I said.  
  
Ian gave me a funny smile, touched my face. "Maybe that's why I . . . you
remind me so much of her, the way she used to be," he said. "But in so many
ways, you're . . . different. Better."  
  
I touched Ian's leg. "It was Cleo, wasn't it?" I asked.  
  
Ian nodded slowly. "Yes, it was." He touched my face, smiling upon me with
such affection that I couldn't think of anything to say.  
  
"I may have been around the world more than once," he said. "But I've only
been in love three times. I've had my heart broken twice. I don't . . . I
don't think I can handle a third time."  
  
I swallowed my emotions, tried to stay calm. "Who broke your heart, Ian?" I
asked, feeling the film of tears on my eyes, despite my efforts.  
  
His eyes were dark and steady, yet I could see the conflict behind them, the
pain. "My wife," he said. "When she didn't care enough to hate me. And Cleo,
when she didn't love me enough to ask me to leave."  
  
"A-and the third?" I asked, my words coming out in shuddering breaths. "H-has
she broken your heart?"  
  
Ian's face was stoic once more. His eyes were hard and guarded as he stared
into mine. "Not yet," he said, in a strained voice. "And I hope she never
does."  
  
I trembled, sniffed up my tears. "Sh-she won't," I said in a small voice.  
  
Ian didn't say anything more. Taking up his jacket, finding his tie, he headed
to the door. "I hope you're right," he said, then stepped out into the cool
night air.  
  
I stared at the door for a long time, long after Ian was gone. Tears streamed
down my face, soaked into my shirt.  
  
"I won't break your heart, Ian," I said. "I promise."  
  
***  
  
I didn't talk to Ian about that night, nor did I ever bring it up with Cleo.
But Ian's tale revealed my 'madam' in a different light. Cleo was still my
friend, and would always be so, but now I knew something about her, something
cold and venomous. I decided to be a little less trusting of her, and stop
thinking of her as my 'big sister.'  
  
Once I started dating again, about a week after the start of classes, I
returned to my routine of seeing four men a week. Most were gracious men who
only wanted the company of a pretty young girl to make them feel desirable
again. A few, however, were rough and looked to me as little more than a means
to vent their frustrations.  
  
It really didn't matter to me, when it came down to it. Fucking was fucking. I
loved it all.  
  
***  
  
Most people dress up in crazy costumes for Halloween. The rich just put on
expensive masks and do what they always do.  
  
I really didn't want to take a date on Halloween night, preferring to hang out
with Julie and my other friends, go to a house party, hell, maybe even mess
around with a boy or two. The youngest man I'd had sex with had been Ross, and
for some reason, I was itching to be with a guy my age.  
  
Alas, Cleo called and said that Arliss Montgomery was back in town, and he had
asked for me. There was some posh gala downtown that he was attending, and he
wanted me to go with him. I hemmed and hawed, then thought about how
deliciously naughty he had been the last time . . . I realized I couldn't say
no.  
  
So I put on my black evening gown and a white shawl, and James took me to meet
my lover at his hotel. Damn, Arliss looked gorgeous in his tailored tuxedo. I
met him in his room, and he kissed my hand, letting me in. The way he looked
at me, with remembrance of our last time together . . . if he had told me to
get on my knees, I would have been down there faster than you could say 'blow
job.'  
  
Instead, he handed me a feathered French mask, attached to a long, skinny
handle, showed me his own. I giggled at the sight of the white plastic mask he
would be wearing. It had a really long, smooth nose, more than reminiscent of
an erect penis. I could tell he had the same kinky thoughts about it as I did.  
  
"I was thinking about you when I picked it out," he said with a wink.  
  
I rubbed my body against his suggestively. "And after tonight, you'll never
look at it the same way again," I promised.  
  
We went to the convention center in a rented limo, and arrived amid all the
flashing lights of the paparazzi that one would expect at a Hollywood movie
opening. I walked beside Arliss up the red carpet, blinking and flinching at
the flashes going off around us. I felt like I was hanging off the arm of a
prince as Arliss waved and nodded with professional courtesy to those who
called his name.  
  
"Hey! Hey, honey! What's your name?" someone called. A photographer, waving
frantically at me.  
  
"Yvette," I said, loud enough for him to hear. I giggled. Flashbulbs popped.  
  
"Yvette what?" someone else asked.  
  
I just smiled coyly. _Just Yvette_, I thought.  
  
Arliss chuckled once we got past the gauntlet. His strong hand was on my back.
"I don't know if I should be proud or jealous," he said, fitting his mask over
his face. I guess men's masks were fixed, and women had to hold theirs up by
the handle. "They were more interested in you than me."  
  
I gave him an exaggerated pout, giggling again at the mask. The long, slightly
curved nose was more than a little sexually suggestive. "Aw, poor baby," I
said. "I'll massage your ego later."  
  
He grinned from under the gleaming white mask. "Massage whatever you want,
baby," he said. "I don't have anywhere to be tomorrow."  
  
I breathed in with arousal at the thought of staying up all night with Arliss,
testing the limits of his sexual stamina . . . waking up late in the morning
together . . . .  
  
There were thousands of attendees at the gala, all of them in tuxedos and
gowns and wearing masks. A small string orchestra was set up in the middle of
the main room, beneath a large banner in black and orange that read, "Tenth
Annual Halloween Charity Ball." And beneath those words: _"Proceeds to benefit
Muscular Dystrophy Association or America."_  
  
"At least it's a good cause this year," mused Arliss. "Last year, it was for
the building of a new art center. Damn project still hasn't gotten off the
ground."  
  
I smiled up at him. "So, are you moving here, or not?" I asked him. "You've
been back and forth from Florida for the last three years."  
  
He smirked. "Been checking up on me?"  
  
I shrugged. "Let's just say I'm curious."  
  
His eyes studied mine. "If I did move here," he said carefully. "I'd like to
spend more time with you."  
  
I bit my lip, feeling a swell of excitement. "I'd like that," I said
earnestly.  
  
Arliss kept me close as we made the rounds. We met businessmen and lawyers,
politicians and diplomats. Some I had seen before; some I had dated before. A
couple of the ones I knew on a more intimate level gave me wistful looks as
they tried not to betray just how well they knew me. Especially those with
their wives. They regarded Arliss with some measure of jealousy, knowing what
he was in for. I was feeling appropriately naughty.  
  
We danced a little, and I was grateful for the lessons provided by Cleo and
Anne. Maybe I didn't know the Foxtrot from the Charleston, but I knew a few
steps, enough not to embarrass myself, or Arliss. We had some champagne, took
advantage of the seafood buffet – I was really starting to develop a taste for
caviar – and generally enjoyed ourselves.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please!"  
  
The music stopped, and everyone looked to the center of the floor, where the
mayor stood on a small dais. He held out his hands, graciously accepting the
light applause as he was recognized.  
  
"I would like to thank you all for coming out tonight and leaving all the
little ghouls at home."  
  
Some courteous laughter rose from the crowd.  
  
"What a putz," muttered Arliss as he clapped.  
  
I snorted, almost spitting out my champagne, laughing quietly.  
  
"But, seriously, thank you, thank you, thank you all, for digging deep in your
pockets for this worthy cause. As you know, MDA has . . . ."  
  
The mayor prattled on, giving his speech. I wasn't really paying attention.
The false honesty of politics held no attraction for me. I looked around at
the crowd, fiddling with my mask, sipping champagne, admiring some of the
others' masks, the dresses and jewelry of the women. I recognized a few other
escorts I had seen before at such functions, wondering if they were Ian's
girls or members of a different agency . . . .  
  
And then I saw him. Staring right at me from across the room.  
  
_Gary_.  
  
I breathed in sharply. It had been so long since I had seen him, but never
could I forget his face. He had a blank expression, stoic, almost emotionless.
He had one hand in the pocket of his tuxedo pants, the other holding a white
mask. He seemed to be alone, even though he was surrounded by people.  
  
I couldn't help but stare at him, feeling a mixture of emotions stirring in my
mind: the love, the affection we had shared, the pain of his leaving . . . .  
  
Everything else was shut out from my senses. I heard nothing but my own
heartbeat, saw nothing but Gary. I felt a sudden urge to go to him, to be with
him and tell him I was sorry, to throw away everything and pick up where we
had left off. I suddenly felt the absence of the ring he had given me, the
diamond bracelet engraved with our love. My heart rose in my throat and my
knees felt weak.  

I guess my thoughts must have been visible on my face. Gary's eyes flickered
down, and he gritted his teeth. He was feeling regret, I figured. Or maybe
jealousy, since I was so close to Arliss. With a deft step, he slipped back
into the crowd.  
  
The rest of the world rushed back into my ears once he was gone, overwhelming
me for a moment.  
  
". . . and, so, once again, thank you all for coming," the mayor was saying,
finishing his speech. There was more applause, some ever-enthusiastic
cheering.  
  
"Yvette?"  
  
I looked up at Arliss, blinking. He looked so alien, inhuman even, with the
mask on. I felt light-headed.  
  
He pulled the mask off. "You okay, baby?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.  
  
I swallowed dryly. "Um . . . I need to sit down," I said.  
  
"Sure, sure," he said, and guided me with his hand at my back toward one of
the wide round tables the sat around the edge of the main floor. He pulled out
a chair for me, and I sunk down into it. Arliss took a seat beside me, leaning
forward, studying my face. He was genuinely concerned as he touched my
forehead.  
  
"You getting sick, Yvette?" He asked. "You feel a little clammy."  
  
I blinked, took a sip of champagne, looking around. I was conscious of the
fact that I was looking for Gary. But all I saw was a sea of evening gowns and
tuxedos.  
  
"I-I'm fine," I said. I forced an embarrassed smile. "Just, uh . . . it's been
a long week. Mid-terms, you know."  
  
Arliss smiled, touched my chin. "I didn't know you were a student," he said.
"What are you studying?"  
  
I laughed sharply. "Um . . . I'm still undecided," I said.  
  
His smile remained, all at once so fatherly and sexy. "You'll figure it out,"
he said. "You're a smart woman."  
  
I gave him an affectionate look, touched his clean-shaven face. "Thanks,
baby," I whispered.  
  
He took my hand. "I've got an idea," he said. "Let's get out of here. I put in
my appearance, snobbed with the politicos. I hate this kind of shit, to tell
the truth. Why don't we go find a greasy spoon diner somewhere, have some
fattening food?"  
  
I laughed, letting out the tension. I stared into his eyes. God, what
beautiful eyes! "And then . . . can we go back to the hotel and make love?" I
asked, conscious of my need to overwhelm my senses through sex, to work out my
emotions in the most basic way.  
  
Arliss licked his lips. "Anything you want, baby," he said.  
  
I sighed. Thoughts of Gary began to fade, replaced by carnal desire. "Let me
just use the little girl's room," I said. "I wanna freshen up."  
  
Arliss nodded. "I've got a few people to say goodbye to," he said. "Meet me at
the doors."  
  
"Okay," I said, then impulsively grabbed his face with both hands, pressing my
lips to his, searching for his tongue. He was a little startled at first –
public etiquette among high society practically forbade such sensuous kissing
– but he didn't stop me.  
  
I pulled back, my arousal spiking. "I'm gonna fuck you all night, Arliss," I
whispered hotly.  
  
Arliss shuddered, turned on by my molten sexuality. "Let's get out of here,"
he said, then fixed his tie. "Before we make the front page news."  
  
I giggled, biting my lip. We stood together, and I excused myself, looking for
the ladies' room. A helpful steward told me where to go, and I headed down the
hallway he indicated. I passed a few elegant society wives, some of whom
recognized what I was and gave me 'tsk, tsk' looks. I ignored the jealous old
bats.  
  
I found the bathroom, used one of the stalls, washed my hands and touched up
my face. There were a few other women in there, and we chatted casually. For a
few moments, at least, I was just another woman, and not a call girl, not a
whore.  
  
Finally, I headed out of the bathroom –  
  
"Hi."  
  
I gasped, almost running into him in the hallway. I'd had my head down,
stepping quickly, snapping my purse closed, and hadn't been paying attention
to where I was going. Gary had appeared, almost literally, out of nowhere.  
  
"H-hi," I said back, staring into his eyes. His face seemed even stronger than
before. He looked younger, more fit.  
  
Gary fidgeted a little, shifting on his feet. His eyes darted from mine,
wandering over my body, down the hall. The aroma of alcohol was strong on his
breath, and his eyes were a little glassy. I wondered how much he'd had to
drink. "You got a minute?"  
  
I felt uncomfortable, remembering how upset he had become when he discovered
my new profession. I really didn't want to remind him of that, but I couldn't
get around it. "Um . . . I'm with someone," I said.  
  
He snorted derisively. "Yeah, I noticed," he said, giving me a disgusted look.
But it vanished instantly. "I-I'm sorry," he said. "Look, I . . . I just want
a minute. That's all."  
  
I had this feeling, a sharp stab of fear that sprouted in my chest, felt the
instinct to just leave, but . . . it was _Gary_. I felt I owed him the chance
to explain himself, and to hear my side of things, if that was what he wanted.  
  
I nodded. "Okay," I said.  
  
Gary grinned, like a schoolboy, and I smiled back, that momentary fear
disappearing. Gently, he took my hand, lead me down the hall. We didn't say
anything as we walked, and I didn't think anything of where he was taking me .
. . in hindsight, I should have recognized that there was something different
about him. Something . . . dangerous.  
  
We went through a couple of doors, ended up on a large breezeway that
overlooked the parking lot two stories below. The lights of the city glimmered
and glowed around us, clouds obscured the moon overhead. There was a welcome,
warm breeze that countered the clammy feel of the air conditioning inside.  
  
Gary and I took out our cigarettes at the same time. We shared a smile at the
serendipity of our actions. We lit up, exhaled, and stared at each other. My
heart fluttered. He was still so handsome; I knew I would always have feelings
for Gary.  
  
"You know," he said. "I keep thinking about that very first night we met. You
remember that?"  
  
"Of course I do, Gary."  
  
He smiled sheepishly, pulled on his cigarette. "Honestly, that whole night, I
thought you were, like, sixteen," he said. "I mean, you were just so . . .
sweet."  
  
I blushed.  
  
His next words were caustic: "What happened to you?"  
  
My smile faded. I met his gaze. "You know what happened, Gary," I said. "After
all, you _helped_ make it happen."  
  
He gritted his teeth. "Y-you . . ." he paused, controlling himself. "You told
me you didn't want me to be your first. Because you didn't you want to fall in
love with me."  
  
I nodded, averting my eyes, smoking. "Yeah. I said that."  
  
"Did you fall in love with him?"  
  
I swallowed. "Gary—"  
  
"I-I mean, I'm willing to bet you didn't, 'cause otherwise you wouldn't have
become a whore—" he cut himself off with a rude laugh, knowing he had said too
much.  
  
My emotions flared. I was barely keeping it together. I flicked my cigarette
and turned sharply to the door. "I'm leaving."  
  
"Wait!" he shouted, and rushed up to intercept me. His hand grabbed my arm, a
little too roughly. "Alyssa, I'm sorry! I've just been going crazy—"  
  
I tore my arm away and glared at him. "You wanna know the truth, Gary?"  
  
He blinked profusely. "Yes," he said simply.  
  
"I _was_ in love with you," I snapped, feeling my eyes swell. "Even before you
came back, before you told me your wife had left, before I started thinking I
wanted a life with you. I _loved_ you, you asshole!"  
  
Gary stared at me, gape-mouthed. "I-I love you too, baby. I always have."  
  
I laughed sharply. "You don't get it," I said, stepping away, gathering my
shawl about my shoulders. "I _loved_ you. Past-tense. When you came back . . .
I was taking a break from it. From _this_. And when we were together, I was
ready to just walk away, and be with you. I wanted to."  
  
I faced him. "But you couldn't handle it," I said directly. "And I knew, after
that day you walked out, that even if you did come back again, it would never
be the same. Because I wasn't _your_ girl anymore. It was all right when I was
_your_ whore. You could handle _that_. But I'm not your Sunday-afternoon
cocksucker anymore."  
  
I left him stunned by my words, heading to the door, my heels click-clacking
on the cement. "Good-bye, Gary."  
  
"Fine," he said darkly. "Go back to your _trick_, your _john_. Go fuck your
rich _nigger_."  
  
I stopped at the door, bristling. His words, the way he spoke them, the way he
degraded me down to the lowest common denominator . . . I knew I should have
left, should have just thrown open the door and disappeared. But my anger, my
pride, wouldn't let me. And that proved to be the costliest mistake I had ever
made.  
  
I whirled back around, marched up to Gary, and slapped him. Hard. It made him
flinch, stagger on his feet. His cigarette flew from his mouth.  
  
He slowly looked back at me, stunned, surprised . . . and angry. No, it wasn't
anger. It was rage. Pure, primal, careless, reckless rage that destroys
everything before it. Gary's eyes settled on mine with a dark, hollow look,
and I realized then that I was in trouble. The reason for the fear I had felt
before now became clear to me, and it flooded back in spades. And I realized,
chillingly: _this isn't Gary anymore_.  
  
"You bitch," he whispered harshly. Blood trickled from his lip.  
  
I gasped, frightened by the look on his face, that expression of total
darkness, of evil. I stumbled back, wobbling on heels that suddenly seemed too
cumbersome. My hands shook as I fumbled with my purse, trying to open it.
_Grab your phone, call James, and run, Alyssa. Run for your life._  
  
But Gary was too quick, and I was too scared. He smacked the purse from my
hand, making me yelp in pain and fear, then back-handed me. Pain exploded
across my face. I cried out, falling to the floor, knocked away from him. I
felt warm liquid trickling out of my nose, over my lip.  
  
Blood. _My_ blood.  
  
Then Gary was upon me, grabbing my hair, making me cry out as he hauled me to
my feet. He dragged me around, away from the door, making me stumble. I clawed
for his hand, yelling at him, my fear mitigated by primal anger. I tried to
kick him, and only graced his leg.  
  
He spun me around, and for a moment, all I saw was the most evil, terrible,
sneering face. And then his closed fist, just before it smashed into my nose.  
  
I fell back against the railing with a grunt, shocked, my eyes blurry. More
blood poured down my face. The sickly-sweet aroma was all I could smell. I
gripped the railing for support. My knees were weak; I could barely stand. My
entire body shook with pain, fear, and the shock at what Gary was doing.  
  
"P-please," I begged him.  
  
But he was gone, the Gary I knew hidden away, replaced by the dark-hearted
brute who now grabbed me. He grabbed a handful of my gown, ripped it down,
exposing me. "That's right, bitch, beg me!" he roared.  
  
I was crying now, trying to get away, but I lacked the strength. I couldn't
see, couldn't stand, couldn't fight back.  
  
I felt the fabric of my dress rip as he tore it away. I felt even more
humiliated and vulnerable now that I was nude. His hands grabbed my body
roughly, turning me about, bending me over the railing. The metal was cold
against the undersides of my breasts. I cried and begged him to stop,
shrieking and screaming. I saw people in the parking lot below, standing
around, talking, smoking, oblivious to the violence happening above them.  
  
_Why aren't they doing anything? Can't they hear me?_  
  
Gary was leaning over me, his body pressed to mine, the stench of alcohol on
his breath blasting in my ear as he grabbed my naked hip and jerked me against
him. His hand worked between us, and I knew he was unzipping his slacks. I
could feel him prodding at my pussy, his cock hard – _how can he be turned
on?_ – and trying to get in.  
  
"Don't pretend you don't want it, baby," he sneered. "You're just a fucking
whore, after all." He grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerking my head back. It
reminded me, suddenly, of that first night, after he had come back. I had
liked the way he had been rough, then.  
  
But this was different. This was pain. _Rape_.  
  
"No, Gary, don't!" I screamed. "Oh, God, please, don't!"  
  
"Shut up, whore," he growled, and dug his fingers into my hip. He shoved
forward, his cock rudely pushing inside me. It was so rough, and I was so dry—  
  
I screamed. Louder than before, louder than I ever had in my life. The pain
was more intense than when I had lost my virginity. It stabbed through me like
a knife shoved into my belly. I couldn't believe Gary was doing this. I
couldn't believe . . . .  
  
_He was raping me._  
  
But he was, pounding against me, his cock digging like a serpent through my
garden. My body betrayed me as my natural wetness flowed. Gary groped, clawed,
and scratched at me, leaving welts and bruises. I gripped the railing, shocked
in disbelief at what was happening. The man I had once professed to love was
raping me. I could barely see through the haze of blood and tears to the
parking lot below. Figures scurried like ants, running toward the building.  
  
_Oh, sure, now you fucking come to my rescue! Now, when he's already--_  
  
Gary jerked on my head, sucked wetly on my neck. His vile cock invaded me
again and again as he panted and grunted and moaned. I felt every humiliating
thrust of his cock, the cool fabric of his slacks against my naked cheeks and
the backs of my thighs.  
  
And then he stopped, shaking against me. And I felt it. The hot rush of liquid
inside me, which I had always loved yet which now was the most disgusting
thing I had ever felt in my life. I cried again at feeling it. I had never
felt more defiled in my life.  
  
Gary pushed back abruptly, pulling out of me, letting go of my body. I
collapsed, crying, against the railing, feeling his seed trickling out from
between my legs. I curled up into a ball, wanting to protect myself, to stop
any further debasement and pain.  
  
I don't know how long I lay like that, shaking and sobbing, feeling cheap and
abused. I kept thinking, over and over, that it had not really happened, that
it had not been Gary, but maybe someone else. Someone I could hate.  
  
I heard a door slam, and hands reaching for me. I screamed, flailing with my
arms, beating back those hands.  
  
"Hey, baby, don't be like that!"  
  
"Yeah, we just wanna help!"  
  
"Damn, check out that bod . . . ."  
  
"Dude, she's already naked . . . ."  
  
I sobbed uncontrollably, trying to pull myself in even more, wanting to find a
little hole to crawl into, to disappear. _No, not again, _I thought_. Please
not again . . . ._  
  
And then, _he_ was there.  
  
I heard grunts, cries, exclamations. The hard impacts of flesh on flesh. I
managed to open my eyes, looking through the film of pain. And there he was:
my guardian, my protector. Beating back a couple of men in white chef's coats.
His moves were quick and brutal, powerful. The two men fell to the floor,
unconscious . . . or dead. I really didn't care which at the moment.  
  
James knelt down beside me, his hard face registering vicarious pain. He
slowly offered me his hand.  
  
"Come on, Alyssa," he said softly. "I won't let anything else happen to you. I
promise."  
  
I was trembling, shaking like a frightened kitten. I tried to speak, but I
couldn't.  
  
"Come on," he said, more firmly.  
  
I reached out with a shaking hand, took his. Immediately, James gathered me
up, his strong arms around me, holding me close. He rose, surrounding me with
his arms, protecting me, and took me away.  
  
***  
  
Ian and Cleo met us at my apartment. Upon seeing me, Cleo took me into the
bathroom to clean me up. I did a lot of crying, and Cleo held me, soothing me
with her words. I winced when she touched my face with the washcloth, cried
some more when I saw the blood. I didn't want to look in the mirror. I didn't
want to see what Gary had done to me.  
  
A numbness finally set in, for which I was thankful. Cleo applied a bandage to
my nose, said something about it needing to be 'set.' I would have to go the
hospital, but I didn't want to. I didn't want the additional humiliation of
admitting that I had been raped.  
  
Ian and James were talking, standing toward the end of my living room, by the
patio door. I kept staring at Ian, not knowing what I was telling him with my
eyes, not knowing what he was reading. He gritted his teeth at what James told
him.  
  
Finally, Ian took out his phone, started dialing.  
  
"Who are you calling?" Cleo asked as she sat beside me. There was something
about the way she asked that. A sense of dread . . . of fear, even.  
  
Ian shot her a look, lifted the phone to his ear. "I'd like to speak to Mr.
Stone," he said.  
  
Cleo jumped up. "Ian—"  
  
He raised a hand, glared at her. His eyes flickered to mine for a moment. Cleo
stopped, then sighed. She came back and sat down next to me on the couch,
holding me again. Ian talked quietly into the phone, turning his face away.  
  
"Wh-who's he calling?" I asked Cleo. My own voice sounded so alien to me, so
quiet and whimpering.  
  
"Shh, baby, don't worry about it," she said, petting my damp hair, kissing my
temple.  
  
"Who's he calling?" I asked again, more forcefully, looking to Ian as he
opened the sliding glass door to my balcony and stepped out. I found Cleo's
eyes.  
  
She stared back. "You don't wanna know," she said gravely.  
  
I shuddered as I cried again.  
  
***  
  
I did go to the emergency room, about an hour later. I suffered the
indignities of their questions and the clinical procedure of a rape kit. The
nurse made the comment that I should not have cleaned up, since the soap
'tainted the sample.' I glared at her and told her to get the fuck out.  
  
A female police officer came to take my statement. I didn't give her Gary's
name and really didn't feel like talking. I guess she had seen more than a few
rape victims, because she didn't push the issue and gave me a business card.
In case I felt like talking later, she told me.  
  
There was some 'vaginal tearing,' as the doctor who came in a couple of hours
later put it. My nose was broken, which I pretty much figured. I winced when
he shifted the septum back into place and applied a fresh bandage. At least I
hadn't lost any teeth, although one of them felt a little loose. The doctor
assured me that it would reset itself.  
  
They took some blood, telling me they were going to run some tests. Another
nurse came in to the harshly-lit ER room where I sat and gave me some pills.
Cleo held my hand as I finally passed out.  
  
Cleo drove me home the following afternoon. I asked her where Ian was. Cleo
just gave me a look that told me I shouldn't ask too many questions about his
whereabouts.  
  
She ordered a pizza, and mixed me a cocktail of strawberry vodka and Diet
Coke. I really didn't want to drink, but the alcohol helped me relax a little.
We watched TV, smoked some cigarettes. I don't think either of us said more
than a handful of words to each other.  
  
"Has it ever happened to you?" I asked her after a while, as we sat watching
Oprah.  
  
Cleo looked to me, tapping ash off her cigarette. She nodded. "A couple
times," she said.  
  
_A couple?_ I sniffed. "Does it ever go away?"  
  
Cleo took a deep breath. "Most of it," she said. "Look, Alyssa . . . you're
gonna have to deal with this. I don't want to sound harsh about it, but . . .
you have two choices. You can curl up into a little ball and be afraid of
people for the rest of your life, or you can accept that you were raped and go
on."  
  
I didn't say anything. I just stared at my cigarette, watching the smoke drift
up and disappear. I reached for my cocktail and took a hefty gulp. I was
suddenly glad Cleo had mixed it for me.  
  
"I can't believe he . . . he could do that," I said at last. I rubbed my eyes,
trying not to cry.  

Cleo sighed, pulling me to her. She brushed my hair back. "You never believe
it when it's someone you know," she said. "It's harder that way, I think,
because you don't want to hate them."  
  
I took a shuddering breath. "H-he loves me," I said.  
  
"Alyssa," Cleo said firmly, turning my head to look at her. Her eyes were dark
and hard. "He doesn't love you. He wouldn't have done that if he did."  
  
"I-I should've listened to him," I said, feeling a tear trickle down my cheek.
"I should've—"  
  
"Don't," she said warningly, her voice edgy. "It wasn't your fault, Alyssa.
Don't try to think you could have stopped it. You're just gonna drive yourself
crazy. It's done, baby. All you can do now is go on."  
  
_Like you?_ I thought. "How'd it happen?"  
  
Cleo sighed. She understood what I meant. She unwrapped her arms from my
shoulders and got up. I watched her head into the kitchen, come back with my
bottle and another glass. She topped of my drink, poured one for herself, sat
back down.  
  
"My father," she said.  
  
I gasped, covering my face. I winced a little, touching my broken nose.  
  
"I was pretty young," Cleo continued, staring at the TV. "Just a girl. I
really didn't know anything about anything. My father was a dock foreman,
worked a lot. When he wasn't working, he was drinking. Sometimes, he'd come
home at two, three in the morning. I'd hear them fighting. My mom and dad, I
mean. Then I'd hear her crying, and . . . I'd hear him . . . _grunting_."  
  
I watched Cleo, saw the pain and lingering disgust on her face, the way she
steeled herself against the memory. She tapped her cigarette over the ashtray.  
  
"My Mom was pretty sick," she continued. "At least, that's what Dad always
told me. Every once in a while, as I was growing up, Mom would go away for a
few weeks, sometimes months. I didn't know it then, but she was schizophrenic.
Sometimes, she would stop taking her pills, and that was when she had to go
away."  
  
Cleo finally looked to me. "Finally, she never came back," she said. "I didn't
find out until years later that she had snuck a bunch of pills while in the
hospital and overdosed."  
  
"Oh, God," I gasped. "Cleo—"  
  
She kept going, cutting me off: "So then 'Daddy' tells me that, since Mom
wasn't going to be around anymore, I had to take up the slack. I thought that
just meant washing the clothes and dishes."  
  
She shook her head ruefully. "One night, he comes home, drunk off his ass.
Calls me into the bedroom and tells me I need to learn how to . . . 'take care
of a man.'" She huffed. "Bastard didn't even tell me when he was gonna cum. I
almost choked on it."  
  
"After that," she said, looking to me again. "Well, let's just say I learned a
lot."  
  
"I'm sorry, Cleo," I said, suddenly feeling that what Gary had done to me was
almost nothing compared to being raped by one's own father.  
  
Cleo forced a smile. "Hey," she said. "Let's get drunk."  
  
***  
  
I wobbled out to the living room the following day, groaning at my hangover.
Cleo was still passed out in the bed. We had fallen asleep together, holding
one another, giving each other comfort. If we had not been drunk, I had the
feeling that the soft kisses we had shared might have turned into something
more. I was glad it had not.  
  
I fell down on the couch, turned on the TV. I mixed some Ovaltine for
breakfast and slowly began to sober up. I watched the stupid 'Judge' shows
before the news came on, peripherally listened as the pretty fake blonde
talked about car crashes, the latest political scandal . . . and the discovery
of a body at an apartment complex.  
  
"Police are looking for information relating to the execution-style murder of
a local technologies administrator," the anchorwoman was saying. "Gary Andrew
Jackson, 35, was found dead late last night in an apartment on the city's
north side—"  
  
I snapped my head up, staring at the screen. _Oh, my God!_  
  
The TV screen showed an image of Gary's face – _my_ Gary's face – taken from
some photo, before the image was minimized. The anchorwoman continued:
"Neighbors report that they heard some arguing from the apartment, but never
heard gunshots. No one was seen entering or leaving the apartment other than
Mr. Jackson. He was allegedly killed by a single gunshot wound to the back of
his head—"  
  
I stared at the screen, trembling, shaking. _Gary? Dead?_  
  
"Jackson, an administrator with APS Computer Solutions, was last seen on
Halloween night at the Tenth Annual Halloween Ball to benefit muscular
dystrophy, and had not been seen since. He is survived by his legally-
separated wife, and his two children—"  
  
"Oh, God!" I exclaimed, and scrambled from the couch. I found my little red
purse, dug out the cell phone within. I was glad the number was on speed-dial;
I could not have remembered it if I tried.  
  
"Ian Holloway."  
  
"You son of a bitch!" I screamed into the phone. "You didn't have to kill
him!"  
  
"Alyssa, calm down—"  
  
"No!" I shrieked. "I'm not gonna fucking calm down! You killed him! You
murdered Gary!"  
  
"Look, why don't I come over, and we can—"  
  
"No! Stay away from me! I don't ever wanna talk to you again!" I slapped the
phone closed and threw it across the room, falling to my knees on the floor. I
sobbed and bawled, burying my face in my hands.  
  
I had forgotten that Cleo was there. I didn't hear her approach, and cried out
when her arms came around me from behind. I started to pull away, but she drew
me back, wrapping her arms and legs around me.  
  
"Shh, baby, it's okay," she whispered, stroking my hair, rocking against me.  
  
"H-he killed him," I blubbered, crying. "H-he killed Gary . . . ."  
  
"I know, baby, I know . . . ."  
  
***  
  
I didn't go back to class for the rest of the week. Cleo left late that second
night, after giving me a sleeping pill to knock me out. I awoke the following
day with a dry taste in my mouth, still groggy from the narcotic. I took a
shower, touching between my legs. It hurt a little, but not as much. I would
heal, I knew . . . at least physically.  
  
I finally took a look in the mirror. Only two days had passed; my eyes sported
dark circles beneath them. My nose was red and raw, a little crooked beneath
the bandage, and my upper lip showed the dark congealed blood of a split.
There were fading red welts and bruises around my breasts, my right thigh, and
the base of my neck.  
  
I really didn't feel anything as I looked at the evidence of violence upon me.
I just felt detached, removed, as if looking at someone else.  
  
I lowered my eyes, brushed my teeth, rinsed, spat. I was just heading out of
the bathroom when I heard the knock at the door.  
  
I froze, slowly licking my lips. I recognized the cadence of the knock; it was
Julie's typical _tap-tap-tap_. She had called a couple of times, but I had not
answered once I read her name in the caller ID window. I didn't want to go
through the pain of explaining what had happened.  
  
I approached the door, looked through the peep hole, saw her cherubic face. I
sighed.  
  
"I'm not feeling well," I said through the door.  
  
"Alyssa, let me in, please?" she asked.  
  
"I'm really pretty tired . . . ."  
  
I saw the expression on her face as she sighed heavily. "Alyssa, I know what
happened."  
  
I was quiet a long moment. I leaned my forehead against the door, then slowly
turned the bolts. I pushed away and headed into the living room, allowing
Julie to let herself in. I heard the door open and close, the whisper of
movement as Julie set her backpack on the floor.  
  
I turned to face her in the room, fell into the couch. Julie gasped slightly,
seeing the bruises on my face. She took a tentative step closer, her eyes wide
and round.  
  
"How did you—" I began.  
  
"Cleo."  
  
I nodded. _Of course._ I frowned. "You two been talking?"  
  
Julie deflected the question with a small smile, and sat down beside me. "God,
I wish there was something I could do," she said.  
  
I let out a sharp laugh. "Get me some more booze, that would help," I said.  
  
"That's not the answer, Alyssa," she said.  
  
"Oh, yeah? You ever been raped?" I asked bitterly.  
  
Julie wasn't fazed. She shook her head slowly, giving me nothing but sympathy
and compassion. "I'm sorry," she whispered, lightly settling her hand on my
back.  
  
I huffed, reached for my cigarettes. "Why? You didn't do it."  
  
Julie groaned in frustration. "God! You make it so hard to be your friend
sometimes, you know that?"  
  
I sighed. "I'm just so . . . ." I struggled to find the words.  
  
"Pissed off? Ashamed?"  
  
I frowned, looking at her round, pretty face. "Yeah."  
  
Julie nodded. "I know," she said, then smiled sheepishly. "I mean, I don't
_know_, but . . . I've done a lot of reading. And, you know Lindsey . . . ."  
  
I gave my friend a surprised look. "She was . . .?"  
  
Julie scrunched her lips together. "Yeah. About a year ago. Couple'a
gangsters, I think. She doesn't really talk about it."  
  
I stared down. Lindsey seemed so sweet, so innocent! _She had been raped? How
did she go on? How could she be the way she is, all 'bubbles and sunshine,'
after something like that?_  
  
"Look, I don't know what it's like," Julie said. "And I pray to God I never
will. But from what I've learned, it's like . . . being in a really bad car
accident. It hurts, and it leaves scars, and you feel like you never wanna go
for another ride. But, after a while, the pain goes away, and the scars fade,
and . . . next thing you know, you're getting behind the wheel again."  
  
I lit a cigarette, blew out smoke. Julie kept massaging my back.  
  
"It's gonna take a while," I said at last.  
  
"I know," Julie said. "I'm your friend, Alyssa. That means I'm gonna be here,
no matter what."  
  
I couldn't help but smile. Cleo had been supportive, but she was more like the
hard-edged bitch whose words were often pithy and rough. Julie was different.
She was a true friend, one who accepted me no matter what. I couldn't help but
love her for that.  
  
"Hey, what's that?" she asked, touching my chin. "Is that a smile?"  
  
I laughed softly, ducking my head. I felt my cheeks stretch. The bruises
beneath my eyes stung, and I winced.  
  
Julie chuckled and hugged me. For a moment, just a moment, I shuddered at the
feel of her full breasts against my arm, the warmth of her skin, the sweet,
girlish perfume she wore . . . .  
  
"Well, as it just so happens," Julie said, her voice upbeat. She uncurled her
arms and stood, heading to the foyer to pick up her backpack. "I don't have
anything to do all weekend, so . . . ." she pulled out two bottles of
strawberry vodka, grinning ear to ear.  
  
I laughed. "I thought you said drinking wasn't the answer," I said.  
  
"It's not," she responded cheerfully. "We already got the answers out. Now
it's just girl fun time. 'Sides, I'm planning on taking my share."  
  
I just shook my head.  
  
"And," she added, setting the bottles down and reaching back into her pack.
She produced a couple packs of cigarettes.  
  
I laughed again.  
  
"Not only that . . ." she pulled out some DVD movies and a pack of playing
cards. She bit her lip. "Ca-ching!" She laughed. "But you buy the pizza."  
  
I smiled fondly upon my friend. "Deal," I said.  
  
***  
  
Being around Ian, Cleo, and just about everyone else in my life, I had always
been constantly reminded of what I was. But with Julie, I felt like just
another teenaged college student, even with what had happened. Her bubbly
effluence, her simple outlook on life . . . Julie was no bimbo airhead who
thought everything was black and white, but she had a very concise philosophy.
Good things and bad things alike happened in everyone's life, period. It was
how you dealt with them that mattered.  
  
"So what's the worst thing that ever happened to you?" I asked.  
  
Julie shrugged as she dealt another round of Gin. We sat on the floor before
my TV, the first bottle of vodka half-full between us. The half-finished pizza
– pepperoni, mushrooms, and Italian sausage, what Julie called a 'PMS' pizza –
sat to the side.  
  
"When my folks died," she said casually.  
  
I stared at her.  
  
Julie made a little smile. "It happened when I was thirteen," she said. "Car
accident. We flipped over and over and over . . . mom died right away; she
broke her neck. Dad, well . . . it took a while. All he wanted to do was hold
me. He kept telling me that everything was gonna be all right; I just kept
crying the whole time. The firemen had to pry my arms off him."  
  
"Jesus Christ," I breathed. "God, Julie, I never . . . ."  
  
She shrugged again. "Bad things happen, Alyssa," she said simply. "They happen
to everybody. I lost my mom and dad. You got raped. Other people get shot, or
robbed, or . . . whatever. You can't go through life thinking it's always
gonna be cherries."  
  
I looked down, staring at the cards. "Yeah. Guess you're right."  
  
"Don't get me wrong," she said, flipping down cards. "I was pretty fucked up
for a while. Just ask my Aunt Jesse. But . . . well, you just gotta go on.
Right?"  
  
I sucked my lip, nodded. "Right."  
  
***  
  
I found it strange that, as long as I had known Ian, I had never been to his
office. I knew where it was, of course. Cleo had casually mentioned going to
the Pyramid Building a few times to see him. From what I understood, Ian owned
most of the space in the building, and it was his central headquarters for his
ventures.  
  
Most of them, anyway.  
  
I was nervous about heading out. I had been a recluse for over a week, afraid
to show my face. I'd had Julie and Cleo get groceries for me, afraid to even
let a delivery driver see my bruises. But the time had come. I had to find out
what happened, and Ian wasn't going to come over to my apartment and tell me.  
  
I didn't know what to think of Ian now. He'd always had that air of quiet
intimidation about him, giving the impression he was a dangerous man to cross.
But to actually _murder_ someone?  
  
That wasn't the Ian I knew. But then, did I ever really know him at all?  
  
I felt like everyone in the world was watching me, whispering under their
breath and making comments about my bruises as I got out of my car in the lot
of the Pyramid Building. My hair was down around my face, and I wore dark
sunglasses even though it was a cold, cloudy day. I no longer needed the
bandage for my nose, but it was still tender and blotchy, no matter how I
applied my makeup.  
  
The Pyramid Building was impressive, all steel and glass, the bluish windows
reflecting the ominous sky. It sat on a hill overlooking the highway, like a
king on his throne overseeing his domain. _How appropriate,_ I thought.  
  
Keeping my head down, I stepped into the lobby, dodging businesspeople and
couriers. I knew I was out of place in my jeans and leather jacket, but I
certainly wasn't going to wear any of my dresses. Just wanted to get to Ian's
office and get this over with.  
  
There was a giant directory on one of the walls, opposite the bank of
elevators. Predictably, Ian's office was on the top floor of the nine-story
building. I tapped the button for the elevator, waiting amongst several others
for the car to arrive. This time, it wasn't my imagination; people _were_
looking at me, wondering what a teenaged girl was doing in a center of
business.  
  
I stood in a corner of the elevator car, my head bowed, hidden by my hair. A
man stood beside me, simple dark suit and smelling of Old Spice. I stiffened a
little. He didn't need to be as close as he was; there was plenty of room in
the elevator.  
  
"Hey," he said, casual and friendly. "Cold day, huh?"  
  
I chewed my lip, barely seeing him from the corner of my eye. "Uh-huh."  
  
"Your, uh, dad work here or something?" he asked.  
  
I shook my head, feeling my blood pumping, my skin prickling. His mere
presence was making me nervous.  
  
I heard him smile. "So what's a pretty girl doing here?"  
  
I bristled. I knew he was just being friendly, just casually flirting. But it
seemed the most offensive approach in the world at that moment, as if he had
slapped my ass and told me I had perfect dick-sucking lips.  
  
I snapped my head up and took off my sunglasses, staring up at his face. He
was middle-aged, handsome in a typical way, a little heavy in the cheeks. His
amiable smile vanished instantly as he saw my dark eyes and broken nose.  
  
"Still think I'm pretty?" I asked coldly.  
  
He stammered something – an apology I guess – and backed off, giving me a
sheepish look. I glanced around at the others, feeling stupid and girlish. I
put my sunglasses back on and ducked my head once more.  
  
No one else bothered me for the eternity it took to reach the ninth floor.  
  
I stepped out as soon as the door opened, brushing past men and women in suits
and power-walking down the corridor. I wanted to get it over with, as quickly
as possible, even if I didn't really know what 'it' was.  
  
I shoved open the glass door at the end of the hall, stared down at the woman
in her white blouse and 'severe' bun as she sat behind the reception desk. She
wore one of those wire headsets attached to the phone on the desk. An immense
window behind her bathed the room in pale light.  
  
"I'd like to see Ian Holloway," I said.  
  
The woman gave me a look that said, 'and just who the hell are you?' Her lips
curled in an amused smile. "Mr. Holloway is in a meeting right now, Miss . .
.?"  
  
"It's important," I said firmly. I slipped off my sunglasses and stared her
down. Or tried to.  
  
She didn't look the least bit fazed. "He's a very busy man, dear," she said in
a condescending tone. "I'm sure that whatever you need to speak with him about
can wait."  
  
I didn't back down, no matter how foolish and out of place I felt. "No, it
can't."  
  
The receptionist sighed, rolling her eyes for effect. She tapped a couple
buttons on her phone, touched the headset beside her ear. "I'm sorry to bother
you, Mr. Holloway, but there's a young woman here to see—"  
  
She paused, listening. "Yes, sir, I told her that. She seems to be very
adamant."  
  
"Tell him it's Yvette," I said, loud enough that I figured Ian could hear on
the other end.  
  
The receptionist frowned, annoyed, and listened to Ian's voice. Finally, she
nodded and sighed, giving me a forced smile. "He'll be right out—"  
  
"Thanks," I snapped, and stepped away, turning my back on her. I heard the
receptionist mutter 'little bitch' under her breath. I entertained the idea of
returning the insult, but forced my pride down. I was just nervous and scared,
that's all. I breathed in, trying to calm myself.  
  
I heard doors open, looked toward the far wall as wood-paneled double doors
gave way to Ian. He looked the epitome of the Business Tycoon in his midnight
blue, pin-striped suit and white shirt with black tie. He gave me a look that
was at once sympathetic and confounded.  
  
"Come on," he said simply, stepping to the side. I marched past him, into a
short hallway. There were double doors about fifteen feet ahead, closed, and a
single door to the right. It was to this smaller door that Ian lead me.  
  
There was a small board room beyond, dominated by an oval mahogany table and
several plush leather chairs. Ian closed the door behind us and I whirled
around to face him.  
  
"I wanna know how Gary died," I said, struggling to restrain my emotions.  
  
Ian pursed his lips. "Read the police report," he said simply, stepping around
me toward a little water tower. "From what I heard on the news, its was a
robbery that went wrong. Very tragic."  
  
I glared at him. "Don't you give me that bullshit, Ian," I said. I leaned on
the table. "I wanna know what happened. I wanna know if he said anything
before you shot him in the fucking head!"  
  
Ian matched my glare with one that was ten times as intense, making me gasp
and thoroughly destroying my self-righteous anger.  
  
"Don't ever speak to me like that," he said darkly. He came around the table,
every step and movement of his body deliberate, powerful, threatening. I
scampered back, against the wall behind me, suddenly and totally aware that I
was in a room, _alone_, with a _murderer_. I stared up at him in abject fear.  

Ian glowered over me. "Don't think that the events of your little life are all
I think about," he said. "I took you in, Alyssa. I gave you the means to live
out your desires, whether you understood them at the time or not. Some people
might feel obligated to me for that."  
  
He stepped away, took a flask from his jacket. I just stared, shaking.  
  
"But not you. Not Alyssa Green," he said, taking a sip from the flask. He
looked back to me. His face softened somewhat, his lips twitching for a moment
in a smile. "It took me a while to realize that, while I had opened the door,
you were the one to walk through it. I had expected you to be . . . reluctant,
hesitant. But you weren't. You reveled in it."  
  
I forced myself to calm down. "Wh-why, Ian? Wh-why—"  
  
His eyes studied mine. "Because I couldn't take it back," he said. "If I
couldn't erase what had happened to you, then at least I could erase the
person who did it."  
  
I swallowed nervously. "He didn't have to die," I said, fighting down the
tears. "He's got two kids, Ian!"  
  
He smirked suddenly, a rude expression. "Better off not having a rapist for a
father."  
  
I shut my eyes. I didn't want to look at him. "You son of a bitch."  
  
"I've been called worse, believe me."  
  
"I thought I knew you," I said. "I thought I understood who you are—"  
  
"And who is that?" he asked abruptly, making me open my eyes again. "Who did
you think I was?"  
  
I couldn't answer.  
  
He let out a short, rueful laugh. "I finally get the chance," he said. "To
show you, to . . . do something for you. To exact your revenge—"  
  
"I didn't want that!" I cried.  
  
"Didn't you?" he yelled, matching my outburst. "I saw the pain, the anger, the
shame on your face, Alyssa! I _saw_ what he did to you, and it _broke my
fucking heart_!"  
  
I gasped, reeling back, staring at Ian's face. I didn't want to admit what I
was thinking, what Ian was telling me: that he had killed Gary out of love for
me.  
  
He tilted the flask back again, wiped his mouth. His outburst ashamed him, I
knew. Ian Holloway never lost control, after all. "But I was too much of a
coward," he said. "As much as I wanted to, as much as he deserved it, I knew I
couldn't do it."  
  
I frowned at his words. _What is he saying? He didn't kill Gary? But if he
didn't—_  
  
I suddenly remembered that night, when we are all in my apartment. James
talking to Ian, telling him what had happened. Ian taking out his phone,
Cleo's reaction when he told her who he was calling . . . .  
  
"Mr. Stone," I whispered.  
  
Ian said nothing. He took a last sip, then fixed the cap on his flask and
slipped it into his jacket. His hand came out holding his cell.  
  
I didn't say anything as I watched Ian dial. He did not look at me. He
listened to the ringing on the other end for a moment.  
  
"Mr. Stone," he said.  
  
***  
  
I was silent on the ride in Ian's Mercedes. I sat as far away from him as
possible in the passenger seat, looking out the window, staring at my feet.
Ian didn't say a word. I didn't know where we were going, and I didn't ask.  
  
We arrived at an industrial park, full of rust-walled warehouses and smelling
of chemicals and grease. A light rain had begun to fall, and it soaked into my
hair as Ian lead me to a little door in one of the buildings.  
  
The sounds of our boots echoed in the cold, dank hallway as Ian lead me
through a little maze. We finally arrived at a steel door, and Ian paused,
finally addressing me.  
  
"The man you are about to meet does not exist," he said meaningfully.
"Therefore, your conversation will never have happened. Do you understand?"  
  
I nodded nervously. "Y-yes," I said.  
  
Ian shoved open the door and stepped through. I followed, finding myself in a
large warehouse room, huge windows along the top of the twenty-foot-high
ceiling spilling pale, stark light. The warehouse was empty except for a
single figure who stood in the middle, casting a long shadow that stretched
out toward me.  
  
He wasn't at all like I imagined. Hollywood and The Sopranos had told me what
hitmen looked like. My idea of professional killers had been of big, stocky
men in black suits and sunglasses. Physically impressive men who could stare
down anyone. Men with shaved heads and trimmed goatees, beady eyes and square
jaws.  
  
But the man before us was barely my height, slim and wiry. He wore brown
slacks and a pin-striped half-sleeved shirt with a dark blue tie. He had a
narrow face, a large nose, and big ears. His brown hair was short but in need
of a hair cut. Round, wire-framed glasses were perched on his nose. He looked
more like an accountant than anything else.  
  
Yet there was still something ominous about him, something in his unassuming
appearance that seemed deliberately unassuming, like a façade erected to
conceal the dangerous man behind.  
  
"I don't like this, Mr. H," the man said. His voice was nasally, like a fussy
librarian's.  
  
"Humor me," said Ian.  
  
The man – Mr. Stone – stepped forward, hands in his pockets. He stopped about
ten feet away. I couldn't see his eyes, only the reflection of my own face in
his glasses.  
  
"Is she cool?" Stone asked simply.  
  
"Yes," I said before Ian could respond. "I'm cool."  
  
Mr. Stone chuckled. "You'd better be," he said with a thinly-veiled threat.  
  
I shuddered. The man's casual, deadly confidence was intimidating. He was more
frightening to me than some hulking bouncer or a sinister assassin dressed in
black. Such men, at least, were recognizably dangerous. But Mr. Stone was so .
. . _normal_ that I simply had to understand that he was a deadly killer.  
  
"So, what's this about?" he asked, pacing slowly, scuffing his heels on the
concrete floor.  
  
I glanced to Ian, who just stared back, blankly. This was my show. I looked
back to Mr. Stone nervously. "Gary Jackson," I said.  
  
Stone wrinkled his nose. "Sounds familiar," he said.  
  
"It should," I said, growing bold. "You killed him on Halloween."  
  
Stone chuckled, his mousy cheeks bulging. "Actually, it was the next day," he
said flippantly. "Took me a while to find him."  
  
I gritted my teeth. Now that I was faced with the reality, the confirmed
physical being of the man who had ended Gary's life, I didn't know what to
say.  
  
Stone stepped closer, looking in my face. He pursed his lips. "You know, it's
not often I get to feel a sense of satisfaction about my work," he said. "But
seeing you . . . damn. I should'a taken longer with him."  
  
I breathed in, feeling the tears flow. I looked away from the killer.  
  
"Hey, don't back down now," he said. "You wanna know what happened, right? How
he cried and begged, the expression on his face when I told him he was going
to die? Ain't that what you wanted to know?"  
  
I breathed out, crying, squeezing my eyes shut. _This is a mistake_, I
thought. _Why did I want to know?_  
  
"Tone it down, Stone," said Ian.  
  
"Shut up, Ian," snapped the killer. He took another step closer to me. "Hey,
pretty girl."  
  
I drew a breath, and fixed my eyes on the man. "Don't call me that," I
snapped.  
  
Stone chuckled, showing yellowed teeth. "Wow. She's got spunk," he commented.
He turned away, taking a few steps. I followed him with my eyes.  
  
"Did he say anything?" I asked.  
  
Stone smirked. "You mean, aside from 'no, no, please, no?'"  
  
I winced.  
  
"At least pretend to have a heart, Stone," Ian growled.  
  
Stone fixed Ian a look, sucked a tooth in contemplation. He nodded. "All
right," he said, and faced me. "Yeah, he said something. After I smashed in
has face and tied his hands behind his back, when I was standing behind him
with a gun to his head . . . he said something."  
  
I steeled myself. "Wh-what did he say?"  
  
Stone rolled his shoulders, popped his neck. I got the feeling he was
uncomfortable. That realization was strangely encouraging. Maybe Mr. Stone was
human, after all.  
  
"He said he deserved it," the killer said. "He actually didn't beg or plead at
all. I thought that was kind of strange, so I asked him why. He told me he had
hurt the woman he loved, and he didn't think he could go on living anyway."  
  
I felt the tears flow, tried to choke them back. _Oh, Gary . . . ._  
  
Stone continued: "He actually told me that, if I hadn't come along, he would'a
done it himself. And you know what? I believed him. He had a bottle and some
pills ready to go."  
  
I cried some more, shaking, wrapping my arms around myself. I resisted a
little when Ian touched my back, but found myself leaning against him as I
sobbed.  
  
"And the last thing he said . . . his very last words . . . ."  
  
I forced open my eyes, stared at the little man through the flood of my tears.
"Tell me. Please."  
  
He frowned, working his lips. "He said . . . I think his exact words were,
'I'm sure gonna miss the beach.'"  
  
"Oh, God!" I sputtered, and collapsed to the ground. The emotions of a
lifetime, it seemed, poured out of me. Tears flowed down my face, dripping to
the floor as I slapped my hands upon the concrete. _The beach_, I thought.
_Where we both said 'I love you' at the same time . . . ._  
  
I cried for an eternity it seemed, screaming and bawling, my cries echoing in
the warehouse. I was barely cognizant of Ian pulling me to my feet, of
stumbling beside him as we left. Or the car ride back to my place. Or Ian
carrying me inside and placing me on my bed.  
  
All I really remembered was crying for days.  
  
_. . . to be continued . . ._




        Pretty Baby Ch. 06


_The culmination of Alyssa's journey._  
  
**Part Six: The Price of Passion**  
  
Gary was dead, and I had met the man who had killed him. Trying to return to a
normal life after that, I felt, was nearly impossible.  
  
I withdrew from the semester, and even though it was too late to get any
tuition back, I didn't care. I could easily pay my father back, although he
would wonder where the money came from. I went back home for a while, staying
with my folks through the holidays. My brother Roger made a surprise visit,
with his fiancé Carla in tow, right on Thanksgiving day. I was happy at my
brother's return home; I hadn't seen him since I was sixteen.  
  
My parents, more specifically, my mother, could tell that something had
happened, but I didn't tell her what. By that point, my wounds had healed, at
least the physical ones. Still, knowing that I needed support, my mother gave
me all I could ever want. And my father, despite his stoicism, was still my
father. He would always be my rock.  
  
For those two months, it was as if my life away from home had never happened.
I managed to forget about that day in the mall, more than a year before, and
the snowballing of events that had happened after. I forgot about Gary, and
Ian, and about all the men.  
  
At least, I did for a little while.  
  
"Honey?"  
  
I turned toward the door from the house as I stood on the rear patio. My
mother, dressed in her favorite holiday sweater, emerged with two cups of hot
cocoa. I smiled. It was Christmas Day. We had spent the morning opening
presents and watching old home movies. The evening before, we had all gone
caroling in the neighborhood.  
  
Yet as much as I had enjoyed the trip through the nostalgia of my youth, and
the comfortable, warm feel of being back home where I was unconditionally
loved, I was conscious of the fact that I had changed. I didn't belong to this
life anymore.  
  
"Hi, Mom."  
  
She gave me an affectionate smile. "I'm worried about you, baby," she said.  
  
I smiled, took the offered cup of cocoa. "I'm okay," I said.  
  
She stepped up beside me in the chilly air. "You know, it's not like you to
keep things to yourself, Alyssa," she said. "Haven't we always talked?"  
  
"I'm not—" I began, then stopped. Mom was right. Hell, she always was, right?
"I met a guy, and . . . it was nice, and fun, and . . . perfect . . . for a
while."  
  
My mother smiled, massaged my shoulder. "Ah, first love," she said wistfully.  
  
I managed a smile. "Something like that."  
  
"I take it he's not around anymore?"  
  
I shook my head slowly. "No, he's not around anymore," I said.  
  
My mother kissed my cheek. "Don't fret, honey," she said. "My first love
didn't last, either. No one's does. It's just the way it goes."  
  
I sniffed. "I miss him."  
  
Mom put her cup down and came around behind me, hugging me tight. "I know you
do, honey," she said soothingly. "And you'll never forget him, and never stop
loving him. And you never should."  
  
I trembled a bit, crying a little more, shedding the last tears I ever would
for Gary.  
  
"He's your first love, baby," Mom continued, and kissed my cheek. "No matter
what, he'll always be with you in your heart."  
  
I breathed out. "God, I hope so."  
  
***  
  
Ian was surprised to hear from me again. I figured he assumed I was never
coming back. I had broken the lease on my apartment and put everything in
storage, after all, and dropped out of college for the semester.
Understandably, he was momentarily speechless when I called him out of the
blue on a cold January morning and told him I wanted to see him.  
  
We met in a little casual dining restaurant. I got there first and asked for
the most secluded booth they had. I ordered an iced tea and waited.  
  
He showed up in jeans and a blazer, a white turtleneck beneath the jacket. I
couldn't help but smile as he approached the table. Ian didn't look a damn bit
different, even though it felt to me that it had been years since I last saw
him.  
  
"Hi, Ian."  
  
He slid into the booth, and just looked at me. He wasn't quite sure what to
think or expect, I guessed.  
  
"Surprised to see me again, huh," I said, furtively looking from his hands to
his dark eyes.  
  
"That's an understatement," he said.  
  
I took a deep breath. _This is harder than I thought it would be._ "I wanna
come back."  
  
His expression didn't waver. "No."  
  
I met his gaze. "I want to come back," I said, more firmly.  
  
He looked down, interrupted as the waitress came over and asked what he would
like to drink. Ian curtly asked for an iced tea. He spoke to me again after
she headed away. "Why?"  
  
"Because I'm good at it," I said. "Because I like it."  
  
Ian sighed. "I don't think that would be the best thing for you."  
  
"And what do you know about what's best for me?" I asked.  
  
My statement was not biting, nor accusatory. Ian lifted his head. "You've been
through a lot."  
  
I nodded. "We both have," I said.  
  
He leaned back in his chair. "But why come back?" he asked. "Why . . . why be
an escort again? Is it about the money? If you need money, Alyssa, I'll cut
you a check right now."  
  
I shook my head. "It's not about the money," I said, then smiled with self-
admonishment. "Not entirely, anyway. It's about me. Just me."  
  
He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "I don't understand you," he said. "I used
to think I did, a long time ago. When you were wide-eyed and eager. But . . .
I don't think I ever did."  
  
I smiled. "Don't try to understand me, Ian. I'm a woman."  
  
He laughed sharply, lowering his head for a moment. "Got me there."  
  
The waitress returned with his drink. I told her we needed some more time with
the menu. Ian looked back up once we were alone again.  
  
"Tell me this is only what I think it is," he said.  
  
I recognized those words, the same ones I had said to him so long ago. "And
what do you think it is?" I asked.  
  
His eyes held mine. "That this is just a beautiful young woman who wants to
return to what she loves," he said. "And not some attempt to get back at me
for a mistake."  
  
I took in his face, his expressions, the slight and subtle play of his
emotions. He was afraid of me, I realized. Afraid of what I knew, and that I
could ruin him because of it.  
  
"We all make mistakes, Ian," I said. "I don't want to dwell on them anymore. I
just want to go back to being alive."  
  
He stared for a long moment, trying to decide if I was being serious or just
bullshitting him. I gave him time, letting him look, letting him read me.
Finally, he nodded slowly.  
  
"All right."  
  
***  
  
The rest of our lunch was thankfully less tense, although there were moments
in which either Ian or I fell silent, not knowing what to say. He told me that
Erin had just turned twenty. She and her fiancé Ross had gone to Spain for a
week to celebrate. I gave him an abbreviated account of the holidays at home,
and we shared a few anecdotes about the season.  
  
I didn't understand why, at the time, but being with Ian, talking about family
and friends and hearth and home . . . it was strangely arousing. Or perhaps it
was the fact that I was with him again, after being away for so long, and
hearing his voice, reading his gorgeous dark eyes . . . .  
  
He followed me to my hotel room. We rode the elevator in silence, neither one
of us wanting to take the chance at ruining the moment by speaking. Once
through the door, I headed past the bed, dropping my jacket to the floor and
pulling my shirt over my head. I unzipped and pushed down my jeans, stepped
out of my panties. Naked except for my jewelry, I stood before the uncurtained
balcony door, tracing my fingers along the line of frost on the other side.  
  
I sighed when Ian's hands slid up my sides, from my slender hips, along my
tapered waist, to my breasts. His strong hands cupped my breasts, squeezing
gently. I leaned back against him, feeling his nakedness. I placed my hands
over his and urged him on. His touch was incredible.  
  
He kissed and gently sucked at the base of my neck, his fingers playing across
my nipples. My puffy areolas swelled and grew darker. I felt his stiff penis
gently prodding between my cheeks. I was unbearably aroused. I reached back
between us, feeling the stiffness of him, the slick fluid that oozed from
within. Ian shuddered slightly against me as my expert fingers tickled and
massaged him. My instincts had not faded.  
  
Ian pushed me against the glass door and kissed his way down my back. I was
sighing and moaning softly, anticipating the feel, the love of him. I arched
my back and panted hotly on the window when his tongue slipped between my
cheeks, tasting me, licking up and down slick lips that had not been touched
in ages. I arched my back and pushed back, giving him better access.  
  
My orgasm did not take long. In over two months, I had not even masturbated.
The ache for release that I felt was undeniable. And with Ian's caressing
tongue, his probing fingers, his warm breath and soft sighs between my legs .
. . .  
  
I shook and moaned when I came, reaching back to grip his head and keep his
mouth where I wanted it, where I _needed_ it. Ian kept sucking me, lightly
scratching his fingertips up and down my thighs. I panted with each subsequent
orgasm, until the window before me was all but completely obscured from my hot
breath.  
  
Consumed with raw desire, I shoved Ian back onto the floor and turned around.
He stared up at me, his face impassioned and slick from my juices. I straddled
him quickly, sucking his lips with my own, tasting my own tangy cum as I
reached down and guided his stiff cock inside me.  
  
We both groaned at the reunion, the sexual marriage of cock and cunt. He
kneaded and massaged my breasts as I bounced up and down on him, shoving his
magnificent dick as deep as it would go. He watched me with eyes that were
both amazed and grateful, staring into my soul as I gave him every ounce of my
passion, my lust . . . my love.  
  
"Oh, Alyssa!" he cried.  
  
"Oh, Ian! Ian!"  
  
I I toppled over backward, slapping my hands to the floor and thrusting my
breasts to the ceiling as I rode him hard, my body quaking in orgasm. I
squeezed his length inside me, urging him to cum, wanting to feel it inside me
. . . .  
  
Ian gasped aloud when he erupted, arching his back deeply and feeding my womb.
I felt every thick, hot, intense jet of his semen, and squeezed and fucked him
harder to milk his cock of every precious drop. His orgasm inspired my own,
and I screeched my way through it. Ian winced, holding out as long as he
could, wanting to give me the sensations I so desperately craved.  
  
I finally stopped moving, panting, catching my breath as Ian did the same. I
felt refueled, my libido screaming for more. Slipping off him, his wet cock
slapping to his abdomen, I doubled over and slid down, sucking him deep into
my mouth, all the way to the root. I moaned at tasting him, sucking the
residue of his orgasm, tasting our mingled fluid around his cock. Ian grunted,
almost in pain, gripping my head in his hands.  
  
I felt his thick cum dripping out from inside me, to the floor below. I
reached down and smeared my fingers in the stuff, then wiped it along his
shaft as I sucked up and down. Ian remained hard, either inspired or
intimidated by my sexuality, I wasn't sure which. It really didn't matter.  
  
"Jesus, Alyssa," he panted, recovering, shaking slightly from aftershocks as I
massaged the head of his cock with my lips.  
  
"Mmm," I moaned, and took my mouth off him, stroking his shaft with my slick
hand. "I love you, Ian," I whispered.  
  
He made a choking sound then, one that sounded like capitulation. And for the
first time, I saw a tear drip from his eye.  
  
***  
  
We made love all night and all the following day, taking breaks only to answer
the knock from room service, and to smoke, drink, and sleep. We did not really
talk all that much; there was really no need to. Aside from all the little
details of our lives, we had said all there was to say. Ian and I somehow
understood each other on a deeper level than most.  
  
Late that second night, I lay in bed, unashamedly nude, curled up on my side
as I watched Ian get dressed. He didn't want to leave, that much I could tell;
but if he stayed, it meant giving in even more to me than he already had. And
he had already given me too much.  
  
I didn't need to hear his words to the effect to know that he loved me. Yet,
even with that realization, and my own proclamations, I knew that I would
never have Ian the way I wanted. I would never be his wife, would never bear
his children. And as before, I was content with that. It just seemed right
that our love existed the way it did.  
  
He did not say anything as he left. He just smiled, with a look of complete
adoration on his handsome face, and I smiled back. I didn't cry when the door
closed.  
  
***  
  
Unlike Ian, Cleo was not as surprised to hear from me again, although that was
probably because he had told her I was back before I called. Still, she
evidenced some concern.  
  
"Are you sure you want to come back?" she asked me.  
  
"Yes," I said. "I'm positive. I'm ready, Cleo."  
  
She sighed into the phone. "All right, well . . . when do you want to start?"  
  
"Give me a week," I said. "I need to get settled in."  
  
I had come back just a few days before the start of the spring semester. I
managed to sign up for all the classes I had dropped out of, and needed the
time to buy books and supplies, and find a new apartment. The place I chose
was a slightly over-priced one bedroom apartment not far from campus. I hired
some movers to transfer my furniture and boxes from storage to the new place.  
  
I only signed a six-month lease. Something told me I would not be around for
longer than that.  
  
I started taking dates as soon as I was comfortable with my classes and my new
apartment. That first night, clad in a tight green dress and glittering with
jewelry, I answered the door to see a thankfully familiar face.  
  
"Miss Yvette?"  
  
I smiled. "Hi, James."  
  
He smiled back, eyes drifting over me. "You look beautiful," he said, then
smiled again. "But then, that's a given."  
  
I reached up and touched his face. He didn't flinch. "You're so sweet," I
said.  
  
He gently took my hand away, reminding me of our places. His eyes were strong
and serious when he asked, "Are you sure you're ready?"  
  
I nodded without hesitation. "I'm ready. Especially now."  
  
James pursed his lips for a moment. If he was capable, I swear he would have
blushed. He held up a new, tiny black phone. "Hang on to this."  
  
I took it, dropped it into my purse. "I will," I said, then smiled once more.
"Show the way, James."  
  
***  
  
My date that evening was a funny little man named Milton Godfrey. From the
moment we met in his hotel room, he made me laugh. He was a round-bodied
little man who had shaved off what little hair he had left on his head and
spoke with inordinate self-confidence and verve. He had a quick wit and a
sense of humor that switched back and forth from crude bathroom jokes to high-
brow, Monty Python-esque complexity.  
  
I was not surprised when Milton took me to see a famous comedian on tour
following dinner. Milton seemed to regard comedy as a high art. He was so
endearing and raucous that I could not help but want to hang off him, just to
share his zeal for life.  
  
The comedian we saw was popularly known for his cheesy one-liners on a popular
amateur video show, and I was not prepared for his decidedly raw and adult
humor. At one point, since Milton and I sat so close to the stage, he made
comments about the difference in our ages, and my appearance, and remarked
that he wished he was a 'fat old man with money.'  
  
"Let me know if you wanna see what a real funny dick tastes like, honey!" he
said into the microphone as he ogled me from the stage.  
  
I was blushing deeply and convulsing in laughter at that point, and barely
managed to blurt out, "I will!"  
  
The comedian looked to Milton and said, "Sir, I salute you. And if I read
about you in the obituaries tomorrow, I won't be surprised."  
  
Milton was a good sport. "Neither will I!" he yelled.  
  
By the time we got back to his limo, all the sexual innuendo had taken it's
toll. Once the door was closed, I rolled over and straddled Milton's lap,
giving him a hungry look.  
  
"Can I tickle your funny bone, now?" I said in my most sultry, slutty way, as
I began unzipping his slacks.  
  
He stared at me with lust in his eyes as I scooted down his body and fished
out his stiff, sleek cock, rubbing it all around my cheeks and mouth. "No more
jokes, then?" he asked.  
  
I licked up and down his rigid pole and kissed the underside of the slippery
head, tasting his sticky cream. "You can, if you want. Just no dumb blonde
jokes."  
  
Milton chuckled. "Well, there goes my repertoire . . . mmm . . . ."  
  
***  
  
It was late February when I saw her again. I had been reluctant to call Julie
since my return, not sure of what to say. We had talked a few times over the
phone during my 'sabbatical,' and the subject of my coming back had never
really been addressed. And since I had returned to the vocation that Julie
obviously had problems with, I was even more reluctant to let her know I was
back.  
  
But that afternoon, as I sat at one of the outdoor stone benches in the Quad,
fate seemed to have decided for us.  
  
I saw her walking amongst a group of girls, chatting with Lindsey, and watched
them walk past me. Julie suddenly stopped, glanced back my way. Her lips
parted and her eyes widened.  
  
"Alyssa?"  
  
I managed a smile. "Hi, Julie."  
  
She grinned then, a happy, 'I can't believe it's you!' splitting of her face,
and ran up to greet me. I just managed to stand in time to meet her charge. We
hugged, and kissed, and hugged some more. I squeezed her tight, never more
aware than I was at that moment of how much I had missed her.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, pulling back with a hurt look. "Damn it,
Alyssa! I'm your best friend, aren't I?"  
  
I smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry," I said. "I-I wanted to call you, I just . .
. ."  
  
Julie gave me a big smile. "Hey, it doesn't matter. I know it's been rough on
you. If I can't understand that, what kind of friend am I?"  
  
I was touched by her apparently total acceptance. "Thanks, Julie," I said.
"That means a lot to me."  
  
She bit her lip and grabbed my hand. "Hey, come on. We're all gonna go get fat
on ice cream sundaes and see a chick-flick."  
  
I squirmed a little, glanced to the other girls, watching us with interest. I
noticed the sympathetic smile Lindsey gave me, and remembered what Julie had
told me about her.  
  
"Come on," urged Julie, pulling on my hands. "You can't possibly have anything
better to do!"  
  
I laughed. "You know what? You're absolutely right."  
  
***  
  
It was the morning of April 7th. I could never forget that day no matter how
much I wanted to. I awoke around ten, felling pleasantly tired after my latest
date. He had been a very robust man, strong, stocky, and obviously lacking for
female attention. He was pretty straight-laced and didn't speak much
throughout the evening, but once he got me back to his hotel room . . . .  
  
_Oh. My. God._ The man had stamina like you wouldn't believe, coupled with an
impressive cock to surpass Ian's. He had wanted to 'go around the world' as he
put it, and I realized just what he meant when he took me every way I had ever
conceived, including a couple of positions I had never heard of. His favorite
position was what he called 'Froggy,' in which we both squatted on the bed
while he shoved his fat cock inside me from behind.  
  
I don't think I ever came as much in one night as I did with that man. I
literally stumbled to the Lincoln the following morning, prompting James to
ask me if everything was all right.  
  
"Everything's fine," I sighed, lighting a cigarette as I collapsed in the back
of the car. "Just take me home."  
  
I was glad that I didn't have a date lined up for the evening. It was a
Sunday, and I anticipated doing nothing more than watching TV and call up
Julie for a late lunch. I soaked in the tub for a while, washed my hair,
slipped on a silk robe once I got out. I couldn't stop smiling as I cracked
open a bottle of strawberry vodka and mixed a cocktail. Yeah, I know, it was
one in the afternoon and I hadn't had anything to eat. Sue me.  

I was watching some Law &amp; Order reruns when the knock came. I frowned. It
wasn't Julie, or Ian, or Cleo, or even James, I knew. They all had their own
knocks. This one was loud, hard, business-like. I wondered if I should answer.  
  
I peered through the peep-hole, saw two men standing on my doorstep. One was
middle-aged, the other young and professionally handsome. Both wore suits.  
  
I frowned, considered again about ignoring their presence. Then the good-
looking one knocked again.  
  
"Miss Green!"  
  
I sighed. _Obviously not_ _Jehovah's Witnesses,_ I thought, and turned the
locks. I pulled open the door just a crack. "Can I help you?" I said
innocently.  
  
The pretty-boy one looked me over, stealing a glimpse between the folds of my
robe. "Alyssa Green?" he asked.  
  
I clutched my robe closed, giving the lecher a look. "She's not home," I said.  
  
The older one, his suit well-worn and threadbare, gave me an annoyed look.
"Save the act, Miss Green," he said gruffly. "We're not here to arrest you."  
  
I didn't budge, and looked back to the younger one. "What do you want?"  
  
He smirked, reached inside his jacket, producing a slim billfold that he
snapped open. "Arni Detweiler," he said, as if I should know the name. "From
the District Attorney's office. This is Detective Sam Clay—"  
  
"Lieutenant Detective," corrected the older one.  
  
"We'd like to ask you some questions about Ian Holloway," finished the younger
one.  
  
I stiffened. "I don't know anyone by that name," I said, and started to close
the door. The detective's strong hand smacked against it.  
  
"Miss Green," said Detweiler in a condescending tone. "Don't make things
harder on yourself. All we want is a few answers. That's all."  
  
My eyes darted back and forth between them, noting the way they were both
trying to sneak peeks at me. "Fine," I said, and stepped back. "Wipe your
shoes."  
  
I went to my couch and sat down, not fixing the flimsy fabric of my robe as it
slipped off my thighs. I sat with my legs together, and knew that if I shifted
my thighs even the slightest bit, my entire personality would be on display.
The two men picked up on that right away.  
  
"Nice place," Arni commented, as the detective closed the door. "Lots of
space."  
  
I sighed, leaning forward, not caring that the majority of my cleavage was
revealed as I reached for my cigarettes. I snapped the case open, took out a
smoke, lit it with the matching gold lighter. The two men seemed to be hanging
on my every move.  
  
"What do you want?" I asked again. I didn't like these two men, the younger
one in particular. There was something . . . greasy about him. But then, he
was a lawyer.  
  
"Just a few questions," said Arni. "You have any coffee?"  
  
I fixed him a look, letting him know he was not welcome. "No."  
  
He pursed his lips and took out a notepad. "All right, you wanna be all
business about it—"  
  
"Maybe if you weren't too obvious about looking at my tits, I might be more
friendly," I said.  
  
Arni coughed slightly, his cheeks glowing red. Beside him, the detective
chuckled.  
  
The attorney gritted his teeth and looked down at his notepad. "Where, uh,
where were you last Holloween?" he asked.  
  
I felt a rise of anxiety. "I was home," I said. "Um . . . I wasn't feeling too
well."  
  
I heard the detective mutter under his breath. "Bullshit."  
  
"Did you know a man named Gary Jackson?" continued Arni.  
  
I set my jaw, grinding my teeth. "No," I said.  
  
"Were you not admitted to the emergency room the morning of November 1st, for
the purpose of receiving treatment for facial bruises and the administration
of a rape kit?"  
  
I was breathing hard and shallowly. "No," I said again.  
  
"Do you know anything about an agency called 'Angel Escorts?'"  
  
"No."  
  
Arni fell silent. I heard him flip the notepad closed. "You won't help
yourself by lying, Miss Green," he said. "And you can't protect Ian Holloway."  
  
I stared at the floor, my heart pounding. I lifted my cigarette with shaking
hands, drew off it.  
  
"Fuck this," I heard the detective grumble. He stepped to the couch and sunk
down heavily upon it. He reeked of cigarettes and body odor.  
  
"You're a whore, and we can prove it," he said viciously. "We've already
talked to a couple of your 'clients.' But we really don't give a fuck about
them or you. What we want is Ian Holloway. You help us, and you won't have to
worry about that pretty little ass getting tossed behind bars."  
  
I didn't say anything. I wanted them to go away.  
  
"You ever hear stories about women's prisons?" he asked. "It's not pretty.
Awful lot of hard-edged dykes behind bars, just eager to taste a sweet little
thing like you. I hear they make dildos out of anything they can find. Glass,
plastic, metal . . . the bigger the better, I hear—"  
  
"All right, Sam," said Arni. "Jesus Christ, don't be such an asshole."  
  
Sam scoffed. "Fine. Be the nice guy," he said and shoved up from the couch.  
  
"Alyssa."  
  
I lifted my head slowly, looking upon the young lawyer. The grizzled,
pessimistic detective was looking at my collection of movies and CDs.  
  
"You knew Gary Jackson."  
  
I didn't say anything. I just stared.  
  
Arni looked exasperated. "Look, we've traced his cell-phone records, talked to
his wife. We talked to some of his former employees. They had some really good
things to say about you."  
  
I noticed the detective making a pumping motion with his hand, pushing his
tongue into his cheek as he leered at me.  
  
Blood rushed to my cheeks. I flicked ash off my cigarette, stared at the
coffee table.  
  
Arni eased down beside me. His hand settled on my shoulder. "We've got a
pretty good idea of what happened on Halloween," he said in a soft voice. "And
what happened after. Whether you help us or not, Holloway's going down. He's
going to go to prison. Now, the only question you need to ask yourself is if
you want to go to prison, too."  
  
I trembled, full of fear. I looked up to Arni Detweiler's face. "I don't wanna
go to prison," I said, my voice barely audible.  
  
"Then help us," he said in a convincing way, running his hand across my back.
"Don't defend a murderer."  
  
I shook as I cried quietly. "Oh, God . . . ."  
  
***  
  
Fearing 'reprisals' from Ian, Assistant District Attorney Arni Detweiler
arranged to put me up in a cheap motel until my appearance at the trial. I had
an around-the-clock bodyguard detail of detectives and police officers, who
sat in their cars and occasionally checked in on me. I didn't go anywhere;
whatever I needed, Arni brought.  
  
Mindful of my education, the attorney arranged for members of his office to
meet with my classmates and copy their notes. I took my mid-terms on a crappy
little Formica-topped table in the room that had become my home.  
  
Arni came to see me an average of three times a week as the trial began. I
learned quite a few things about him as the weeks wore on, principle among
them the fact that Arni was married, and recently so, with a baby on the way,
and that he was seriously attracted to me. Not that he would admit it, of
course.  
  
I also realized that I was the prosecution's 'star' witness against Ian
Holloway. Through repeated depositions and questionnaires, I learned that
while Ian, Cleo, and even Mr. Stone had been contacted by Arni's office, I was
the only one they had reeled in. That made me both ashamed and strangely
fortified. I was the key to their entire case, I realized.  
  
Ian's business practices had been under investigation in civil court for
years, with no real satisfying outcome. Now, however, Ian had been indicted
under the charge of second-degree murder for the death of Gary Jackson.
Apparently, there was some kind of vendetta between the District Attorney's
office and Ian. They would get him any way they could.  
  
And I was the pawn.  
  
I hated it. I was being used against the man I loved . . . and I was letting
them. I _could_ have been the martyr, the sacrificial lamb, and bravely stand
against the men who sought to take Ian down. I could hold my head up high as I
was being escorted to prison, proud in the knowledge that I had stood my
ground, anticipating the degradation I would suffer at the hands of bull
dykes. I could do that . . . .  
  
If I had the strength.  
  
But being raped once was enough.  
  
As a further indignity to my house arrest (they called it 'protective
custody'), my twentieth birthday was approaching fast and I had to face it
alone. The room's telephone had been disconnected and my cell was taken from
me. The only time I got to talk on the phone was when Arni or Detective Clay
or one of the other detectives who stood watch let me use their cell-phone.  
  
I spoke with my parents and Julie, each about every other day. I could tell
them the basics, but not where I was, and the calls never lasted long. My
mother was practically hysterical when I told her I was the material witness
in a murder case, but got used to it over the course of subsequent
conversations. She wanted to know how I had gotten myself in such a position,
and I had to make something up. I hated lying to my mother, especially when
the truth would come out during the trial. But I just didn't have the heart to
tell her that her little girl was a prostitute.  
  
Julie, of course, knew the entire story, and while there was a hint of 'I told
you so' in her voice, she was supportive and encouraging. She also told me
that some tall, stoic guy had found her on campus one day and asked where I
was. From her description, I knew it was James.  
  
There were times when the claustrophobia of my confinement took its toll, and
I screamed and ranted at Arni, Detective Clay, and my other 'chaperones.' I
was given my MP3 player and the room had cable, but such creature comforts
helped little. Of course, I couldn't have my laptop. They didn't want to risk
me sending any emails.  
  
But I did watch the news, and there was some mention now and then about the
case against Ian Holloway, beginning with the indictment against him toward
the end of May. News reporters caught him outside his office and home, and
while he refused to talk, the look of anger and betrayal on his face was
telling. I winced at seeing the pain I was causing.  
  
But the worst was when Erin was interviewed briefly, having been caught in a
cafe parking lot one day as she headed to her car.  
  
"Whoever this supposed witness is," she said at one point, after describing
how her family's life had been "torn apart" by the investigation and trial.
She stared right into the camera, right at me. "She doesn't know my father as
well as she thinks she does. She's not going to get her fifteen minutes of
fame by spreading lies about him. All she's going to do is ruin her (bleep)
life."  
  
I never felt lower than I did after watching that interview. I wasn't just
hurting Ian, I was hurting Erin, and Ian's wife, and everyone associated with
them. And for what? Because he'd had the man who raped me killed? Ian may have
acted impulsively, calling in Mr. Stone to do his dirty work, but what he did,
for whatever reasons, he had done out of love.  
  
_For me._  
  
But to recognize that meant sacrificing years of my life, enduring pain and
humiliation in a woman's prison . . . I was too frightened to take that risk.  
  
The day before my birthday, and the trial was already in full swing. I was
becoming more and more nervous and apprehensive about appearing in court,
about facing Ian and admitting the truth . . . the truth that would destroy
him. And save me.  
  
I agonized over what my life had become. It wasn't fun anymore. I wasn't a
carefree call girl or cocksucking teenager anymore, cheerfully exchanging my
body for a handful of money, living out my hottest fantasies and having a
parade of men tell me how gorgeous I was. Now I was a material witness in a
murder case.  
  
My parents would be devastated. My friends would abandon me. And the man I
loved would be going to prison for the rest of his life.  
  
"Alyssa, pay attention," Arni said that afternoon as he was practicing his
cross-examination with me. He was prepping me well, going over the specific
questions he would ask in the courtroom when I took the stand. He wanted me to
act a certain way, have certain expressions, even say particular words in ways
that supposedly had the most impact. It was a scene we had played over so many
times that it read like a script to me.  
  
"I'm tired, Arni," I said, not looking at him. The creaking chair beneath me
was uncomfortable. "We've already gone over this—"  
  
"And we'll keep going over it, babe, until I—"  
  
I snapped my head up, giving him a vicious look. "Stop. Calling. Me. _Babe_!"
I yelled.  
  
Arni met my look and matched it, striding toward me with a pair of long steps,
stopping just before me. "Now get this straight, little girl," he snarled.
"I'm not gonna lose this chance because you're 'tired.' We're gonna keep at it
until—"  
  
"Fuck you!" I snapped. I crossed my arms and huffed, looking away. "Go to
Hell."  
  
Arni grumbled under his breath, wanting to respond as rudely as I had, I
figured. He paced for a moment or two before me. I watched him from the corner
of my eye.  
  
"I've been in Hell," he said. "Kissing ass and backstabbing the other
attorneys in the office. Buying Scotch for the old man and flirting with his
middle-aged bitch receptionist to get the best appointments. This is my _one
chance_, Alyssa. My chance to get out of the rat maze and into the prize box.
And you're not gonna fuck it up for me."  
  
I glared at him. "You're just a cocksucker, you know that?" I spat. "Maybe I
sucked dick and did a lot more for money, but you do it for pride. You're more
of a whore than I am."  
  
He laughed harshly, startled and dumbfounded, staring at me with an
incredulous, insulted expression. He finally turned away. "We're done," he
said curtly, gathering up his briefcase. He snapped it closed loudly and
headed for the door. He paused before opening it.  
  
"I know you're good at fucking," he said rudely. "But you try to fuck me over
and I swear you'll pay for it."  
  
I seethed with defensive anger. "Go suck your boss' dick," I hissed.  
  
Arni jerked open the door. "Bitch," he mumbled, then slammed it closed after
him.  
  
I shuddered with tears.  
  
***  
  
I didn't get out of bed the following day until I heard the pounding on the
door for the second time. With an annoyed groan, I got up in my long T-shirt
and pulled the door open, not looking at the man on the other side. I knew
from the loud, hard thumping he had given the door that it was Lieutenant
Detective Clay. I fell back onto the bed and pulled up the covers.  
  
Clay chuckled sarcastically behind me. "Not even a 'good morning?'"  
  
I gripped a pillow against my cheek. "What do you want."  
  
"Just want to introduce you to your new chaperone," he said. I heard him
talking to someone else: "She's a little stuck-up, but don't let it bother
you. And no one comes in unless either I or Detweiler gives the okay, got it?
Good."  
  
The door shut. I could feel the other man's presence in the room. I didn't
turn to look at him.  
  
The bed shifted as his weight settled upon it. I frowned, feeling immediately
annoyed. _What the fuck--?_  
  
"Hello, Alyssa."  
  
I recognized the voice in a heartbeat. I sat up and spun around, staring at
his face with both elation and consternation. "James!"  
  
He had a slight smile on his face. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt under a
black leather jacket. His square face was as stoic as ever except for the
mirthless smile. I wasn't sure if I should be glad or afraid.  
  
"Detective Meeks," he corrected me.  
  
I stared at him for a long moment, confused. I searched his face, his small
eyes. "Wh-wh-what are you . . . I-I mean, how—"  
  
"Connections," he said simply, and stood from the bed. He stepped around the
room, his eyes darting around like those of a hawk. They finally settled upon
me once more.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
I swallowed nervously, suddenly unsure if James was the man I knew . . . or a
different version of Mr. Stone. "I'm scared," I said.  
  
He nodded curtly. "I know. They've told you a lot of things to make you turn
against Ian," he said. His casual use of Ian's first name seemed out of place,
belying a closer association than I had always supposed.  
  
"They'll send me to prison if I don't testify," I said breathlessly, on the
verge of tears. "I don't want to go to prison."  
  
His chin barely nudged. "So it's you or him, huh?"  
  
I sighed, ashamed. "Don't do this. I feel like shit already."  
  
"You should."  
  
My emotions exploded out. "What the fuck do you want me to do!" I cried,
slapping my hands to the bed. "Give up my fucking life?"  
  
James' eyes, his expression, were impassive. "If this was a perfect world," he
said. "What would you want to happen?"  
  
I scoffed. "It's obviously _not_ a perfect world."  
  
"But if it was."  
  
I sighed. "I don't wanna go to prison," I bemoaned. "But I don't want Ian to,
either."  
  
James pursed his lips, nodding to himself. "And, if you could . . . ."  
  
I sobbed quietly. "I'd make it all go away," I said, my choked and strained
voice barely audible. I wiped my eyes defensively. "But I seem to have
misplaced my magic fucking wand."  
  
James didn't say anything for a long moment. "Do you love Ian as much as he
loves you?" he asked.  
  
I lifted my anguished face. "He loves me?"  
  
James' expression remained hard. "Answer my question."  
  
I sniffed, wiped my eyes with quick moves of my hands. My words sounded
strange but true as I spoke. "He's the only man I love."  
  
"Then why hurt him?"  
  
I breathed out heavily. "I don't have a choice," I said.  
  
"Alyssa."  
  
I squeezed my eyes shut, shuddering as I tried not to cry again.  
  
"Alyssa."  
  
"What."  
  
"Look at me."  
  
I forced my eyes open and lifted my head slowly, looking up at James through
my pain.  
  
He smiled, then, a slow and soft smile. "You always have a choice," he said
knowingly. "There is always a way. You just have to find it."  
  
My tears slowly dried. I frowned. James was trying to tell me something.
"How?"  
  
James' smile remained. "You have gifts. Use them," he said enigmatically, and
turned away. Then, as if as an afterthought, he looked back, his thin lips
curled.  
  
"By the way . . . happy birthday."  
  
I hung my head. _Had to rub it in, didn't he . . . _ "Thanks."  
  
I heard the door open and close as James left. I stared at it for a long
moment, wondering about his words.  
  
And then I saw the little black case James had left on the cracked table by
the door.  
  
My lips curled in an understanding smile. _You have gifts. Use them._  
  
***  
  
I stared at myself in the mirror. After six weeks of wearing minimalist makeup
and rotating the same wrinkled shorts and T-shirts, wearing a dress again felt
almost uncomfortable. Especially this one. Arni had purchased the conservative
skirt suit for me, since my wardrobe held only the extremes of 'college
student' and 'call girl.'  
  
The fabric was heavy and almost coarse, and I didn't like the dull blue color.
The buttons were too big, the jacket too square, the skirt too long . . . .  
  
"I hate it, Arni," I said, looking at him in the reflection as he stood behind
me.  
  
He shrugged. "That's what you're wearing tomorrow," he said. "I don't want you
showing up in one of your hooker gowns."  
  
I glared for a moment and shrugged off the jacket. I had to admit that I did
like the blouse. It was practically see-through. The color of my puffies were
clearly visible. I noticed Arni's eyes darting to them in the mirror.  
  
"I'm just a cheap whore to you, aren't I?" I asked acidly.  
  
His eyes returned to mine. "Definitely not cheap," he commented, then shook
his head. "Jesus Christ, I don't care how hot a woman is, shelling out two
grand just to fuck? Give me a break."  
  
I turned around and stepped past him on my way out to the room. "I gave them
their money's worth," I said.  

I heard him chuckling behind me. "Bet you did, sweetheart." I could
practically feel his eyes on my ass. "How much of that do you get, anyway?
Half?"  
  
I ignored his question, setting my makeup bag on the counter next to the
little black case, then stopped by the foot of the bed and faced him. "What
does your wife think about you spending every other day for a month and a half
with an escort?" I asked challengingly.  
  
His face darkened. "Leave my wife out of this," he said, taking slow steps
toward me.  
  
I looked at him directly as I sat on the edge of the bed, spreading my legs
just enough. "If I was her, I'd be _really_ worried. Girl like me . . . who
knows what I'd do in this situation."  
  
Arni shook his head. "Don't start that shit," he said. "You couldn't seduce me
if you tried."  
  
I lowered my eyes, grinding my teeth. Arni headed past me toward his open
briefcase on the table. _Oh, no, Arni?_ I thought. _Then why do I see a bulge
in your pants? Why did you just sneak a peek up my skirt?_  
  
". . . just one last thing," he was saying. I heard the shuffling of paper. My
eyes stayed on the floor as I listened. "Schaffer is going to do and say
anything to get to you. He's going to try to rile you up. You can't let him."  
  
I sighed. "I know, Arni," I said. "Christ! I know as much about Ian's lawyer
as you do!"  
  
He chuckled again. "No, you don't," he said meaningfully. "But you're going to
find out tomorrow."  
  
My heart palpitated. "Would you stop saying that?" I asked in a shaky voice.  
  
"Stop saying what?"  
  
"_'Tomorrow_,'" I said. "You're doing it on purpose, trying to scare me. I
know it's tomorrow, Arni. Can we just not . . . talk about it anymore
tonight?"  
  
He was quiet a moment, shuffling papers. I got the impression he was looking
at me. But I didn't lift my head. I was counting the individual loops in the
carpet.  
  
He snapped his briefcase closed. "All right," he said, his voice sounding more
sympathetic. He came over to the end of the bed and sat down beside me,
slipping his arm around my shoulders. His cologne was faint, sharp. Cool
Water, I realized.  
  
"Look," he said, his voice soothing. "I'm going to be there with you, okay?
Whenever you feel like you're gonna lose it, or Schaffer's pissing you off, I
want you to look at me. I'm here for you, Alyssa."  
  
I trembled, letting out a shuddering breath. My hand found his, squeezed it.
"You better be," I said. "God, I can't believe I'm doing this."  
  
"It's the right thing," he said.  
  
I nodded. "I know it is. If I don't do it, the people I love will get hurt." I
cradled Arni's hand against my chest, letting him feel my heartbeat. He
stiffened a little against me. I pretended not to notice.  
  
"Uh, that's right," he said.  
  
Swiftly, smoothly, I let go of his hand but kept it between us as I wrapped my
arms around him, hugging tightly. My cheek was against his chest as I felt his
curled-up hand twist and cup my left breast. Again, I pretended not to notice.
I squeezed Arni tightly, like a little girl who needed daddy's protection, and
gave him a little whimper. His body was tense. He breathed in deeply. I
figured he was smelling my shampoo. Some men liked to do that.  
  
"Um . . . Alyssa . . . ."  
  
I drew my face back from his, absolutely conscious of his hand cupping my
breast, the tips of his fingers upon naked flesh above the lapel of my blouse.
His face was showing the obvious struggle between lust and duty. I decided to
give him a little push.  
  
Doe-eyes. Soft, wide, round, and innocent, coupled with a little nibble of my
lips. It was a silent invitation, one that any man would have recognized. Arni
certainly did.  
  
"We, uh . . . Alyssa—"  
  
"Thank you," I said, my voice slight and frail, that of a frightened girl.
"I'm just really vulnerable and scared right now . . . I'm sorry I hugged you
like that but I really just need someone to hold me."  
  
Arni swallowed nervously. I felt his fingers brushing my naked skin, caressing
my breast. The tingle sent a little charge through me, and I shivered. I just
stared into his eyes . . . .  
  
I could tell the moment he gave in. His features softened and his eyes glazed
over with an expression of desire, of resignation. I pressed my body against
his, arching my back a little so that his fingers, dragging lightly down my
breast, touched the edge of my puffy areola. And that was all it took.  
  
"I can't do this," he whispered, even as he lowered his face, parting his
lips. I licked my own and tilted my head to meet his mouth with mine. "I
really can't doohhmm . . . ."  
  
I had not been with a man in six weeks, and my abrupt and total lack of
physical satisfaction needed serious assuaging. I sucked on Arni's lips
hungrily, moaning and sighing, encouraging his passion to flare. And flare it
did. I guess his seven-months-pregnant wife had not been much in the mood for
sex lately.  
  
He sort of growled, kissing me aggressively, his hand jerking open my blouse
and openly groping my tit. I trembled in passion. God, did I want to fuck!  
  
I sighed and moaned heatedly as Arni's mouth went from my lips to my neck,
down my chest, and right to my thick, puffy nipple. I arched my back, cradling
his head. Arni sucked as much of my breast as he could, like a starving baby
in need of milk. His tongue swirled round and round my nipple, bathing it in
the heat of his mouth.  
  
His left hand slipped under my skirt and I spread my legs wide, whimpering
excitedly in anticipation. Arni didn't have much in the way of finesse, I
realized. Fine with me. I didn't want moonlight and roses. I wanted blazing
passion and a stiff, throbbing cock.  
  
I lay back on the bed, lifting my legs and spreading them wide, letting Arni
dig his fingers through the wet cotton of my panties and right into my
steaming pussy. I clutched him desperately -- and at that moment, I really was
desperate -- and frantically started pulling on his tie. He slurped his mouth
off my nipple and eased up a little.  
  
I'm surprised we didn't lose any buttons, the way we were both ripping off our
clothes. Not a single word was said. Arni had been fantasizing about fucking
me for a month and a half, I knew. All those stories he'd heard about me must
have really become embedded in his libido.  
  
He was about to realize that the reality is more intense than the fantasy.  
  
The attorney was in pretty good shape. A little soft around the middle, but I
didn't mind. The only thing that mattered to me was his cock, which stood up
straight and proud and pleasantly thick. I shoved Arni back on the bed, and he
gave me a look that told me he was as intimidated by me as he was turned on.  
  
His eyes wandered over my body as I stood in all my nude glory at the end of
the bed. I let him get a real good look, teasing him for just a moment as I
ran my hands over my breasts, licking my fingers and polishing my nipples,
stroking my slick pussy. His cock twitched.  
  
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, his face absolutely full of lust and awe.  
  
I just grinned, then leaned over, legs straight and back arched, opening my
mouth as I slowly lowered my head, looking into his face and watching him
tremble as he understood that his cock was about to enjoy the pleasures of my
lips and tongue.  
  
I opened wide and barely touched his shaft with my mouth as I slid down. His
cock literally stuck straight up from his groin. I only really felt him as the
head of his dick pressed against the opening of my throat, then slid inside.
My nose pressed into his abdomen. His musky, hairy balls met my chin. Only
then did I close my lips around him and start sucking.  
  
"Ohholyfuck!" he grunted, clawing the sheets. I held my breath as long as I
could, sucking out the flavor of his cock, feeling it twitch and spasm in my
throat. Finally, I pulled up, taking in air through my nose and murmuring in
satisfaction. For my first cock in six weeks, Arni's tasted damn good.  
  
I ran my hands up and down his body as I sucked him, gliding my lips all the
way up to the very tip, then plunging down until he was fully seated in my
throat. Arni writhed and thrashed. I figured he had never gotten such a
'professional' blow job before.  
  
I kept his dick in my mouth as I crawled up onto the bed, turning around until
my needy sex was poised over his face. Arni wasn't a dumb guy; he knew what I
wanted. His hands slapped to my thighs and he moaned into my pussy as he
tasted me, aggressively covering my cunt with his mouth and sucking hard. I
whimpered around his cock and sucked harder, faster, drool oozing into his
pubic hair and dripping down his balls.  
  
Nothing could be heard in the room for many long, sweet minutes except the wet
licking and sucking sounds of mouths on genitals, and our mutual sighs and
moans. Arni gave me a sweet, rumbling little orgasm with his tongue, making me
whimper around his twitching cock. As I came down from my sweet peak, I
concentrated on Arni's dick, eager to get him off.  
  
"Uhn! Ah! Ohgodohgod!"  
  
Arni's hot exclamations upon my labia announced the arrival of his orgasm, and
I sucked hard on just the head of his dick, pulling with my lips, massaging
with my tongue. I could feel his penis swell, and then . . . _oh, that rush_!
That sweet, hot, salty-sweet gush of thick semen, flowing over my tongue and
deluging my taste buds. I savored the taste of him, the way his cock danced
between my tight lips, spitting out every creamy drop. I massaged his
testicles to urge it all out, held his flavor on my tongue.  
  
Arni gasped beneath me, quivering with aftershocks as I kept him between my
lips. I stroked his shaft with a light motion, swirling his cum around the
head for a moment before finally swallowing it down. I nursed out a last
little bit and smeared it into my lips.  
  
With a last lick on the head of his cock, I pushed up and turned around,
straddling Arni. He was breathing hard, his orgasm having drained his
strength. But at least his penis remained fairly hard, which was enough for
me. I gripped it with my hand and rubbed the slick head between my lips. I
figured I wasn't taking much of a chance fucking Arni without a condom.
Besides, I didn't have any, figured he did not either, and I wasn't about to
be denied my pleasure.  
  
He shuddered and groaned as I worked his spongy, half-hard cock inside my
tunnel, and winced as the overly-sensitive head was squeezed by my vaginal
muscles. I sighed at finally being filled. I had not realized just how much I
had wanted sex until I was forced to go without.  
  
"Oh, God," Arni moaned, settling his hands on my hips and watching me working
on him. "Jesus you're so tight . . . how . . . how . . . oh, God . . . ."  
  
I wasn't listening to him. I just wanted to use him, to satisfy myself, to
take at least something from him that would push away the fears and doubts and
worries in my mind. And if all I could get was raw, carnal pleasure, I was
determined to get my fill.  
  
And then some.  
  
***  
  
Detective Clay escorted me down to an unmarked squad car the following
morning. He didn't say anything, but he gave me a gunny look, as if he
suspected what had happened between Arni and I the night before. Although that
might just have been my own paranoid conscience making me think that.  
  
I cradled my purse in my lap on the drive, said nothing. My heart was beating
erratically and I had an unpleasant tingle in my stomach. _Butterflies_, I
thought. _So that's how that feels._  
  
Clay headed to an underground garage beneath the courthouse, took my arm in
his callused hand and lead me to an elevator. He slapped the button to close
the doors.  
  
"You know, I got a daughter who's almost your age," he said, his voice grating
through his teeth. "Don't see her much. She's gonna be seventeen in a few
months. Her mother tells me . . . she's got a couple boyfriends. A _couple_."  
  
I didn't say anything. I just listened.  
  
"What happens to girls like you?" he asked, sounding pained and worried. For a
moment, he wasn't a hard-ass cop with an attitude. He was just a worried
father. "How do you . . . do that? Sell yourself?"  
  
"Maybe I like it," I said.  
  
He turned to me, a disgusted expression on his face. The elevator stopped
humming. "God help my daughter if she ever turns into you."  
  
I met his gaze. "You know what I think, detective?" I asked him haughtily.  
  
He glared. "What."  
  
I stepped past him as the doors opened and the rush of a dozen different
conversations flooded from the courthouse hall. "I think you wish you had the
money to afford someone like me."  
  
He caught up to me and grabbed my arm, making me gasp and turn to face him.
His eyes blazed with controlled anger.  
  
"Now you listen to me, you little stuck-up bitch," he hissed. "There are still
a few people left in the world who have morals, people who have seen the
fucking shit that human beings do to each other every day. You think you know
what pain is because you got raped once?"  
  
I stared at him, shaking and frightened as Clay continued: "Try talking to a
thirty-year-old streetwalker who sucks dick for thirty bucks a pop and has
four kids by four different fathers. Who gets raped on a weekly basis by her
pimp and has cigarette burns and track marks on her arms. You don't know shit,
little girl. Whether you like it or not, this is the best fucking thing that
could have happened to you. Stop being a whore and start being a woman."  
  
Clay let go of my arm with a rough shove. There were a few around us who saw
the display. I blushed deeply in embarrassment. My arrogance, my self-
righteousness, vanished. What I had to do suddenly became even harder.  
  
"Come on," he growled, and lead me through the light crowd.  
  
Arni was waiting for us in an interview room off a back hallway, near the
courtroom where I was to make my debut. As a protected witness, Arni did not
want me to be seen by any of the reporters who were covering the trial, who
were, for the most part, forbidden to enter the rear halls. I knew he figured
I might get spooked if some photog jumped in my face and started flashing his
camera and asking me tabloid questions. I figured he was right.  
  
Arni gave me an uncomfortable look as I entered the room. He was remembering
the night before, I could tell, and his guilt was almost telling. There was an
older man with him, dressed in a dark suit with a red tie. Arni curtly
introduced him as the District Attorney, Karl Fuchs. He didn't say anything as
Arni went over a few last details. I wondered if Mr. Fuchs could sense the
lingering sexual tension between Arni and I.  
  
"All right," Arni said at last, stepping close to me. He didn't touch me, as
much as I figured I knew he wanted to. "You're the first witness. You need to
be confident in your answers. Remember everything we went over. Okay?"  
  
I nodded, searching his eyes. "Okay."  
  
Arni blinked and looked away. He glanced for a moment to his boss, then left
the room.  
  
Mr. Fuchs, professionally confidant with his hands in his pockets, came around
the small table in the room and faced me. He was a short, stocky man who
looked like the stereotypical grandfather. His hair was snow-white and I
figured he was in his sixties.  
  
"This is a very important case for our young Mr. Detweiler," he said. "He has
a lot of promise. I would hate to think he might be compromised in any way."  
  
I gave the DA a blank look. "Why would you think he has?" I asked.  
  
Fuchs responded with a patronizing smirk. "Pretty girl," he mused, as to
himself, then stepped past me. "The bailiff will come get you when we're
ready."  
  
I sat down after Fuchs left, drumming my fingers nervously on the table top.
The District Attorney's words resounded in my mind. Everything he had said
made me feel like nothing more than a tool. Hell, everything about the case
made me feel that way. It struck me, then, at that moment, how I had always
catered to other people throughout my life. I had always listened to my
conservative, Christian father, had capitulated to those two boys in the mall,
had done everything Gary ever wanted, and Ian . . . .  
  
Even if he loved me, I had still been his docile prize, his plaything. And all
those men . . . sure, I had enjoyed myself for the most part, reveling in the
illusion of power and influence I gained from being a pretty young thing men
desired . . . but it was, truly and ultimately, an illusion.  
  
It dawned on me that I had almost never done anything just for myself.
Whatever I had done, it had always been to please one man or another, in one
way or another. Sexuality coupled with compliance had become a curse.  
  
_Well, no more._  
  
***  
  
The hardest steps I ever took in my life were the ones that carried me into
the courtroom from the little side door. The wooden pews were crammed full.
Reporters, detectives, future and past witnesses . . . I saw Cleo, grey suit
and dark sunglasses, her face unreadable. James stood against the wall behind
her, stoic as ever. I saw Ian's wife Rebecca, tastefully dressed and glowering
at me, mouthing the word 'bitch' as she saw me. And Erin, seated beside her
fiancé Ross, looking at me as if to ask 'how could you?'  
  
I saw my parents, Mom giving me a forlorn look of encouragement, my father as
stone-faced as always. I saw disappointment in his eyes. But that was nothing
new. Julie sat beside them, sympathy and vicarious apprehension on her face.  
  
And then, of course, there was Ian.  
  
Seated behind the simple wooden table, beside his lawyer, hands clasped before
him on the table. He did not look angry; he looked tired. The previous weeks
had taken its toll, though he tried not to show it. His dark eyes bore into
mine, but there was no message behind them. He seemed empty.  
  
I was lead to the witness stand, and the bailiff held out a bible. I placed my
left hand upon it, raised my right as I was instructed to do so.  
  
"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"
he asked.  
  
I nodded, anxiety coursing one last time through me. My voice felt dry as I
responded. "I do."  
  
"Have a seat."  
  
I did so, peripherally listening to the buzz of excited conversation among the
gallery. I didn't look at anything or anyone except the floor, Ian, and the
Judge, when he addressed me.  
  
"Please state your full name for the record."  
  
I took a breath. "Alyssa Leigh Green," I said. I faintly heard the rapid
tapping of the stenographer.  
  
Arni stood from his table. Remembering his coaching, I straightened and looked
to him directly, hearing the stirring of the jury to my left. I could feel
their eyes upon me. I wondered what they had heard, what had come out during
the trial thus far. Arni had not made me privy to any of the court
transcripts. He did not want my testimony to be 'tainted.'  
  
"Miss Green," Arni said as he approached. He smiled. "How are you?"  
  
"I'm fine, Mr. Detweiler. A little tired. I had a rough night."  
  
His eyes shot to mine for a brief moment. "Eh . . . could you explain, for the
court, what you do for a living?"  
  
_Here we go,_ I thought, and steeled myself. I put on my best 'innocent' look
and batted my eyes as Arni stood in profile to me, his chin lifted smugly.  
  
"I'm a student," I said. "Sophomore in college."  
  
Arni's lips twitched. He knew that wasn't the answer I was supposed to give.
But he covered his consternation well. "And . . . what else do you do?" he
asked, facing me, giving me a hard look.  
  
I shrugged. "Watch TV, go to the movies with my friends. I read books
sometimes."  
  
A low murmur of laughter rolled through the gallery.  
  
Arni gritted his teeth a moment, forced a smile. He glanced to his boss, Mr.
Fuchs, standing to the rear of the courtroom. Arni's embarrassment was rapidly
growing. He cleared his throat, adjusted his tie.  
  
"Miss Green . . . ."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Are you not employed by a company known as Angel Escorts?"  
  
I furrowed my brow. "Angel what?" I asked sweetly.  

A scandalous grumble rolled amongst the gallery. Arni glared at me. "Angel
Escorts," he repeated.  
  
I shook my head. "I remember you and that detective mentioning it to me."  
  
The rumble in the gallery intensified. Arni shot me a vicious look, then
stomped back to his table, snatching up a sheaf of paper. "People's F," he
called out, and slapped it down on the railing of the witness stand before me.
His eyes stared into mine. "Please read the highlighted portion."  
  
I took the page up calmly. "'As an employee for Angel Escorts, I entertained
men with social and sexual services explicitly requested by them,'" I read.  
  
"Is that not your handwriting?"  
  
I nodded. "Yes."  
  
"And your signature?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"So are you contradicting your sworn affidavit before this court, Miss Green?"  
  
I breathed out heavily and looked up to Arni, looking distressed. "S-so that's
what this was?" I asked. "You guys _trick_ me into signing this thing and you
think that's what I am?"  
  
The row from the gallery grew to a cacophonous roar. The judge hammered his
gavel. "Order!"  
  
Arni glowered at me. I didn't have to read his mind to know what he was
thinking, and it all came down to two vicious words: _You bitch._  
  
He pushed away, struggling to maintain his composure. "Miss Green," he said in
an aggressive voice. "You _are_ employed by Angel Escorts. Your 'duties'
include dating various men who pay for your time, including, but not limited
to, having sexual intercourse with them."  
  
"What!" I cried. "I'm a student! I'm getting a degree in Liberal Arts! Okay,
so maybe I don't know what I really wanna do with my life, but I sure as hell
don't wanna be a . . . a _prostitute_!" Laughter from the gallery accompanied
my outburst.  
  
Arni stormed back to the witness stand and slapped his hands down hard, making
the wedding band on his finger clack loudly. "Don't do this," he seethed in a
low tone.  
  
I glared back, narrowing my eyes. _Already done._  
  
"Mr. Detweiler?" asked the judge.  
  
Arni pushed back, made an effort to look composed. "I'm sorry, Judge," he
said. "I would like a moment with my witness."  
  
The judge, a stocky black man, pursed his lips, then nodded. He rapped his
gavel. "Recess!" he called, then fixed his gaze on Arni. "Get your act
together, young man."  
  
Arni fumed quietly, his eyes burning as he looked upon me. He didn't say
anything as he motioned for the bailiff.  
  
***  
  
"What the fuck is going on!" roared Arni once he, I and Mr. Fuchs were once
more in the little room. He tossed his briefcase on the table and stabbed a
finger at me. "You get your pretty little whore ass back out there and do it
right! No more fucking games!"  
  
I stared back, feeling strangely confident, and took out my cigarette case and
lighter. "Fuck off, Arni," I said calmly, and lit a cigarette.  
  
Arni huffed a few times, looking like he was about to hyperventilate. He ran
his hands through his hair. "Jesus Christ . . . Jesus Christ . . . okay, you
stupid fucking—"  
  
"Shut up, Detweiler," growled Fuchs, stepping into my field of vision as I
smoked calmly. The older man's beady eyes bore down into mine. "What's going
on?"  
  
I looked to him. "'What's going on?'" I retorted. I smiled. "I'm not
testifying against Ian, that's what's going on."  
  
"You prissy, selfish _bitch_!" cried Arni, finally at wits' end. "I'll get
that asshole without you! And you're going to prison, you little cunt! I'll
make God damned sure—"  
  
I made a 'tsk, tsk' sound, blowing smoke. "And you were so nice last night
when you fucked me."  
  
Arni stopped dead in his tracks, glaring in alarm. Beside me, Fuchs stiffened.  
  
"What the hell is she talking about?" the DA asked.  
  
"N-nothing," Arni stammered, turning away.  
  
"Oh, he doesn't need to say anything," I said, taking the little black case
out of my purse. I held it up for Fuchs. "You ever see one of these? It's a
digital recorder. Saves as much as, say, two hours and twenty-one minutes of
footage, including sound. It's even got this little screen so you can watch
what you recorded."  
  
Arni whirled about, staring at me with a dumbfounded, hurt expression. I
pushed a few buttons. "Hmm, I like this part," I said. "Right when I'm sitting
on your face and you're telling me I have the sweetest pussy in the whole
world . . . bet the wife would love to see that."  
  
Arni trembled. "Y-you . . . you evil fucking _slut_!"  
  
I settled my eyes on him. "Yeah," I said with a smirk. "And you still fucked
me."  
  
Fuchs narrowed his eyes angrily as he looked upon the young lawyer. "You
stupid shit," he intoned, and shook his head. "Pretty little piece of ass, and
she played you. She played you!"  
  
Arni looked like he was about to explode. He lunged forward and grabbed the
black case out of my hand before I could react. He threw it on the floor and
stomped upon it, like a child having a tantrum. "There!" he yelled, and
grinned stupidly. "What you got to say now?"  
  
I shrugged. "Um . . . you owe me three hundred bucks?" I said. "I've got two
other copies, you know. In fact, by tomorrow, one of them is going to be
landing right on the producer's desk at Channel 12."  
  
Arni slapped his hands over his face. "Oh, God, this isn't happening, this
isn't happening . . . ."  
  
Fuchs faced me, his aged face hard. "When did he get to you?" he asked.  
  
I stared back, knowing who Fuchs meant. "The moment I fell in love with him,"
I said.  
  
That wasn't the answer the DA wanted, I knew. _Tough_. Fuchs thought quietly,
working his jaw. "I want all the copies," he said at last.  
  
I stood. "Sure. After Ian and I walk out of here."  
  
The DA shook his head. "Not gonna happen."  
  
I gathered my courage, hoping upon hope that James -- whom I had seen that
morning -- was right. "It _will_ happen. Without my testimony, your case will
fall apart. You'll embarrass yourself if you try to go on. That video will
make it to the news, the Internet, and everyone will know that the attorneys
of the DA's office are just as corrupt as everyone always thought they were."  
  
Fuchs gave me a look. "And you? You're the woman in the footage, after all."  
  
I laughed. "Yeah. I figure I can use it to get into politics."  
  
Arni groaned. "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ . . . ."  
  
"Shut the hell up," snapped Fuchs, then stepped close to me. "You are either
one brave, or stupid, little girl," he said.  
  
"Maybe a little of both," I said.  
  
Fuchs laughed mirthlessly. He was not amused. "All right. I'm a smart man; I
know when I can't win. But you listen to me, young lady: You and Holloway
don't have the upper hand, not by a long shot. My advice? Go away. You stay in
this city, and you will be fucked, even harder than you ever have been before.
And trust me . . . you won't like it."  
  
I blinked, intimidated, but determined to stand my ground. "We'll leave," I
said. "Both of us. I promise."  
  
Fuchs craned, then cracked, his neck. "Let's get this over with."  
  
***  
  
I sat upon the witness stand once again, but this time, it was Fuchs who took
the floor. Arni was gone; I don't know where he went. I noticed that his very
pregnant wife was gone from the gallery as well. I felt a moment's guilt.  
  
"Counselor?" asked the judge, looking upon Fuchs. "I didn't expect you to take
a hand in this case."  
  
Fuchs glanced to me a moment before responding. "Neither did I, Tom," he said
casually. "But, uh, some new developments have come to light that suggest that
. . . my office took the wrong route in dealing with this case."  
  
Now the hubbub really rose amongst the assembly. My parents looked to each
other with wonder. Julie narrowed her eyes and slowly began to smile. My eyes
darted from Erin's shocked and smiling expression to Ian's astounded and
confused look. It suddenly dawned on me that he had not known what his friends
had done for him.  
  
Toward the front of the court room, beside the door, I spied Cleo, giving me a
knowing smile as she lowered her sunglasses and winked. Then she was gone,
followed by James in his leather jacket and jeans. He smiled as well.  
  
"Karl?" asked the judge in perturbation.  
  
Fuchs took a deep breath. "The people feel compelled to withdraw their case
against Ian Malcolm Holloway," he said.  
  
Several cries and shouts rose from the gallery. Ian's wife rose, unexpected
relief more than telling upon her face. Ian spun around in his chair toward
her, as if asking, 'Is this really happening?' Reporters darted for the door,
since they could not use their cell phones in the court room.  
  
The judge gave Fuchs a serious look. "Are you sure of this?"  
  
Fuchs nodded. "Not the time, judge. Not yet."  
  
***  
  
I stayed seated in the witness chair long after the judge had dismissed the
jury, after the people in the gallery had left, after all that remained in the
small courtroom, smelling of oil soap and age, were a few sheaves of discarded
paper on the floor.  
  
I had done it. I don't know how, but I had done it. I had saved myself, and
Ian as well. I should have felt happy. I should have felt on top of the world.
Instead, I just wanted to cry. But not even the tears would come. I was denied
even that.  
  
I heard the echoing footfalls as the door to the court opened and closed.
Still, I did not look up.  
  
"Strange days." His words echoed in the room.  
  
I held back a whimper as I heard his voice. I just nodded.  
  
"You never cease to amaze me, Alyssa."  
  
I lifted my head slowly, looking upon Ian. The man I loved, the man I could
never have. He had a wondering smile upon his face. The look of worry and age
I had seen on him earlier was gone. That made me smile, just a little bit.  
  
His eyes dipped as he stopped a few feet from me. I could understand why he
wanted to keep his distance. The power balance between us was now in my favor.
He didn't control me anymore, and he knew that. I had saved his life,
literally. That put me in control.  
  
"I've made a deal with Fuchs," he said. He took a deep breath. "Rebecca and I
are . . . I'm leaving, Alyssa."  
  
I nodded. "Yeah . . . me, too."  
  
His eyes suddenly swelled. He sniffed back the beginnings of tears. His voice
was tinged with emotion as he spoke. "Why did you do it? That was a stupid
risk, Alyssa. It could have backfired on both of us."  
  
"I know," I said, then released some tension with a short laugh. "But I had
some help."  
  
Ian nodded. "Too bad James doesn't work for me anymore. I'd give him a raise."  
  
I stood, keeping my eyes on Ian, and came around the witness stand. Ian
watched me as I stepped up to him. He saw me differently now, I could tell. I
did, too.  
  
"All my life," I told him. "I've done things for other people. It's all I've
ever done. It's like . . . like I was born to make everyone else happy, except
me."  
  
Ian nodded, understanding what I meant. "It's time to take care of yourself,"
he said.  
  
I nodded back, then reached for him, pulling his head down and smothering my
lips against his in one last, sweet, passionate kiss. I sighed into his mouth,
licked his lips, finally pulled back.  
  
"Good bye, Ian," I said, fighting back my tears.  
  
His jaw trembled, his eyes dripped. He didn't say anything. I stepped away,
heading for the courtroom door.  
  
"Alyssa!"  
  
I stopped and turned back, hopeful. _Go ahead, Ian, just say it!_  
  
But he didn't. He simply stared at me, trying to work his lips around the
words that wouldn't come. He finally just sighed and shook his head.  
  
And I smiled. He didn't have to say it after all. "I love you, too, Ian," I
said, then turned and left.  
  
***  
  
It felt strangely appropriate that the only time I visited Gary's grave was on
what would have been his thirty-sixth birthday.  
  
It was a muggy June day when I got out of my little hatchback and headed
through the cemetery. I had always had this Hollywood image in my head that
cemeteries were always dark, shadowed places, with grey clouds hovering
overhead. But it was actually a pleasant day. The fields were green and birds
chirped in the scattered oaks.  
  
It took a while to find the plot. There was a simple headstone engraved with
his name, beneath which was etched, _'In memory of a loving father.'_ My heart
fluttered.  
  
"Hi, Gary," I said, my voice barely audible even to my ears.  
  
A slight breeze stirred my hair. "I . . ." I began, then stopped. Talking to a
dead man was harder than I thought. "I tried to hate you," I said. "What you
did was unforgivable. But . . . I don't know. Maybe, in a way, I can
understand what happened. Accept it, even. And, maybe I'll never forgive you,
but . . . ."  
  
I twisted the ring around my finger, the blue butterfly ring Gary had given me
so long ago.  
  
". . . but I'll always have you in my heart," I finished.  
  
I took the diamond bracelet off my wrist and knelt by the headstone. I looked
at the engraving inside the bracelet one last time, our initials separated by
a heart. The promise of a love that never was. Then I set the bracelet next to
some flowers that had been placed upon the grave. I stood and stepped back.  
  
"Good bye, Gary."  
  
As I headed down the grassy slope, I saw a woman walking up. A little
overweight in her corduroy shirt and white shorts, she had a pretty face and
short black hair. She held the hand of a young dark-haired girl who carried a
bouquet of flowers. An older boy lagged behind, absorbed in his PSP. The boy's
features were instantly familiar. He had his father's nose and chin.  
  
_Steven_, I thought, my heart flipping over in my chest.  
  
"Pardon me," the woman said graciously as she passed. She tugged on her
daughter's hand. "Come on, Joyce."  
  
I stopped, watching them pass. The woman continued up the hill toward Gary's
grave. I stood rooted like a sapling to the ground, watching as the little
girl set the flowers upon the grave and spoke for a few moments. The woman
coaxed her son into doing the same, tearing him away from his video game. I
stepped closer as the woman spoke.  
  
". . . Mom's doing good," she said, as if having a conversation. Steven and
Joyce occupied themselves off to the side. "She's, uh, walking finally." A
soft laugh. "Two titanium hips now. We're gonna have to call her the bionic
woman."  
  
She sniffed and rubbed her nose. Her eyes were a little red, but she wasn't
crying. "We had some good years and some bad ones, Gary," she continued,
oblivious to my presence. "I tried to be a good wife, I really did. Maybe you
were a selfish bastard sometimes, but . . . you're the man I married, and you
gave me two wonderful children."  
  
Her words tugged at my heart as she continued: "They're your legacy, you know.
Not . . . not what you did to that . . . that woman." She let out a heavy
breath and looked up to the sky. "God! When you called me that night, told me
what you had done . . . I was almost glad, you know? I thought she deserved it
for what she did to our family."  
  
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling a stab of pain through my heart. I struggled
to suppress the tears.  
  
"But it wasn't her. _You_ ruined our family, Gary. All by yourself. If it
hadn't been with her, it would have been someone else."  
  
She sighed. "I don't know what I'm trying to say," she said. "But I don't hate
you, Gary. I did, but . . . well, you're dead now, so what's the point,
right?" She let out a sharp laugh and covered her face. When she lowered her
hand, I could see the tears.  
  
"The kids are going to be fine," she said. "The check from your life insurance
finally arrived. Half of it I'm setting aside so they can go to college. I'll
use the rest to pay off the house, and . . . I don't know. Maybe take a cruise
to the Bahamas, like we did on our honeymoon. Anyway, happy birthday, Gary. I
hope you really are . . . resting . . . in peace . . . ." her words trailed
off, as she looked at the base of the headstone.  
  
She stepped closer, stooped, and took up the bracelet I had left. She frowned
as she turned it over.  
  
The she suddenly whirled around, as if instantly aware of my presence. Her red
eyes stared at me for a long moment. Neither one of us spoke as the wind
whistled between us.  
  
"It's you," she said at last.  
  
I could only nod. "Yes."  
  
She breathed in sharply. "I always wondered what you looked like," she said,
seeming so strangely calm. "I should have known. Gary always liked blondes."  
  
I couldn't look at her. "I-I . . . I'm—" I began.  
  
Mrs. Jackson stepped closer to me, holding the bracelet. "He gave you this,
didn't he?"  
  
I nodded silently.  
  
"He always was a romantic," she mused. "You know, my birthday was five days
after our first date. I'm sure he never told you that. We barely knew each
other, and I wasn't even sure of how much I liked him. But . . . he came over
to my parents' house, where I was living at the time, and he gave me a 'Pink
Lady' jacket. I had barely mentioned how much I wanted it to him on our date,
yet he had listened. I still have the jacket."  
  
I sniffled, still quiet, still looking away. I watched as Gary's children
chased each other, laughing playfully further down the hill. The were too
young to recognize the somber mood of a cemetery.  
  
"You know, I had planned to see you testify," she said. "I couldn't do it. I
didn't want to hear all the little details about you and Gary . . . about what
he did to you. That would have been too much."  
  
I picked my nails, unable to find the words.  
  
"Guess it doesn't really matter, does it?" she asked rhetorically. "At least
another innocent person didn't suffer, right?"  
  
I ground my teeth. "Right."  
  
"At least tell me you loved Gary," I heard his wife say. "And that it wasn't
just—"  
  
"I loved him," I said, snapping my eyes up to find hers. "I did."  
  
She almost smiled. "Are you still—"  
  
"No," I said quickly. "That's not me anymore."  
  
Mrs. Jackson nodded, then took a breath. "I always wondered what I would say
if I ever met you. Words like 'slut' and 'whore' and 'bitch' came to mind."  
  
I winced slightly. I couldn't blame her in the slightest.  
  
"But I've had time to think," she said. "And reflect. I know what kind of man
Gary was. Always thinking with his dick. However, I don't know what kind of
woman you are, and honestly, I don't really care. I'm pretty sure I'll never
see you again. But I'd like to think that you've learned something from all
this, that—"  
  
"I have," I said.  
  
She stopped, and nodded again. "Only time will tell, right?"  
  
I looked away. I wasn't sure what to say, or even if I should speak at all.  
  
"Kids!" called Mrs. Jackson. "Time to go!" She started past me.  
  
"Mrs. Jackson," I said, turning toward her. She stopped and looked back.  
  
"Maybe . . . maybe it doesn't mean anything, but . . . I'm sorry. I really
am."  
  
Then, she did smile. She looked down at the bracelet she held, and handed it
back to me, clasping my hands in her own for a moment. "It does mean
something," she said, then turned away and left, gathering her children.  
  
**Epilogue**  
  
The bouncer at the door of the nearly-empty bar didn't card me, for which I
was glad. It had been a hard semester, what with fifteen hours of classes a
week and the stresses of getting used to a new college campus, a new city. But
I had managed to fit in, somehow. I made some new friends, got used to my new
surroundings.  
  
After finals, though, I really needed a drink and I didn't feel like drinking
at home. I was doing a lot less of that. My friend 'Boobie' -- gayest man on
the planet and a real riot -- always made sure I was stocked with strawberry
vodka at home, and often shared it with me while telling me of the latest
'tasty morsel' he had picked up. It was ironic. No longer a prostitute, and my
closest friend was more of a slut than I had ever been.  
  
I went through the pictures of the wedding as I took a seat at the bar. Erin
had looked gorgeous in her long ivory gown, with a train that practically went
out the door. I smiled as I went through the photos, laughing softly at some
of the images. I had gotten pretty drunk at the reception, and one of the
pictures showed me and all seven of Erin's bridesmaids mooning the camera. I
didn't even remember that.  

"So, what's your poison, young lady?"  
  
I looked up at the bartender. He was an older man, with a real friendly way
about him. Thinning hair, moustache and a slight belly, he looked kind of like
my father.  
  
"Strawberry martini?" I asked tentatively.  
  
He nodded. "Coming right up."  
  
I thought a moment as I watched him take up the bottle of flavored Absolut.
"No, wait."  
  
The bartender paused, looked back at me. "Changed your mind?"  
  
I smiled. "I've changed a lot of things," I said. "Why not my drink? I want
something different."  
  
He pursed his lips around a half-smile. "And what's different for you?"  
  
"Anything _without_ strawberry vodka," I said.  
  
He chuckled. "Okay. Something different . . ." he replaced the vodka and
looked at the bottles beneath the mirror along the back wall. "How about a
classic?"  
  
"Sure. Anything. Surprise me," I told him.  
  
The bartender gave me a non-flirtatious wink, grabbed a bottle. I watched him
pour a dark liquid and add some sweet and sour. He dropped in a cherry and set
it before me. "It's not fancy, but I think you'll like it."  
  
I sipped the drink, finding it bitter and sweet and a little tart. The flavors
mixed well and were satisfying on my pallet. "I like it," I said, smiling at
the bartender. "I like it a lot."  
  
He grinned. "Amaretto sour," he said, and winked again. "An intelligent
woman's drink."  
  
I laughed softly and even blushed a little. "Thanks."  
  
The bartender patted the counter and pushed up. "No problem," he said and went
back to polishing his glasses.  
  
I flipped through the pictures some more, lingering for a moment that showed
me and Julie kissing. She had been pretty drunk at the reception, too. I
remembered when the invitation came and it said "and guest." Julie had been
pretty surprised when I asked her to go to the wedding with me. She had
jokingly asked if that meant she was my date.  
  
And then the morning after, waking up in the hotel bed, naked and snuggling
each other . . . with Julie giving me dreamy 'good morning' smiles. I was glad
I had remembered most of _that_. I reminded myself to give her a call when I
got home. I hadn't talked to her in over a week. We were planning on seeing
each other over Christmas; she had a new boyfriend she wanted to show off.  
  
"Mind if I intrude?"  
  
I glanced to the owner of the voice as he stood a few feet away, giving me a
hopeful smile. A handsome man, not much older than I, I figured. A little
stocky, with short dark hair and very friendly brown eyes. He was dressed in a
white T-shirt under his black leather jacket, and blue jeans. Just a nice guy.
A regular guy.  
  
I smiled. "Sure."  
  
He grinned like a kid on Christmas morning and took the stool beside mine,
setting a motorcycle helmet to the side. He peeled off thick leather gloves
and set them carefully on the bar. "Vacation pictures?" he asked.  
  
"Wedding," I said, and showed him one of Erin and her new husband Ross.  
  
He looked closer for a moment. "Wow. Beautiful girl. Were you in the wedding?"  
  
I shook my head. "Just a guest," I said, feeling comfortable with this
stranger.  
  
His eyes shone as he smiled. Jesus, he had gorgeous eyes. Not dark at all.
Nothing intimidating or mysterious to them, just . . . gorgeous.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, and offered his hand. "I forgot my manners. My name's
Dylan."  
  
I smiled back, a little touch of warmth spreading through me. I took his hand,
feeling the gentle strength of him. "I like that name," I said, then blushed.
"Alyssa. My name's Alyssa."  
  
His eyes kept shinning. He didn't let go of my hand, and I didn't want him to.
"Tell you what," he said. "Let me buy your drink, and I'll get one, too . . .
you show me some more pictures and I'll tell you about my vacation in
Germany."  
  
"You went to Germany for vacation?"  
  
He nodded. "I grew up there, in fact," he said.  
  
I was starting to like Dylan more. "Then it's a deal," I said.  
  
Dylan signaled the bartender, ordered something called an 'Optimator' that
turned out to be a thick, dark beer. "Don't trust a beer I can see through,"
he commented after his first sip.  
  
"So let's see those pictures," he said, leaning closer. I liked the smell of
his cologne. It wasn't fancy. Just a warm, manly scent. "And then . . . who
knows? Maybe we can grab some dinner. It'll take a while to tell you all about
Germany."  
  
I bit my lip, smiling. "Yeah. Who knows? Anything's possible in this crazy
world."  
  
_-finis-_




End file.

