5 comments/ 8153 views/ 3 favorites The Whore By: Marchpane Mid thirties, scruffy, a rhapsody in blond, moth-eaten blond beard shadowing his sharp, narrow jaw—Justus Fawley bundled himself into a trench and took to the unusually cold streets of Hollywood at roughly two in the morning. At that time of night, when a city as sick and sacred as Los Angeles, opened its sewers, mangy kittens and rats in sequins crawled up into the neon light of faux-day, and the painter in Justus saw vices and demons acquire names the sun usually swept into raucous anonymity. You could never know the loveliness of a whore if she'd already ceased to be a woman. At Sunset and Gower, he spotted her near a busstop, a brew of smelly colors and incongruent fabrics, pushing a shoppingcart back and forth and walking in place. Bag ladies weren't really homeless. They were human tortoises. The truly homeless carried nothing. You could always tell the ones who'd sold themselves, once upon a time, because despite the sudden accumulation of decaying property around them, they still carried themselves as if they had something to sell. Just the way you could tell which of the whores had once had bit-parts in movies, or even recurring roles on defunct shows, because they always made an attempt to speak very clearly, as if they'd never stopped auditioning. Whatever poison had blown up their noses or pierced their blood, the hope for better diction still rode palpably high in their sad eyes. Justus had sold eleven Madonnas to date, going back twelve years. Men and women everywhere were still hungry for purity. Every Madonna had a story and the most horrifying were the tales of those who'd tried to stay pure. After he stopped near her, lingered for a few moments, as if with an unspeakable proposal, "Are you a priest," she finally asked, not really looking at him, nodding her head, walking in place, allegorizing about all she could of what the rest of her kind did standing perfectly still or lying in doorways. "Cause you look like a priest, clean and sacred. Remind me of when I used to be a nun—" "You were a nun?" Justus berated himself inwardly, almost at once, for the glee that leaked into his tone. "Maria Assumpta—" "That your name? Maria?" "I'm nobody's fucking whore," she screamed at him, so people in cars turned to look. He didn't care. You couldn't care and still paint. "He hasn't yet forgiven me, you know." "The priest?" "Fuck the priests," her voice rose again, and some kids in their early twenties from a car going the other way cackled and craned their sorry necks. "You know about the church. You know what the church is all about." He was ashamed of how surprised he was that she spoke college English. It was easy to forget, viewing them as the verminous refuse of high civilization, that each one of them had begun somewhere, had known people, touched lives, moved on, fallen—possibly loved and been loved, if they were lucky. At thirtysix, he wasn't that lucky. Despite all his cool connexions, it was only the street, the whores and bag-ladies whose garrulous tragedies he could render into speechless color and line, that switched his oxygen back on again. "Oh yes, dearie, the church's one big goddamn industry, one edifice without holes. Imporous piety. You need a sponge to handle the tears. You better have a quicker picker-upper, Father—" "—I told you I'm not—" "—if you're going to pretend you know about suffering. You ever notice how the Bible gives no attention to a broken heart?" Now that he'd got her going, it wouldn't be easy to get her to stop. They usually had to talk themselves out, at least temporarily, before he could make his proposition. "No, dearie, the Bible's only about material poverty, about poor widows and orphans, makes absolute sense the rich people of this land thump it night and day. If you ask me, the Bible's all about the body, clothing and healing and feeding it, no wonder all the priests are obsessed with sex. Yes, dearie. No wonder. But if you look closely—do you believe in Christ?" "Well," he flubbed it, not wanting her to stop, because their stories were what set the tone of each painting, "I'm more spiritual than religious—" "In other words, you want to do what the fuck you want, to hell with God and community. Delude yourself into thinking you're so goddamn pious into the bargain, don't you, dearie? Sweet deal. Pick the vices first and then tailor the beliefs to fit them. Where's God, dearie? How far down the list of what you want and what works for you? Fucked up world. How're you different from some motherfucking corporate asshole who burns up villages to make a buck?" "Well—for one thing—I don't burn up villages." "They aren't your fucking villages in the first place, to burn or spare. But aren't we so pious, dearie?" He was ashamed he couldn't grant her enough status and dignity to find her tirade offensive. She'd never once looked at him, so he found relief in believing, possibly, that she wasn't speaking to him but through him to the world that usually passed her mutely by. He was less a person to her than a representative ear. All speech is confession. Every verbal bridge to another mind is merely a subtextual bid for absolution. She needed Justus to believe in her God, the God who'd clearly done her wrong, so that she could ordain him, confess to him, and, in doing so, transgress her own moral indolence long enough to give her barriers meaning. "—and so He had to die," she was nattering on, walking in place, from a habit she'd probably developed to keep warm or to give herself the illusion of motion in a stillborn world, "because I'm sure He loved Mary Magdalene, and John—yes romantically, in case you're wondering—and yes he had to've been bisexual—" "Are we talking about—whom I think—?" "Squeamish now? When'd you throw Him out of your life, anyway?" "No. Not squeamish. Go on." "What do you want?" "Not sure I know what you mean—" She turned her face to him, and the gleaming black eyes opened doors to him he never knew lingered in the city night, "Some of them tell you I used to do certain things for money, certain things some of the other girls didn't do?" He shrugged, immobile in her gaze. Her irises were like gleaming black stones with a multitude of facets only the iridescent night allowed them to disclose. Despite the tattered pink-and-yellow woolen beanie—which must've been truly hideous even in its prime—the filthy black hair that was partly relaxed, waxy-yellow in the streetlights, partly all dull and frizzy, despite a faint scar above her left eye, she was a remarkably beautiful woman. She looked to be roughly his own age, but her filthy skin and the premature aging which life on the street had wrought could easily've conspired to deceive him. Her eyes were younger, but not by much. They bore their own reverberant cargo of unappeased experience. Most people would not've seen it. But Justus saw it, and he was already weaving around her the swift redemptions of color and callous shame. "I don't get tied up," she said, "no matter what you pay me," turning her head away from him once more. "How long's it been?" "Just because I lost my bicycle," she said— He laughed at that. "You could walk a block that way and get some young thing who's about one clean dress and one final squirt of perfume away from where I'm at. But you wanna know something? My throat can handle just about any size as good as my—" "That so? Well, I'm not worried. I'm nice and average." "That is nice. I figure I had the biggest one there ever was, once upon a time, and average sounds like sunsets and ice-cream." It struck him then, at the ripe old age of thirtysix, how deeply mendacious the world of courtship really was, how carefully designed to shoulder every load of bull and vanity. "Tired of the mansion," he said, "you return to the gatehouse." "Dearie," she said, "his wasn't a mansion, it was a whole goddamn island unto itself. You had to see it to believe Aphrodite would hand them out that large to emotional midgets." Suddenly, because she'd likened him to sunsets and ice-cream, he wanted her to rhapsodize about him some day, to some other john, and he wanted this uniquely horse-hung monster from her past to be the villainous pivot of her downward spiral. "Is he the reason you're on the street?" "None of your goddamn business," she yelled into his face, her mouth making a full confession of its scattered rotting teeth and lethal reek. "You don't believe in God, so you can't believe in history, so what the fuck difference does it make how I got here? I'm here. And you're probably up there in the hills. And are we gonna to do the side-by-side or what?" He stared at her. She turned her head and spat. She leaned into her shopping cart of decaying possessions and pushed on, as if his unbelief, his trite audacity, had propelled her out of stasis, and would probably someday, if the system finally worked, sweep her off the street. "Five hundred," he said. She stopped, about fifty feet away. She did not turn away from her cart to face him but turned it all the way about as if making some grandiose detour on her way to death. She bellowed at him, "You kidding me?" He shook his head. When she was close again, she said, at times speaking barely above a whisper and now and then darting furtive looks up and down the sidewalk but mainly at a tree that grew on the edge of an empty parkinglot nearby, "There's a town called Sofia in the state of Pennsylvania which used to have a place in the mountains above it called Cytherea Grove. Cytherea is another name for Aphrodite and some of the locals still call it Aphrodite's Grove. It's a place where the goddess walks at night, except when there's no moon. I went to find it, but someone had hacked down all the trees and torched all the stumps and you could swear, standing there in the silent moonlight, with no wind to speak of, you could still hear the trees groaning, like phantom limbs, and feel the ground under you begin to smell like a stew of all the foul and nameless things heaven once unleashed on earth to keep humans on the right path and to give us freedom, because unless there're two absolutely opposing choices—heaven and hell—you can never be absolutely free. Dearie, I came back from Cytherea Grove and the only thing that seemed like home was the fucking street. You still got that five hundred?" He nodded. "I don't get tied up." It seemed odd, a fallen whore, in itself an almost untenable proposition, fighting for her dignity against such a sum. He offered to push her cart, but she refused to surrender it. The miniature warehouse in which he lived suited his needs impeccably. Such friends as he had continually advised lodgings more appropriate for a man of his years and, in certain restricted circles of his field, his distinction—he had, after all, sold eleven paintings—but the large redbrick one-room structure standing in the middle of a garden that gave every reliable impression of the building's being derelict, held the same talismanic hold over Justus as Freddie Mercury's teeth had held over him. So he persisted in it, while zealously debunking all rumors of a possible Bukowski swerve. There was the bed, a vast four-poster canopy affair, beshorn of all umbrageous fabrics, and provided in their stead with an intricate wealth of lights on long, boomlike necks, cranes, and pulleys; all looking in, like electric angels from above, with varying degrees of serene inarticulate curiosity. Around the bed— (She said, "You paint even when you're sleeping?" "We all do," he said, "not just writers. What you do when you're awake is take dictation from works you've already finished in your dreams. The ones who can do it without a translator are the ones we call geniuses.") —were various tables, strewn with palettes, a haphazard rainbow of pigments, scraps of paper from sketchbooks bearing the relics of charcoal prayers hurried into consciousness during the fitful watches of the night, lurid stanzas of virgins and wrythen saints, in whose nocturnal pudicity it was possible to perceive the soul of all their future technicolor incarnations, all ranged alongside the studied refuse of a man who was clearly taking a detour through the social dregs on a journey back to his own arcane purity, neither indulging a life of pretentious poverty nor weaving one of flamboyant accomplishment. On the wall, like shrunken cyclops heads, hung seven cameras, six digital, one analog. Each strap by which the camera hung on its hook was a different color of the rainbow, all stretching left to right from violet to red, to remind him that photography made as much use of the spectrum as painting. Justus had broken down the walls of the bathroom, so there were literally no interior divisions left inside the cube. Even the kitchen range stood against the wall to the far right with two ovens on a long counter alongside it, conventional and micro, edgy and speciously seductive against the ubiquitous red brick. After some struggle, and his provision of a chain and lock which he kept for just such contingencies, in his line of business—she mayn't get tied up, but it was okay for her things—they secured her cart to a hook in the wall of the small garage out back in which he stabled his Harley. He could never stand the smell of their clothes and other stuff in his apartment, and the indoor heat—it being winter, and the middle of the night—only rendered the stench more pervasive, more difficult to exorcise the following day. "You want that blow job now?" Since there was always the possibility in Hollywood that people would come staggering by even at this hour, and be tempted to peer in, he'd hung huge canvas curtains over the large streetward windows, red over one and blue over the other, both pretty faded by now, but which he'd used over the years as a kind of abstract journal in paint, sometimes having recorded vibrantly on them no more than a few wild strokes here and there of ocherous frustration or viridian rage, so they now resembled a vital, salacious cauldron of Chagal, Modrian, and Pollack. Struck by the way in which the particular haphazard colors of her tatterdemalion ensemble made her seem as if she'd stepped out of one or other of his curtains, the incarnation of some dryad that stood between him and the world, he studied her quietly, almost unaware of what he was doing, till it made her squirm. Having allowed him his moment's examination, she wrenched him back to them from his silent separateness. "What the fuck you looking at? The merchandize won't look much better in this light than it did on the street, so if you want to pretend I'm a princess, Mister Photographer—under some trick of light—" The inspiration abruptly dying, "There's one more ritual," he said, "I always do with my models." "Models? You didn't say anything about modeling. That'll be extra." "Don't be silly. Get undressed." "What'd you just say?" Gently smiling, "I asked you," he backed away, gesturing grandly to her with one arm, "to get undressed." "Before that?" With a small histrionic frown, "O, don't be silly," he chided her, turning away, taking off his coat, "I'd never repeat something like that," draping it over a battered Victorian armchair that stood between a good old-fashioned hearth and an ivory-inlaid oaken endtable on which lay a rare, green, leatherback edition of Thomas Hardy's Two on a Tower. She cackled. He was grateful the windows behind his curtains sat snug in their frames. He threw another log on the flames, lit two candles in their sconces on the wall, turned on a dim blue light, which dispensed its glow from a corner of the ceiling. He walked over to the bathroom area—a vast ceramic clawfoot tub with sapphire trim under a an ornate gold shower rig in the wall—and began to run a bath. Clumsily unlayering herself, an Aphroditic onion, "I get it," she said, "you want me to get in bed with you and you want to make sure I'm—" "There's some mouthwash and toothpaste above the sink, also a new toothbrush. Start there." For a few moments he heard nothing behind him and stood and turned at last to see her topless, with one wrist bent back and resting on her hip; wearing only a long, muddy-yellow woolen scarf and filthy sweatpants which he was sure were no longer the color they'd started out being. Her breasts were large, but not overly large, the size of each areola in proportion to each breast as ideal as anything can be which will always, in order to remain beautiful, elude mathematics. Her nipples, well warmed, were shy nubs that promised, even muffled, wonders of distension and flavor. Catching his eyes on her breasts, she pulled the scarf over them, each side, in a gesture that was odd, to say the least. "Can I ask you something personal," she said, as if to deflect attention from her own quick modesty. With vehement humility, "I already told you my dick's not very large," he said, as if, now that she knew that, she'd have to die, "how much more personal—" "That's not personal. All you gotta do to tell me that is get naked and let the big-guy show me how much he wants me all on his own. Personal's when you talk. And men—well—men never talk, do they?" As if in illustration of this, he shrugged, with a taut smile, becoming a little uncomfortable with her for the first time since he'd made contact; something, he suddenly realized, which was new, certainly, to these encounters, and more startling to him now, since she was partly naked and he was clothed, she the baglady and he the well-off guy with the skidsy-chic pad. Yet unwilling to let her have the last word on it, "Granted," he finally said, "but some of us at least paint," turning back to re-immerse his hand in the slow-warming water filling the tub. "Go wash out your mouth." "Maybe I don't kiss," she said, speaking above the torpid susurrus of water. "And maybe I'd just like to sample," he turned and spoke to her over his shoulder, eyes averted, "those sensational oral skills that other guy trained you for." "That so, dearie?" He first heard and then smelled her get totally naked, looking up from the water only when he saw her wide naked ass hovering by the sink, glowing like wet chocolate in the fierce baptismal steam he was stirring up. There were other elements of hygiene she'd have to take care of, at least preliminarily, on her own, for which he always kept one of those flowery bottles, freshly shorn of its box, by the sink, on a wooden pedestal, with a clean towel folded up near it. They always came from somewhere. This wasn't India where girls were literally born on the streets. Maria, like all the others, had grown up with the amenities, had known the norm and fallen from it, either because of some heartless man, whose wondrous phallus was merely incidental to the tragedy, or, quite possibly, if you believed her charming tale, because of the sphingid mysteries of Cytherea Grove. "Front and back," he called out to her. "The backdoor's not open, either," she yelled. "Don't worry," he said, surprised, again, for the first time, at how little the preambulary crudeness of this, while he didn't exactly get off on it, repulsed him. What, he wondered, did men and women do before the basics had involved such elaborate measures of hygiene for both sexes? Had men always been more idealistic that way and had their calamitous visions, in a kind of numbing and verbless despair too great for their lexicons, eventually precipitated rape; it being impossible, when faced with some ancient, savage female's unwashed and natural womanhood, to write her a sonnet? No, he decided, feeling a twinge of that despair himself, there could be no linguistic system that effectively exceeded nature, and so the real men were the bums who fell in love with the unvarnished vaginas of the street. The Whore She tried so hard to resist him but he had a hold on her. He knew her and what she was. What she'd always been but tried to hide. To most she was a loving wife and devoted mother but he knew better. He hadn't been the first to discover what she was. He was just the latest one who'd taken advantage of it. Her step dad saw it when she was young. The older boy down the street she had a crush on saw it not to long after. Mr Jones her boss at the supermarket where she worked when she was teenager definitely saw it. Her college professor, her sister's husband, her kid's teacher, the pastor at her church, her boss at work, the builders who did her renovations even the young apprentice at the petrol station at the end of the street knew it. She'd even seen a therapist to try to get help and it had felt good being able to tell someone. Like a weight had been lifted from her and for a brief moment she thought that maybe she'd finally be able to get the help she needed. She'd been too ashamed to look the therapist in the eye while telling her story and when she finally did her heart skipped a beat. He was stroking his cock. "Fuck, fuck, fuck why does it always happen to me" she thought to herself. Now she could add therapist to the list. She'd tried to work out why she was like this. Yes she liked to fuck but so did a lot of women. Why did she like it so rough? Why had she let them all use her as they liked, doing whatever they asked? Why didn't she ever resist, all she had to do was say no. Why didn't she just say no? Why did she let them humiliate and degrade her? Why did she let them beat her? Why did being with them make her feel so good even when after it meant she felt so bad? Finally the most confusing question of all why had she sought them out? She had a husband who adored her she couldn't have asked for more. Yet it wasn't enough for her. As much as she tried to resist she always longed for more. Invariably she'd find the next one to know "what she was" . He was different from the others she was sure of that. He had a way about him, a presence and she was drawn to him from the get-go. She'd surrendered to him almost immediately. A friend had introduced them at a party and within twenty minutes he'd praised her away from her husband and had her bent over against the bathroom wall. Expertly he had her skirt up around her waist almost at the same time her torn panties hit the floor. He pulled at her top exposing her breasts before quickly moving his hand to the small of her back causing her to arch it. She could feel her knees starting to weaken the longer he played with her pussy. Her juices started running down her thighs. She could hear the gushing sounds from her pussy getting louder as he fingered her with two finders at first, then a third and fourth he was driving her wild. She pushed her hips back in unison as he worked his magic. Then he stopped, just like that. It startled her, she'd become lost in the feeling and wanted more. "You can go if you want," he said. Go, what the fuck was he talking about? Her head was spinning her heart raced with anticipation. Her thoughts consumed with just one thing, coming. She didn't care about anything else. Again he asked her "do you want to go?" "No, please don't leave me like this" she blurted out in almost a frantic voice. "Please, I want to cum" she pleaded "please, please, please." He just smiled and whispered "tell me what you want baby." He'd barely finished the sentence before she screamed, almost a primal scream of "FUCK ME." She flinched as she felt him press his cock against the opening of her ass but he was too strong and easily held her in place. She pleaded with him "no, please not in my ass." He ignored her pleas and continued pushing his cock into her ass. She let out a little yelp as he slowly rocked his hips forward probing her asshole with each push. She begged him this time "please no, not my ass, please don't..." but before she could finish the words he pushed forward with one final violent thrust and was in her ass. She tried to scream but he just wrapped his hand across her mouth and began slowly fucking her ass. The tears began to well in her eyes as he fucked her with long strokes, pulling his dick almost all the way out before burring it deep in her ass again. She braced herself against the wall as his tempo quickened. He moved his hand away from her mouth as he felt her hips start to push back into him. She wasn't trying to scream anymore she loved his cock way too much. Each trust filled her deeper and she couldn't get enough. She knew it was just a matter of time before her body would betray her as his dick kept driving into her ass. Her legs started to tremble. Her breathing became shallower. He'd grabbed her hair with both fists and pulled back hard causing her head to jerk back. His dick buried deep in her ass as the waves of ecstasy started to wash over her body. If he hadn't had hold of her hair she'd likely have collapsed to the floor such was the intensity of her orgasm. He gave her a moment as she collected herself before starting to fuck her ass again seemingly picking up from where he'd left off. She could feel herself building again and within a couple of minutes he'd made her cum again. This time he didn't let her recover, instead using the fistful of hair he still had hold off to spin her around so she was now on her knees facing him. She didn't need any guidance from there she knew what he wanted because she wanted it more. She sucked his cock like she'd never sucked before. She pushed it as far down her throat as she could. She could feel him brushing past her tonsils as she bobbed her head up and down. When he was ready to cum he pulled out of her mouth and started jerking his cock over her face plastering it with his cum. She was still on her knees looking up at him as he admired her cum covered face. His cum had mixed with her make-up making her look disheveled as it dried. Several wet patches had formed on the front of her dress where cum had hit. She worried for the briefest of moments about how she could possibly join her husband back at the party looking like she did. It passed quickly though because she didn't really care how she looked. She didn't really care about anything except him right then. She watched as he flicked the last drops of cum from his cock onto her face before he tucked himself in. He just turned and walked out the door without saying a word. She'd just been ass fucked harder than she'd ever been, by a man she hadn't known thirty minutes earlier with her husband not more than twenty feet away. She really was a whore. That was two years ago, he'd used her many times since then. She'd swear after every time that she'd never let him do it to her again. Yet here she was again. She took a deep breath...KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK to be continued. The Whore and Me Pro I was at an adult theater watching a guy share his lady with others. She had a cock in each hand and a mouth on each tit. Her guy handed a man a condom and he was soon fucking her. She appeared to be in the middle of a feeding frenzy. After the guy fucking her was done another condom was handed out and she was fucked again. Her body was covered with cum by the time the second man ejaculated but then I heard her say to her guy, "We have to go." No one questioned that statement and the couple was soon outside. I knew the best show was over and I left too. On the parking lot I saw him give her some money then say, "Catch a cab, you have money," then got in his pickup and drove away. She did not notice me until she was alone. "I take it you were a hired performer," I said. She gave me a quizzical look and said, "Yes but I can't take on another customer right now, I'm exhausted and need to go home." "Do you think you have the energy for gumbo and coffee?" She gave me another quizzical look and asked, "Are you serious?" "Yes, I'm on my way to the Cajun Café and you look like you could use a pick me up. That and it will be easier to get a cab to come get you there rather than here." "If you don't mind." I smiled and led her to my car and opened the door for her. "If you wish we could go someplace closer to your home and save cab money." "The Cajun Café will be fine." The next time I looked in her direction she was nude and toweling herself clean. She put on khaki shorts and a peasant blouse and changed her high heels for sandals. When done she looked like a different person. No one looked at us when we went in. She walked up to the cashier and kissed her cheek. "I thought you were working tonight?" the cashier asked. "I did then was left stranded. This guy volunteered to get me gumbo tonight." "Hi, I'm Don, pleased to meet you." "Nice to meet you and thanks for bringing my daughter here. Two gumbos and two coffees coming out soon." The woman led me to a booth and as soon as we sat she said, "Yes, Mom knows what I do for a living. She has no problems with my job but worries about my safety. You are now a knight in shining armor for her. Don't take advantage." I saw she was kidding so I just hung my head in disappointment. She giggled. By the time we were eating I had forgotten she was a hooker and we enjoyed each other's company. When we finished our second cup of coffee I asked her how long she would need to wait for her mother and she said, "Just until midnight, her relief is already here." "In that case I will say bye. It has been a pleasure all around. Good night." I kissed her cheek and waved at her mother and left. I went back to the theater, I needed a blowjob. That had been impossible while she was there so I was going back to try again. There were more men there than had been earlier and that included a guy that had sucked me off a couple of times before. He recognized me and followed me into a booth. He sat on the bench as I lowered my slacks and pulled out my cock. He loved sucking cock and gave me his best effort but my cock was not very interested. I sat next to him with a long sigh. "Just one of those things tonight?" He asked. "Yeah, just distracted. There was a hooker with a guy here earlier tonight and several guys used her although not me. I had a hard cock all the time she was here but never got to use it on her or any of the guys." "Was she pretty?" "Yes she was, nice body, nice tits, shaved pussy, but her expression went from fun to that of someone on another boring day at work." The guy was now on his knees making love to my cock. I caressed his face and hair. "It's funny to think about that. Do astronauts have boring days? Do major league catchers?" he asked before returning my cock into his mouth. "I don't see how but now I don't know." The guy slid a hand to my butt and slowly worked a finger into my ass. My cock became very excited and I was soon filling his mouth with cum. He swallowed all of it but kept his finger in my ass and my cock in his mouth. I found both sensations were very enjoyable and relaxed. We talked about boredom and I confessed that I was getting a little bored with the theater. He asked me if I was bored now and I chuckled. "No, you have my complete attention." My cock never did go down and soon he sucking hard as he fingerfucked my ass. I had an explosive cum and he again swallowed all of it. He slid his finger out of my ass and sat next to me. I kissed his lips and said thanks. "Anytime," he said. He left the booth and I soon followed and went home. I had a decent job and a decent patio home. I had been married for seven years when we decided we had gone past the good part of our relationship two years before. I had dated several women and got laid on a semi-regular basis but ended up at the adult theater anyway. Having a guy suck me that first time had been magical. I have been coming back at least three times a month for over a year. But for the last months it had become just something to do. The woman and the guy had put some energy back into my life. I was back at the theater the following week and after a quick blowjob from a guy I had never seen before I went back to the Cajun Café. I said hello to the mother but did not ask about her daughter. As I was leaving she said, "Trish is sick by the way. She has that flu everyone is catching." "Oh man, I had that two months ago, you think your going to die then you worry you wont die. I feel for her." "You had it? Then you are immune to it. I need a favor, take medicine and some food to her. She wont let me in because she is afraid I would catch it and is sure I would die if I did." "Sure, I'll have another cup of coffee while you get her stuff ready." Her mother called her and told Trish I was coming. When I got there I had to wait by her door while she threw up. The place stunk and I searched her apartment for antiseptic spray and covered her bed and the entire bathroom with it. I told her that every time she got up she needed to wash her hands and before she ate to wash her hands and before going to bed to wash her hands. I sat with her and watched her eat some soup and some crackers then helped her back to bed. I waited until she was asleep then went home. The next day I went back to her place with more antiseptic spray, hand wash soap bottles, instant oatmeal, and chicken soup I had made for me and put in the freezer. I prepared the oatmeal, sprayed her phone and the TV remote with the antibacterial then waited to see if she was going to throw up breakfast. She didn't. "The soup looks great. You made it?" "Yes, I brought the plain version, sometimes I add roasted red bell pepper, banana peppers, olives, capers, noodles and broccoli." "I need the plain version today. Thanks." "Did you take your medicine?" "Yes, before I sat to eat." "OK, I will leave you for now. You have my number if you need anything. Unless you call me I will be back tonight." "OK, thanks see you then." That evening I took clean linens for her and sprayed antiseptic on her mattress before making up her bed. I put her linens and towels in a bag to take home and wash. She ate my soup and curled up with me on her loveseat and watched a little TV. She was sound asleep before the news was over so I picked her up and carried her to bed. When I put my arm under her I realized she was not wearing panties. My cock began to be interested but my brain shouted it down. Anyway I had already seen her pussy and had seen it in use. Before I left her that night I had apparently kissed her forehead. I wasn't sure I had but maybe I had. The next day she looked like she was past the worst part of it. I put her in the shower and remade her bed with clean linens. I took clean towels to her and asked if she needed anything. She turned off the shower and stepped out and took the towel. She made no effort to cover up but that may not have been a statement so I made no comment. I went to her kitchen and brewed some hot tea for us. When she joined me the towel was on her head and she was wearing a t-shirt. "You are immune to it aren't you?" "Yes, well most likely. The time that needs to pass before one gets immunity is still being argued. But it could be as little as six weeks. It has been twelve weeks for me." "Good," she said and sat on my lap and gave me a long sweet kiss. "Whoops, your cock wants in. Lets go see if my pussy is OK with that. In just moments I was nude on her bed with my cock pointed skyward and she straddled me and sank it into her. "Nope, not ready. Sorry." She said and draped herself over me. We kissed and I softy caressed her. She fell asleep. I covered us up and hugged her to me and just waited for my cock to understand. I dozed off before it was fully aware of the circumstances. When I awoke it was mostly flaccid but still in her pussy. I slid Trish off me and got dressed. I did kiss her goodbye. When I returned that evening her color was back and she seemed fine. That little "I know something you don't" smile was back. I called her mother and told her that Trish was past it and could soon return to her regular programming. Trish took my phone and said, "See, I told you I was fine. No, not until next week, this week I am his. Yes I will tell him. Yes, tonight. I love you Mom but I am wondering why. OK, bye." "Tell me what?" "Two things. One, I am apparently a nymphomaniac. Two I am a psychologist studying the condition." I said, "One, you would be the worst judge of whatever the results turn out to be and you know that is true. Two. I am a psychiatrist and I noticed that when all those men were using your body you adored it, loved the attention. But you never had an orgasm and when you saw you would not have one you stopped. You are not driven by the act of fucking; you are driven by the search of an orgasm. Lets got to bed." We were naked and she wanted to fuck right away. I stopped her and told her to tell me how she felt at every stage of the fuck. I covered her body with mine and kissed her lips, her nose, her neck and back to her lips. "Well?" I asked. "I want you to hurry up and fuck me." "But you know you will not have an orgasm so what would be the point of fucking you? Tell me how you feel about the kisses." "I like them. They are soft." "Then why not relax and enjoy that?" I kissed her again and that time I kissed my way to the upper part of her tits. "Relax," I said. "Enjoy." It took a while but I felt her anxiety level decrease. I kept my kisses there for another two minutes then began to include her nipples. "Relax, enjoy," I said. "The relax part is difficult." "You are however doing fine." I alternated from tits to lips until I felt her relax then added my hand over her pussy. She began to try to fuck it so I lifted it away. It was the third try before she could relax while my hand covered her pussy. I made love to her tits for a while then kissed my way to her pussy. I kissed her mound but kept my hand over her pussy as I kissed my way to her inner thighs. She was pressing her pussy on my hand but I was not pressing back and I did not allow her to increase the pressure. She soon settled into a soft even pressure and relaxed. She moaned when I kissed her pussy. I again covered it with my hand and I was pleased to see she did not try to fuck my hand. I kissed her inner thighs and her pussy for a while then slid my arms under her thigh and just kissed her pussy. She moaned again. I raised her clitoral hood and noticed her clit was just barely there. I slowly ran the flat of my tongue over it and she moaned and lost some control of her body. Fluids poured from her pussy and as soon as she could breathe she groaned loudly. She had just had an orgasm. I resumed kissing her pussy softly until her breathing was closer to normal then began writing the alphabet on her clit with the tip of my tongue. She exploded into a second orgasm in less than three minutes. I kissed my way back up her body and slid my cock into her as I kissed her. I did not take a stroke and asked her to tell me what she had felt. "Terror and heaven the first time, less terror more heaven the second time. Those were my first two orgasms since I was a freshman in college. Those had been a gift from my roommate. She dropped out of school and my new roommate would not consider lesbian sex. I did find others to eat my pussy but none stayed with it long enough to bring me off. The first two guys to fuck me were not good at all. The father of a friend showed me I could have pleasure without orgasms. I have been stuck there for ten years until tonight. She kissed me deeply, lovingly. I took a long slow stroke then I moved up so the top of my cock would rub her clitoral area as it went by. She moaned. After a pause I did it again and felt her adjust her pussy to help with the magical contact. I took another stroke until my cock head almost exited her pussy. She moaned again. I began to fuck her with long slow strokes. She had another orgasm, her first ever from a cock she would later tell me. I did not pause and continued fucking her until I had to cum and stopped at the apex of her pussy and my semen inundated her clit. She got the orgasm she had been aiming for her entire life. She crushed me in her arms as she cried and rained kisses on me. I rolled us over and we kissed until we were asleep. She woke me up the next morning with a blowjob. I caressed her and told her to get on. She straddled me and I asked her to look for the right angle between my cock and her pussy. She found it and lost it a couple of times before she could bring her self to orgasm. She was very happy and kissed me deeply, then got off me and sucked me off. She had swallowed but the taste of cum was still in her mouth when she kissed me. I loved the kiss. "I assumed you suck cock since you were in an adult theater so I figured you would be OK with the kiss." "I have not sucked anyone off and tasted cum yet. I have had several cocks in my mouth but I finished them off with my hand. Last week I for the first time kissed a guy that had just swallowed my cum. I found the kiss and the taste interesting enough I would try it again. I have several gay patients and they have made me curious about their experiences. I call it research but admit I was curious anyway." 'What happens now?" "You mean between us?" "Yes, do you like me as a person?" "We don't know much about each other yet. I know we can be fuck buddies. But what will you do about your side job?" "I quit when you took me to the first cum so I wont miss it if we remain fuck buddies." "Lets spend the weekend on a beach." "Consider me already packed. When is your last appointment?" "At eleven on Friday. When do you need to get back to your classroom?" "Monday at ten. What is today anyway? Thursday?" "Yes. I will pick you up at noon tomorrow. We will eat lunch after we get there. I need to dress and go home. You need a good night's sleep." "Not a problem now. Thank you, I will see you tomorrow." Our weekend was exceptional. We learned we liked each other and had fun. We learned that I could get her to orgasms easily. She learned I was most mostly a twice a day performer on good days although from Friday lunch to midnight Sunday I ejaculated eight times. Our normal lives resumed on Monday except by Friday she was living with me. Psychiatrists make a lot more money than psychologists. We went to the beach town once a month. She stopped coloring her hair and she now had highlights of gray throughout her head. I already had graying temples. We now looked like we belonged together. So we went to Vegas and got married. We arrange our schedules so we would have three and a half day weekends and rented a patio home in the beach town. We made many friends and I was talked into setting up appointments for patients there. A short redhead that seemed to know the secrets of the universe told me the town would really need me in four months and to please move down there. She also said Trish needed to do some psychological profiles on about eighty people before then. She had secured an office for both of us downtown and that the sooner we came down the better it would be for all. Then she asked Trish to relate her experiences as a hooker to her. After they returned from the bedroom thirty minutes later Trish told me we had accepted her offer and told the University she would not be returning for the fall semester. I parceled out my patients among colleagues and we were soon in business in the seaside town. My first ten clients all had the feeling they were being watched. The town was apparently full of paranoids but especially for one client, the rest seemed to be just curious about the phenomena. I found a note to refer that one person to Trish for testing. That person soon moved to Colorado. I found I had and appointment with someone named Sehel, no last name. She asked me more questions than I asked the woman. On her second visit she turned into a devil right before my eyes. "There are several of us here. You are aware that a cataclysmic event is coming." "I have though of that as another Mayan calendar rumor. Are we going to be invaded?" "No. Our Emperor loves the people in this town but particularly the redhead that set you up here. The town is being reconstructed and many of its people will be moved there and be safe from the extinction event. Your wife has been weeding out some borderline people. They are being sent to Colorado; which will be one of the few safe places on Earth. I brought a friend with me that you cannot see yet. You will need to put this in your ear to hear and understand her. "Hi, I am glad you can help us." I looked around the office but saw no one. Suddenly a small alien was in front of me wearing a tunic. It said, "We are the ones that give people the paranoid feeling. There are three more alien beings in this town including my Mom and Dad, Mom and the Sprite are in your wife's office now." I had by then decided the alien was a female but although she introduced herself I did not catch the name. "There are about thirty people in town that know about us and we allow them to see us as we are," the Devil continued. "We need to be seen by over three hundred people before we are moved three months from now. You and your wife are in effect choosing the next to be included in the secret. If anyone cannot handle alien beings they can't come with us. We are on a tight deadline so you do not have your usual time to treat anyone. If you have reservations about someone put them on the Colorado list. Do you have any questions?" "None that can't wait until we move. You send the ones you want to Trish, she will test them and I will interview them and I will give you the list after each day. Oh have the first nine seen you yet?" "Yes, at a party at the redheads home last night. One guy put the make on me," the devils said with a happy smile. "Two women put the make on me," the small alien said. "Congratulations," I guess," I said. Both giggled "Send your reports to this e-mail address, we will make friends with the others as soon as possible. Oh, here is some soup you need to drink." It smelled and tasted delicious and I drank all of it immediately. "Wow, I want some more of that," I said. "You will have more seven days from now and twenty-one days from now. Nice meeting you, bye" they said. I was very surprised when they each kissed my lips before they left. Trish rushed into my office and said let's fuck. I noticed I already had an erection and we were soon fucking as she sat on my desk. It was a very fine fuck and we were just kissing as we sloshed our genital juices around when my intercom buzzed and our receptionist said, "Your first appointments are here for each of you. The Whore and Me "Wait five minutes then send them back. Ask them if they enjoy science fiction movies like ET, Close Encounter and such and note their replies. Thanks. Trish and I cleaned ourselves up and began work. Eliminating possibilities was easy, they were racist and/or patriots. Accepting the possibles was also easy. They dreamed of going into space and meeting other creatures. A few added "and killing them" to that statement immediately eliminating them from consideration. The largest group however we put in the undecided category and gave them another appointment. As the weeks went by some of those names vanished from the calendar and new names appeared. We attended a reception at the dance club on the third floor of the town entertainment building and saw the introductory phase of the meeting of aliens and humans. Many had already suspected the aliens were among them and were happy to have confirmation. I few were very skeptical but watching friends hug and kiss them got them past that. A few saw them as interesting specimens but did not see them as people. We made appointment with them for the next day. Three of those men were hypnotized into believing they had gone to a cast party for a movie. One was married but his wife saw the truth and was given the choice of Colorado with her husband or staying in town. She chose to stay before she learned of the catastrophe. With one week left we had nearly four hundred people mingling with aliens. At times there had been as many as thirty aliens in town. There were now just four. Nearly three hundred people had already left town for better paying jobs elsewhere. A bad forecast for a hurricanes path had evacuated all that were left. The aliens freely walked around in town assuring everyone the rescue ship would come. Rains from the outer bands of the storm had come ashore before the three ships arrived. One was taking supplies for every restaurant and the one grocery store. The spotlight factory had been storing food for months in what was by then a liquid hydrogen cooled warehouse. Each restaurant had tripled every order for supplies over the last five months and each had a stash to last them three years. They understood that would not carry them through a possible ten years but they had already come up with a plan to be open on alternate days. There were also supply ships headed towards where their new town would be. When we got to our new home we noticed it was home. Those that took two lefts and a right to get to work still took two lefts and a right. However every one that loved driving their SUV down the streets had to settle with a small electric car. There were a few of those with a loading bed but they were still electric cars. Trish and I loved ours. There was not one drop of gasoline on the island. We were amused to hear about the great tragedy that had befallen our town; the hurricane had removed every sign of our existence. Our offices looked the same and the downtown street looked the same. Most of our clients were now those who regretted leaving friends behind. The ban on housecats bothered a few and the twenty-pound weight limit on dogs bothered some. Trish and I were busy but nothing was major. We now had a train to take us to the rest of the island; electric cars did not have the power to climb the mountain. We could however drive our cars all around the island by the coast and visit the other coastal communities. All of those were smaller than our town with many fewer amenities than ours. We took trains to the other towns and learned that the only city bigger than ours was the capital. The number of aliens in town soon jumped and our little town was again suddenly busy with tourists except most were from other planets. The spaceport was on one the outer island inside our bay so all aliens came through our town first. We also had new residents from other parts of the world. One extended Chinese family made their home with us and opened a large Chinese restaurant. A large tourist agency was formed that included one alien resident from each planet of our visitors. They moved into neighborhoods just like ours. In fact we ended up with Akkad neighbors. The ladies were sweet and polite and loved Trish's pussy. Yes it was stressful for us when the bombardment started but Trish and I accommodated everyone that needed us. She was now also a counselor and referred the more needful patients to me. Fewer than half her patients needed to come to me. We suddenly noticed that we were now sixty years old but looked and acted as if we were barely in our forties. We looked around and saw all our friends had seemingly stopped aging. I said to Trish, "Well it looks to me you can still have time for the two tall redheads if you want them." "I will start working on that tomorrow." The sun came out after a couple of big scares and shortly afterward we began to bring survivors to our island. Some had decided to settle in our town and Trish and I were very busy with them for a while. The xenophobic among them were moved to other towns, our town now had over fifty full time alien residents. The Emperor came and we were praised for our spirit and friendliness. Everyone seemed to love him; it was he that had ordered our island shelter to be built. We learned that the impetus for his concern for us began with Clara. Trish cried when she heard that. Twenty years later the Emperor retired to our town. We became good friends. Good times. The Whore At My Door I hope this story doesn't turn anyone off the idea of internet dating, since that really isn't my intent. It will, perhaps, serve as a warning of what can happen when hooking up with people out of the blue. I'll refrain from getting into the specifics of the site itself, since it's relatively well known if you've spent any time at all online, and I don't want to cast any aspersions on how it is run. * Thankfully, this wasn't the first date I'd been set up on, or I'm sure I'd have given up on it entirely then and there -well, I don't want to get too far ahead of myself, so I'll let the events as they unfolded speak for themselves. Her name was Susan; that was her Americanized name. She had a Chinese name that I have to admit I couldn't properly pronounce or spell. I didn't think to ask in our brief messages if she was first or second generation, and I'm sure that if I'd asked a few questions like that ahead of time I might have avoided a lot of grief. Instead, our exchanges were very short, simply setting up a day and time for her to arrive at my place. I was excited to have a girl over right like that for the first meeting, and an Asian girl to boot. I guess I fall into that common category of white guys who really dig Asian women, but I never had the opportunity to meet one until this very night. The situation might have been too good to be true. The time set for our date came and went. I nervously paced around my apartment, increasingly sure this was all a dud. Dinner was cold, and I'd already knocked back a couple of glasses of wine all on my own. As it turned out, her tardiness was the least surprising detail I would learn about her when she finally appeared at my door. I actually hesitated on greeting her, because I was certain this couldn't be the woman I was due to have a nice introductory meal with. The way she was dressed was, quite frankly, how you'd expect a hooker to dress. She wore a tight black leather skirt, so mini that it barely concealed her modesty. Her short top, shiny and bright pink, exposed more midriff than would be wise for a woman past her teens. Judging by her large dangling earrings, she her taste in jewelry wasn't especially subtle either. "Hello, hi, yes," she quickly stammered, her accent so thick I was taken aback once again. In fairness, Susan was not entirely unattractive. Even in her heels, she was a good foot or so shorter than I was, and I always had a yen for shorter women. She was at least five years older than me; perhaps in her late thirties or early forties -not really a negative in and of itself. Granted, she was not especially pretty; the sort of plain but genial face you might see behind the counter of a pharmacy. Still, I was immediately drawn to her sweet looking red-painted lips, and her short black hair was so perfect and fine it literally reflected the light. The problem was in trying to talk to her. It wasn't just that her accent was strong, but she actually seemed to have a very limited command of the English language at all. I don't want to say that she was right off the boat, since that expression sounds horribly racist to my ears, but within minutes of trying to communicate with her, I was convinced that she couldn't have been in this country for very long at all. As she sat on the couch, I tried to establish if she even knew what kind of dating service she'd signed up for, and if this wasn't all some mistake. There didn't seem to be much point in us going out together if we couldn't even converse properly. None of this seemed to phase Susan, who seemed to be entirely comfortable and confident sitting in my living room, dressed as she was, smiling politely. I had a kind of horrible thought -maybe she actually was a streetwalker, and used the dating service as a way to turn tricks? Perhaps, as a new immigrant, this is how she made her money? I didn't have any experience with hookers, so I found myself floundering as to how to go about asking -a problem compounded by our failure to communicate. Without any easy way to ask the question and get a response that wasn't some variation of the word 'OK', I took her by the hand and led her to my bedroom. Actions would have to speak louder than words. Susan didn't object at all as I led her inside and we hopped up on the bed. Biting my lip, I gave her an uncertain smile and reached over to grab the bottom of her top. It was at this point where any normal woman, no matter where she was from, would have slapped my hand away. It also would have been the time, if she truly were a prostitute, that she'd be asking for money up front before things got any further. Susan, defying either expectation, simply returned my smile and lifted her arms so that I could pull off her garish top, leaving her in her small lavender bra. Not only that, but she reached over and began unbuttoning my own shirt. All bets were off when she leaned forward and planted a soulful kiss right on my neck, giving me a whiff of her sickly sweet perfume. Just that intimate contact alone had me throwing all rational thoughts to the side, and I took her small body in my arms so I could return that kiss to her own fragrant neck. With the clarity of hindsight, it isn't hard to spot my folly. Caught in the moment, here I was with a woman I'd just met and barely said more than 'hello' to, slipping my hand under the cup of her bra while her own fingers explored my bare chest. We kissed again, mouth to mouth, tasting each other, grasping at each other. As I pressed and felt the contours of her small but charming breasts, she unzipped the front of my trousers and found the length of my erection straining beneath my briefs. Clearly, she understood what I was doing, and she was really getting into me. Unzipping her scandalous skirt, she raised her hips so that I could pull it down and off, leaving her in only her lingerie. In turn, my pants joined it on the floor, as well as my underwear. Holding my naked penis, she lowered her head over my lap and began to tease me with her tongue. She was a brazen woman, and I was all too happy to be taken along for the ride. Taking my length between those sweet lips, she sucked me like a pro, her free hand toying with my congested balls. I gave a extended groan, trying to communicate just how much I enjoyed what she was doing to me. I ran my fingers through her thick raven hair, and silently examined the contours of her compact mature body as she aroused me to even greater heights. Frankly, I was eager to see more, and I dare say she was ready for some attention of her own. I reached around to unclasp her skimpy bra, and as she scuttled up on the bed, I wasted no time in pulling off those matching panties as well. Her pussy was adorned by hairs as dark and silky as those on her head, bearing the evidence of her excitement by the matting at the join of her legs. I palmed the entirety of her pubis in my hand, pressing and fondling as I simultaneously lowered my head to her chest and sucked her dark colored nipples with merciless force. Her eyes closed, she afforded me every liberty with her body, showing her own arousal by the helpless sounds she made through parted lips. I squeezed one of her little tits in my hand to make the nipple stand out, and proceeded to suck and gently bite on it until it was nearly rock hard. At the same time, my hand between her open legs was busy rubbing against her slippery lips, occasionally dipping a finger or two into her open and inviting hole. "I bet you like that, don't you, you little whore," I rasped, taking perverse delight in the fact she couldn't really understand anything I was saying. Her body spoke volumes, however. She squirmed and strained against me, hips meeting my fingers as I rubbed hard circles around the apex of her stiffened clit. I kissed her ears, neck and lips, my body looming over hers, cock rigid and begging to join in the fun. There was little stopping me, so I took hold of the base of my aching erection and directed the head between the pouting lips of her cunt. She may have been a small woman, but her experienced pussy had no trouble accommodating the entire length of my member as I pushed it deep inside. Her knees rose in the air of their own accord, her arms wrapping around my back as she welcomed my penetration. Bracing myself up on both arms, I looked down the length of our bodies as I began to fuck her, deliberately drawing my cock almost entirely out before pushing back into her warm, slick intimate channel. Such a steady pace couldn't be kept up for long. Clasping her small body to mine, her head to my shoulder, I repeatedly jabbed my hips into hers, thrusting with ecstatic urgency. Susan moaned in her own particular way, uttering quick phrases in either Mandarin or Cantonese, but were almost certainly very dirty. "That's right, little bitch, you like that, don't you," I hissed rudely into her ear, my hand moving to take command of her breast once again. I fucked her like there was no tomorrow. Every time I felt myself getting closer to orgasm, I'd pause, distracting myself with her cute breasts or kissing her with wanton passion. I could tell Susan was getting to the point of no return herself, as her breathing came shorter and shorter, and sweat plastered her hair to her forehead. It was useless to resist much longer. My balls were tight and begging for relief, and her helpless whelps only urged me to go harder and faster. Thrusting as deeply as I could into her sopping pussy, I ground myself against her pubis, teeth clenched with the intensity of what was coming over me. Susan felt the same, I'm sure, her own body going stiff, her eyes closed tight as if in pain. It was an incredible orgasm, my semen flowing into her with such volume and force it must have threatened to overflow and spill onto the sheets. For an endless moment, I simply couldn't breathe until those orgasmic pulses finally ebbed away, and I collapsed exhausted onto her simpering frame. We lay in each others arms for a very long while, eventually falling asleep in the afterglow of what we'd done together. I woke up the next morning to find Susan already in the kitchen, brewing us some coffee, dressed in one of the plain white shirts from my closet. It was something of an amusing yet charming image, since the shirt was so big on her, she had to turn up the sleeves in order to keep her hands free. "Good morning," she greeted me in her awkwardly accented way, smiling brightly. "Yeah, good morning," I said, sitting at the table as she gave me my cup and returned to the kitchen. I watched in somewhat bemused silence as she helped herself to the fridge and started making breakfast for the both of us. This was a first -most times when I have someone over, I'm the one doing the cooking, which you'd expect as a host to your guests. I suppose this must have been a cultural thing. In any event, I tried to show my appreciation by smiling and nodding as we ate together. As she cleaned off the table, I grabbed a piece of paper and jotted down my phone number for her. "In case you want to get together again," I tried to explain. She took it, thanked me, and put it in the pocket of her (or, rather, my) shirt before starting on the dishes. I wasn't sure what else to do, so I went to grab a shower, more or less assuming that she'd leave by the time I was done. She didn't, but instead went in to take a shower of her own. Fair enough, I thought, leaving her a couple of fresh towels and her clothes from last night by the door. Strangely, that wasn't the end either, as even after her shower and the afternoon starting to drag on, she didn't seem too intent on leaving anytime soon. I guess she'd decided to keep me? This was all a bit beyond my experience. In the end, I made a gesture to her that I was taking off, and left the apartment myself. Thankfully, I had a friend who let me stay over for a few days. I figured by the time I returned home after work on Monday, there was little chance she'd still be around. I was glad to have a place to crash, but all kindness has a cost. "Chased out of your home by some strange Chinese chick," my friend laughed. "Man, if that isn't the definition of pathetic, I don't know what is." "Not 'chased out', exactly," I explained. "She just wouldn't, you know, leave. Bit of a communication snafu, you could say." "Yeah, or you could say that this is another example of you thinking with your cock rather than your head. I bet you didn't even use protection, did you?" My embarrassed blush was answer enough. "Well, assuming you didn't get herpes or her pregnant, I'm sure it will all work out great." "You're never going to let me live this down, are you," I said with due humility. "Oh, I think this little story is going to keep me amused for a great time to come." Indeed, if only that had been the end of the story. Imagine my surprise when I returned home on Monday evening, only to be greeted at the door by my little house sitter. She was wearing another of my shirts, a pair of my socks, and the same skirt from the night she arrived. "Hello, hi, welcome home," she said in rapid fire, giving me a quick hug before leading me by the hand towards the table by the kitchen. I don't think she'd left the apartment in the entire time I'd been away. Certainly she'd helped herself to my food, and had cleaned up my place to the point I barely recognized it as my own. Even as she fussed about, apparently preparing a dinner for us both, I felt myself getting angry about the situation. "Susan, we really need to talk," I called to her, motioning for her to come in from the kitchen. I don't know if she understood either my words or my mood, but she did come to my chair, kneeling down in front of me as if playing the part of a dutiful puppy. She looked up at me with those dark sleepy eyes, hand resting on my thigh, and smiling as if nothing was wrong at all. I fought for the simplest way to explain how this couldn't go on any longer, stammering and waving vaguely while she slid her hand along the inside of my thigh towards my lap. Apparently, the more flustered I got, the more it amused her to tease me, until she finally undid the front of my pants to expose my hardening erection. Obviously, this is what got me into trouble in the first place. I tried to move her hand away, but this only encouraged her to shuffle closer and lay her succulent lips against the sensitive flesh of my glans. At this point, a very evil part of my brain reminded me just how good she was at giving head, and that maybe I could confront her about all this AFTER she was done pleasuring me. Absently running my fingers through her dark silken hair, I pushed my hips forward in the seat, watching her lick and stroke the length of my cock. She didn't have the red lipstick on anymore, but those lips were still captivatingly sweet, especially once they planted themselves on me and opened wide. I gave a long sigh at the wonderful sensations, her head slightly bobbing as she sucked me in earnest. She occasionally glanced up at me as she worked, but for the most part, Susan remained entirely concentrated on my stiff member. Her hand rhythmically squeezed the base of my cock, encouraging the flow of pre-cum once I'd gotten to that point of ecstatic arousal. I'm sure she could tell by the tension in my body how close I was getting to orgasm. I clutched the sides of the chair, my hips slightly rising to thrust even deeper into her mouth. She never hesitated for a second, maintaining her rhythm and skill right up until the final moments when I gave a choking grunt and shot the first jets of warm semen into her throat. Susan kept her lips sealed around my jerking organ for the entire duration of my climax, willingly taking all my ejaculate into her mouth and slurping it down so that none could escape to stain my pants. Milking the last of my fluid, she finally released my moist and softening member, dabbing at the corners of her lips with her hand and looking up at me with that familiar polite smile. "You've got talent, I have to give you that," I sighed, catching my breath from this delicious orgasm. She said something in return, something that I didn't immediately understand since I'm pretty sure it was mostly Chinese, except for a phrase that seemed to include the words 'good' and 'wife'. "Um, sorry, what," I said, shaking my head to signify my confusion. "Did you say 'wife', as in getting married and all that sort of thing?" Susan's face brightened up at what seemed to be the magic word. "Marry, yes, marry," she repeated, as happy as if I'd just slipped an engagement ring on her finger. That was all it took to return to my senses. "OK, seriously, this has gone on long enough," I stormed, getting up and putting my cock back in my pants (as I should have done the first time). "You understand the word 'no'? N. O. Time for you to get the fuck out of here. You hear me?" Too pissed to listen to any more of what she had to say, I went into the bedroom to fish around for her heels and top, and then bodily put her out the door. The stupid bitch was finally gone. I found out later that she was still using that website, and shortly after ended up marrying some guy who worked in I.T. that was even younger than me. I guess she needed to marry to stay in this country. I wish both of them the best of luck; but, seriously, how sad must that relationship be? I'm sure she pulled the same stunt, and he probably had enough trouble getting laid that he must have thought he'd won the jackpot. I wonder what's going to happen long term, when he wakes up and realizes he's sharing his life with someone he can't even talk to? I don't want to leave the impression that I think all Chinese girls are like her. I suspect she'd be considered nuts in just about any culture. For myself, I'm playing it safe these days, and sticking to Spanish women.