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Pretty Baby Ch. 01

By: slyc_willie



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 & 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.


Pretty Baby Ch. 01



"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 & 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 & 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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 01



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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 01



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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 01



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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 02



"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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 02



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 . . . .




Pretty Baby Ch. 02



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&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. 




Pretty Baby Ch. 02



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&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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 03



"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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 03



***

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."




Pretty Baby Ch. 03



"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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 03



"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. 




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?"




Pretty Baby Ch. 04



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&Ms (a naughty little smile crossed my face as I recalled the circumstances around the last time I had M&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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 04



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.'"




Pretty Baby Ch. 04



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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 04



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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 05



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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 05



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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 05



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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 06



I was watching some Law & 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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 06



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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 06



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.




Pretty Baby Ch. 06



"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-