Hard (5 page)

“But.”

“I’ll pay you to suck my cock.”

Inside I welled with triumph. The idea of sex
as an arrangement, a transaction, was what thrilled me the most. No emotions,
no strings.
A customer, money and a murky act.
That
was what appealed to me. Forget candlelit seduction and emotional intimacy, I
wanted sleaze, I wanted filth, I wanted to be used as a sexual object by a
rough bloke who took what he wanted on a very basic level.

“Okay.
Where?”
I
asked.

He glanced left and right, his gaze
searching,
then
nodded straight ahead. “Down there.”

I looked in the direction
he’d
indicated. Through the trees and railings, I could just make out a gap in the
buildings. “It’ll cost you twenty.”

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

Finally closing my legs, I stood. My knees
felt weak and my stomach clenched. This was something
I’d
been dreaming of, plotting for so long. Never had I thought
I’d
find the courage to actually go through with my foolhardy plan. The man was a
stranger. He could be a complete psychopath and murder me the minute we were
out of view. Stuff like that happened to whores all the time.
I’d
seen it on the news, read about it in papers.

It was a risk I was willing to take.

Stepping ahead, I turned to make sure he was
following. He was. Sauntering in that menacingly purposeful stride of his that
I’d
become totally fascinated by. I also realized now that I
was on ground level how tall he was, a whole head above me, and wide too. If he
did
set
his mind to subjecting me to a gruesome
back-alley death there was nothing I would be able to do about it. He could
squash me as if I were an ant, choke me without breaking a sweat.

Tugging at my cheap, tarty skirt, I headed
for the location of my first whore experience. As we reached the entrance, he
pressed a hand into the small of my back and urged me into the murky world of
New York’s dark, dingy alleys. The scent of rotting food and urine caught in my
nostrils, underfoot there was trash of every description, and here there was no
sunlight. It was dark, cool, barely even a hint of the bright, civilized world
beyond.

As we went deeper the alley narrowed, the
walls closing in around me. The stinking air here was humid and clogged my
throat.

“Keep going,” he grunted when I slowed. “I
don’t want to be distracted by anyone. Walk farther down.”

Hurrying, I accidently kicked a bottle. It
clanged against a pockmarked wall and ricocheted into an armored door with a
peeling “Keep Out”
sign
.

Another ten steps and he tugged me behind a
filthy green Dumpster and pushed my back against the wall. I stared at him boldly,
un-intimidated—or so I hoped, for inside I was a bag of nerves sinking into a
deep well of lust.

His gaze flashed as it connected with mine
and he stared, stared long and hard with his big hands wrapped around my upper
arms. His fingers sank into my flesh and his feet and knees knocked against
mine.

My heart beat so fast I feared for its
continued survival. I could barely catch my breath. Was he about to kill me or
would he stick to our deal?
Twenty for a blowjob?
That
was our agreement. That was the arrangement.

“You really want to be a whore?” he asked.
His breath was hot and reeked of tobacco.
“My whore?”

Both relief and excitement tumbled in my
groin. He was going to play my game, thank God. I nodded up at him and he
leaned against me, his chest just touching my excited nipples and his steely
cock pressing into my hipbone. He was slightly out of breath—from our fast walk
or sexual excitement?

Sliding his hands up and over the balls of my
shoulders, he pressed and urged me down onto my knees. I sank obediently. I
wasn’t
proud of the huge glut of pleasure that surged
through me at being forced into position to suck a stranger’s cock for money,
but I couldn’t deny it. It was alive, real, a part of me. It was one of the
most erotic things
I’d
ever done.

As my bare knees adjusted to the gritty,
dirty pavement, he unzipped his pants, revealing snug red boxer briefs.

“I like it good and firm,” he said. “No teeth
and make sure you swallow.” He pulled out his cock and jerked it forward. It
was thick and wide, the domed head deeply colored and the shaft twisted with
heavy, bulging veins.

My greedy mouth watered to taste him. I could
smell him, musty, not fresh from the shower like my boyfriends had been when
I’d
sucked them off. No, he was raw male, meaty, overdosed
on pheromones, and his cock had been nestled in those briefs all day. It was
what I wanted—a whore
didn’t
deserve fresh dick.
Sweaty, unconcerned cock was what whores
were used
to.

I rubbed a hand up his denim-clad thigh and
with the other squeezed his bone-hard shaft.

He groaned and slid his fingers around my
nape, urged my lips against the smooth crown. I gave a couple of tiny, flicking
licks into his slit, delighting in the salty flavor, which reminded me of the
sea.

“Just suck my dick, whore, I don’t have all
fucking day.”

My desire flared further at his commanding
tone and I stretched my mouth wide and pulled him in. Submissively doing as
instructed. He was a customer, a paying customer. I was here to do his bidding,
this was not about me.

“Ah shit, that’s it, yes, yes,” he hissed.

Dragging my hair into a tight fist, he forged
in fast, right to the back of my throat. Unable to move away, I gagged as the
fat mushroom head filled my airway. But this seemed to excite him all the more.
His hips snapped back then reared forward again, his cock filling my mouth
faster, harder.

My pussy was weeping and clamping. I loved
giving head, and taking it so rough was a delight. He was fucking my mouth with
no concern for what I wanted. Of course, this was exactly what I wanted. But he
didn’t
know that—or maybe he did. Perhaps his
devil-may-care looks and his lack of charm had attracted girls with similar
disgustingly base fantasies in the past.

His breaths were sharp above me. A drip of
dense fluid landed on my tongue, a promise of what was to come, and I lapped it
up. In my heightened state, I was aware of my knees suffering painfully on the
sharp concrete so I shifted and he allowed me to move back onto my haunches and
press my spine against the wall. Instantly my own lubrication slid down the
cleft of my pussy. It trickled to my anus and sat there, sopping, forming a
drip that became increasingly heavy then ran down my buttock.

I kept my mouth firm, sucking as much as I
could, oxygen allowing. With my
lips
I hugged his
shaft, and my tongue was a long, wet slide of muscle for him to jack against.
When he let out another groan, I searched for his balls, found them firm and
packed tight in his briefs. Through the
material
I
cupped them, squeezed and massaged, my fingertip straying behind to touch his
anus.

“Dirty fucking whore,” he grunted, shoving to
the back of my throat with extra gusto.

My head hit the wall and I gagged, painfully.
His cock thickened and grew, and I knew it was about to erupt. His whole body
went still except for the faintest of trembling in his retracting balls.
Fighting the urge to pull away, I braced for the flooding. Then it was there.
He jerked out and shoved in again, his semen jetting into my mouth, filling my
cheeks, soaking my tongue and gushing down my throat.

“Ah yes, fuck, yes,” he rasped on a sharp
inhale before pulling his cock out.

I released his balls and he stepped back. In
a
flash
he’d tucked himself away and tugged straight
his t-shirt. Only his hoarse panting gave any indication of the fact
he’d
just come.

Staying squatted, I stared up at him through
the dim light. My legs ached. My back and head were scratched from the gritty
wall and my lips and jaw were numb from the stretching and pounding
I’d
just taken.

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket.
Plucked out two tens and dropped them. They fluttered to the ground and landed
at my feet next to a grimy rubber glove and a blob of blackened gum. As I
looked at them, a new trickle of moisture slipped over my perineum and sent a
shudder of bliss, pure wicked bliss, snaking up my spine.

Without another word, he turned and
disappeared around the front of the Dumpster. The sound of his boots banging on
the ground echoed between the tall walls until eventually they faded. Still
breathing hard, my body felt on fire. I was so turned- on I was dizzy.
I’d
been used as a sexual object.
I’d
given pleasure, upheld my end of the bargain and been paid. My pussy was
thrumming—it needed attention. Standing, I gripped the rim of the stinking
Dumpster and began to fret and pinch my clit with my other hand.

It took only a couple of nudges to send me
skyward.
I’d
been hovering on the brink the whole time
I’d been sucking off my client, and now it consumed me, hard and fast. As I
came
I shoved three fingers into my soaking pussy so it had
something to grip, and cried out as my body shuddered through shock waves of
pleasure. They ripped into my core, tangled in my soul and filled every cell.

I knew in that blissful second that I wanted
to be a whore again—soon.

Dangerous
to Know
by Lily Harlem is available from Amazon. You can find out more
about Lily and all her books on her
website
.

For your enjoyment, here are the first four chapters of The
Contract, a BDSM super-novel by Natalie
Dae

Chapter
One

Now

‘How do you feel about losing your identity, Lisa?’ my
counsellor
, Stephan, asked, sitting on his side of a desk
in what was formerly someone’s living room.

He operated from a house in
Headington
,
Oxford, on the rising road that led to the John Radcliffe hospital, and I was
thankful a bus stopped right outside it. Walking up that hill would have been a
killer on my muscles, would serrate my nerves too. Anyone could be watching me.

‘I’m angry,’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t you be?’

‘Of course I would.’ He nodded, a lock of his grey hair bouncing
against his pale forehead. ‘Anger — that’s good, in the right doses.
It’ll
see you through, you know. Help you fight to get your old
self back.’

I thought about my old self, Rebecca Matthews, and how my life
had been reduced
to this. Me sitting on a leather office
chair once a week, swinging on it occasionally when Stephan asked questions I
found difficult to answer. Living in a new city, far from everyone I knew, just
so I could be termed ‘safe’. I
wasn’t
, didn’t think I
ever would be, but you never knew. The people I was hiding from
hadn’t
found me in the time I’d moved from London and might
not bother to try to find me now. Still, you could never be too sure, could you?
And as long as they were out there, I had to stay here.

‘And what about your appearance?’ he asked.

‘What, having to cut all my hair off and have it short? I
don’t
like it. I have to have it trimmed too often, which
means going to the hairdressers over the road from my flat, being vulnerable
while they sort it out.
I’ve got
the hang of dying it
myself now, but I don’t like the fact that my eyebrows are dark and my hair’s
blonde.’ I laughed at such a trivial dislike. ‘But hey, what does it matter
what
I look like now?’

‘It matters a lot if it’s making you unhappy.’

‘I suppose. I can hardly grow it again, though, can I? Or go brown
like I was before.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. You could grow it a bit, maybe dye it red.’ He
laughed. ‘There are times when you get angry, red hair would quite match your
mood.’

‘Sometimes I don’t think I’m angry enough,’ I said, staring out of
the window behind him at a back garden that had perfectly trimmed hedges
instead of fences and a lawn made for sunbathing. ‘Sometimes
I’m
just too tired of it all and don’t want to fight.’

‘Do you feel
,
if you gave up and became a
recluse, like you told me you wanted last week, it would be letting them win?’

I shrugged. ‘Yes, but
it’s
all so
difficult. I’m getting there, I know that, but there’s still such a long way to
go.’ I lifted my hand, waving off what I knew he was going to say. ‘I know
,
Rome wasn’t built in a day.’

He chuckled, and we sat in companionable silence,
him
waiting for me to go on, me waiting for him to ask
another question, and he did when three or four minutes had dragged past and
the view outside had become boring.