I take a good look at my client as he downs a shot of whisky. His shoulders are stiff, and his stubble is unkempt. Whatever bullshit he’s been putting up with has certainly taken its toll.
I wish I could tell him I empathise. That I know people can be cunts, out for nothing but themselves, prepared to piss over everything that should mean something without even a hint of respect. But I’m not here as a friend, and I’m certainly not here as a therapist. I’m here to be a hooker, and I’ll be a good one.
He offers me a shot of whisky when I join him at his desk, but I shake my head.
“Nah, thank you. I’m here to play filthy, not to click glasses with a cheers.” I run my hand down his burgundy tie. “You wanted a slut you could unload onto, and I’m right here. Live up to your own proposal, because I’ll sure deliver on it.”
“Oh, I will do. Don’t you fucking worry, sweetheart.”
“I’m not worried about a thing.” My smile is real. “I love it rough. I love it filthy. I love being treated like a dirty slut who needs a good pounding.”
“Just as well I chose you then, isn’t it?”
“I’m honoured you did.”
“Best stay inhonourof me until your three hours are up. Time starts now.”
I’m not expecting it when he yanks me closer and lands his mouth on mine. I’m not expecting the fierce swirl of his tongue as he claims my mouth, but I eat it up and moan for more. Hiskiss is wet, and he tastes of whisky and rage, and I love it. I really fucking love it.
I gasp when he shoves me away to tug my dress down and sets my tits free.
I’ve missed the way sexual energy can burst into flames between strangers. Nothing but pure lust, without pretence. User 2644’s eyes are like fire on mine, and I can feel his anger. His pent-up rage. The energy of someone who needs to burst and set themselves free, with no filter or pretence.
We are twin flames on that score.
His hands grapple with the zip at the back of my dress, but I take over the mission for him. I free myself and wriggle out of it, kicking it aside with the heel of my stiletto, and we move as one, kissing some more until he shoves me backwards onto his desk at full fucking force. I land so hard on my back that it almost winds me, gulping in breaths as my arms fly over my head, and with my flailing position everything else goes flying too. His bottle of whisky goes toppling to the side, spilling vintage Scotch all over his paperwork, and his pen holder goes tumbling to the floor, but he doesn’t give a shit, just bears down on top of me and sucks at one of my tits through my bra like a greedy fucking savage.
I moan loud.
I cry out when he bites.
It’s just what I need. What I crave. What Holly the whore wants from a man like him.
“Don’t hold back,” I say. “I’m yours for three hours straight. Body, mind, and filthy fucking soul.”
“I’m glad I picked such a high ranker,” he says. “I know you’ll be worth every fucking penny.”
He hoists my legs up and spreads them wide, and I use the opportunity to demonstrate how true to life my profile is. I snakemy hand down to my lacy black panties, rubbing my desperate clit through the fabric.
“No fakery here,” I tell the man who wants to use me. “I’m already soaked through. Feel for yourself.”
His fingers replace mine, digging inside the lace to my slippery wet slit.
“The reviews really are true, aren’t they? You’re fucking horny for it.”
“Every single one of them.” I buck my hips. “Come on, try me. Test me. Feel it for yourself.”
It feels great to have three thick fingers slam right inside my pussy. Fingers that belong to a stranger. To a man I’ve never seen before in my life.
This means nothing but sex. Meaningless, animalistic fucking. Far more delicious than any cake on Cake Baker.
I tug my panties to the side and splay myself wide, offering more. I want to scream for everything he’s got. I want to shout. I want to beg, and squeal, and lose myself. Lose myself in order to BE myself.
So why not do it?
Why not set myself free?
“More! Plough my cunt, deep and hard. As hard as you want me to take it!”
