The song shifts to a lighter melody, Nadie by Tito Double P, and I begin to move my body the way I know he likes. We’ve done this before. I’ve stripped in front of him plenty of times, my bare breasts and pussy on full display for him.
My heels click on the floor beneath me as I make my way toward him. I turn and lower my ass to his lap, grinding on his—slacks?
I swear he’d been wearing scrubs earlier. Maybe the benzos are fucking with me. Slowly, I let my ass rub against him, and his hands grip my hips tightly. Through the thickmaterial, I can feel his cock hardening. I reach back and untie the halter top of my bodysuit, then grab his hands, moving them to my breasts.
There’s something different about him tonight. His touch is lighter, his fingers circling my nipples delicately. The stimulation actually feels good. My pussy throbs as he pinches my nipples. I don’t want to be aroused like this, not for this man. Quickly, I move his hands back down the front of my torso. Then I stand, still facing the wall as I walk back to the pole in the center of the room. Holding it for balance, I remove the body suit over my knee-high boots.
Laid out bare in front of him, I can feel his piercing stare on my backside. The sound of his zipper lowering causes a shudder through my body.
Am I really going to do this?
What other option do I have?
I’ve already come this far. Slowly, I turn, the heels of my boots sliding with me as I face the blurred figure in front of me. There’s something different about him tonight, something that makes my heart beat out of my chest.
The desire building deep in my belly isn’t normal. I’m no virgin, but sex is becoming less frequent the more disappointed I feel after a casual hook-up. I’ve resorted to only having something transactional going forward. I’d let men slide their penis through my thighs during these private dances, and a few would pump their fingers in my pussy, or I’d moan around a mouthful of their cock. I do it for money. There’s never been this type of arousal involved, at least not from my end.
I drop to my hands and crawl forward. My pussy is soaking as I place one hand in front of the other. When I reach him, he does something he’s never done before. He lifts my chin and turns my face. His knuckles graze my jaw andthen my lips. I tremble at the touch. My hands wander up his thighs. They’re much more muscular than I remember.
My hand slides to the base of his cock and drags up his length.It’s much thicker, bigger, and my breath stutters when I graze the cold metal rings. Then it hits me.
This isn’t Curtis Anderson.
I start to reach for my blindfold, but stop dead at the sound of a gun cocking and steel kissing my forehead.
Chapter 8
Efren
“Who are you and what do you want?” Alma whispers.
“I want whatever you were going to give my friend over here.”
I look at the dead body on the floor as my hand stays firmly gripped to the pistol I hold to her forehead. A puddle of blood surrounds the man I shot, and I can’t help but watch the way Alma’s spine straightens at the sound of my voice.
Does she recognize it? Does she remember the time I comforted her to sleep? No. I’m something she’s buried in the back of her mind.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to her. These aren’t the circumstances I’d imagined when I thought of her kneeling before me, but if she’s going to take any cock between her lips, then it’s going to be my cock and my cock only.
I slide the gun from her forehead to her trembling lips, nudging her to part them with the barrel.
“Abre la boca,”I command.
She swallows hard before opening, and I slide the barrel into her mouth.
“That’s it,mija. Now you’re getting it. Do as I say, and this gun won’t go off.”
I rip off the wig. It’s been pissing me off all night. I’ve always preferred her in her natural state. Using my free hand, I take my time to undo both her braids, my dick hardening at the sight of her loose curls. The possessiveness rises in me.
She was always supposed to be mine. But she was too impatient. She couldn’t fucking wait. She let him in too soon. I pull her hair and yank her head back before removing the gun from her mouth.
“You know who I am.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
She cries out in pain but says nothing. A tear slips from beneath the blindfold and rolls down her cheek.Good.She should be crying for me.
“If you know who I am, then say my fucking name.”
She shakes her head, and the anger inside me builds. She isn’t going to pretend I don’t exist. That the trauma we experienced that night didn’t bind our souls together forever.
