WARNING: This story is an act of fiction that contains graphic sexual descriptions and language. If you are a minor (under 21) or if you are offended by this kind of material then you should stop reading now. Any resemblance between this story and a real event is purely coincidental. The participants are imaginary; their actions have no negative consequences other than those portrayed in the story. The story is intended for entertainment only and should not be emulated in the real world.
AT 25, Laura Windslow wasn't suffering financially. Her job as a free-lance book-publishing editor saw to that little matter. Socially, was another story altogether. She was a dud in the attracting men category. And she knew it.
Book publishing. That fits me, she thought more times than not, the bookworm. The little dull as dishwater bookworm.
Her cat jumped up on her lap. "Wiggy, don't you ever get tired of all this excitement?" She giggled. "You don't give a rat's ass, do you Wiggy? It's not just another lonely, boring night to you, oh, no, to you it's just another day of living. How do you do it, old Wig? Day after day, the same old shit. Don't you ever want to break out and raise some hell? Go catting, ha ha, about town? Screw everything with fur you can get your little paws on?
I forgot. Those days are long behind you, old Wig." She scratched him behind the ears, and enjoyed his purring.
"Oh, well, Wiggy Waggy, maybe the Halloween party tonight will lead to something romantic. Oh, that reminds me, I haven't even looked at the costume Margo dropped off for me. She said I'd get a real hoot out of it. Hoot! She probably got me an owl suit! Fits my bookworm image, don'tcha think, Wig?" Wig just purred, not giving a hoot about much of anything.
She got up, and went to get the big box the costume was packed in, with Wiggy tagging along. She noticed something she hadn't spotted before. A tag. It read: Crafty Costumers: 1 costume: Streetwalker.
"Mmm, streetwalker, Wig. It looks as if Margo has gone round the bend. Oh, well, at least it's not a freaking owl. Or a worm!" She opened the box, and there it all was. A streetwalker's dream come true.
Black fishnet stockings. A black garter belt. A fire engine red mini-skirt. A white, see-thru midi-blouse that looked as if it would end just below the breasts, leaving the navel out there for all to see. White, see-thru panties, as if that was necessary. And a wig, a black, frizzy wig. It needed a brushing up. And a black corset. That's a mistake, she thought, it's not needed with a red mini-skirt. The box was now empty.
"What, no knee-high boots? Wiggy, what hooker worth her salt would leave the house without her tall boots on? Sheesh, Wig, I'll just have to use my own. Yeah, right, Wig, as if I'd ever be caught dead in this costume." She put everything back into the box. "Margo, you idiot, why couldn't you have found me an owl?"
She went into the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of wine. Red Burgundy wine. She looked down at her feet. There was Wiggy. Old Faithful. She went to the couch, and plopped into it, being careful not to spill the wine. Old Faithful Wig was right there with her, sitting next to her, waiting patiently for a rub.
She took a good sip, and said, "What are we gonna do, Wig? The party is tonight. Where am I gonna get a new costume in time? Shit, I can't go as I did last year, as a corked-faced hobo. I'd be laughed out of town... again!" She giggled at Wiggy, rubbed his head, and took another healthy sip. The wine was starting to feel nice, so she took another good sip, and felt its warmth spread through her.
"Wiggy, Wiggy, Wiggy, it looks like our old goose is cooked. It's either beg off the party, or, brrrr, do some streetwalking." She scratched his head. "Whatcha think, Wig? Stay home or go out hooking?" She giggled again, and took another good sip. She was feeling giddy. And a tad daring.
She got up, found the costume box again, and emptied its contents onto the sofa in one fell swoop. She threw off her robe, removed her bra, and, just for kicks, put on the black corset, and the stockings, and the garter belt. She picked up the black wig, crammed it onto her head, and went over to the hall mirror for a peek. She took a black sweater from a hat rack, and draped it loosely over her shoulders.
My, God, she thought, is that really me? Just the wig had made her face look different somehow, and strange looking.
"Wig," she said, her eyes glued to the weird mirror image. "You know, with a little carefully applied makeup, and with my contacts in, shit, my own mother wouldn't know me!" Creative possibilities were now running rampant through her mind.
She walked briskly to the couch, took a good gulp of the wine, and hastened to try on the rest of the outfit. In less than ten minutes, she was ready for another peek in the hall mirror. She approached it slowly, as if afraid of what she might see in it.
"Holy shit, Wiggy, I don't recognize me!" It was true. The woman in the mirror looked absolutely nothing like the bookworm Laura. In fact, and in all truth, the word streetwalker was way too mild a term, for staring back at Laura now, was the sluttiest, trampiest, hooker whore imaginable. It was a transformation that was both scary and intriguing at the same time.
"Wiggy, I'm gonna do it! Why not? It's wicked, and it's wild, and it's not me, but shit, Wiggy, where has looking like goody two-shoes gotten me? And who knows? Maybe it will make Ken notice me a bit more. Ha ha. The only time he notices me is when he feeds you, and waters my plants when I have to go out of town. Shit, Wiggy, at least he pets you!" She pouted at the cat. Then gave him a quick head rub.
Ken, Ken White, her next-door neighbor. A sweet, lovable guy if ever there was one. And a hunk in the looks department, too. Laura would be the first to admit she had a schoolgirl crush on Ken, but she would only admit it to herself. He was so different from the one and only boyfriend she once had. That schmuck. The lying rat. Tells a girl he loves her, takes her cherry, and says ciao, baby, sayonara, adios, goodbye. The bum.
She was glad she no longer pined after him, as she had for that long year after their breakup. But she knew she had only replaced that loser with someone else to pine for. And he lived just next door. But at least he didn't seem a loser.
She removed the outfit, took a shower, and brushed the wig. She put the costume back on, but took greater pains this time in getting it just right. Then, it was mirror time again.
She looked. Amazing! She felt like a new woman, a wild and wanton woman. A lady of the evening, in all her lusty glory. She smiled at the image, half expecting it to wink at her. When it didn't, she fixed that by winking at it. Now it winked back! The dirty slut.
She had thirty minutes. She'd call a cab in ten. She poured a half glass of the red, and swigged merrily away. Crazy thoughts entered her head. She wanted to shake up the world a bit with her new look. So she decided not to wear a coat over the outfit. She could hardly wait to see the face on her doorman, Carlos, and the cabby's face, too. How wickedly delicious!
She called for the cab, and started for the door. A last quick glance in the hall mirror convinced her she was, indeed, totally crazy. But she was having fun now. She rode the elevator down, hoping someone would see her. No one did. Shit! No one. Not even that nosy Parker, Mrs. Goldberg.
Carlos was a bummer, too. He wasn't at his station. Shit! Then came the cabbie. Shit! He paid her no mind at all. Shit, she thought, he must see a ton of hookers in his daily work. I'm just number eighty-four for tonight. Shit!
Oh, well, she thought, wait'll they get a gander at me at the party...
LAURA got out of the cab, and soon realized the dumb ass cabbie had dropped her off at the wrong block, and she was two blocks short of her end destination.
She started to walk, with the high boots pinching her toes without mercy, and saw a middle-aged man standing in front of a brownstone. He looked neatly dressed in a polo shirt and slacks, and was of average height and weight. To her, he did not look the least bit threatening.
As she approached him, he said, "Hi, doll, how much? I live right here, so we won't have far to travel." He smiled at her, and patted his back pocket.
"I'm not... " Oh, my God, she thought, he thinks I'm a hooker! The outfit. Then a thought hit her, a wild and nasty thought. She smiled back at him, a sensuously seductive kind of smile, and said, "I'm not working just yet, mister, but a quickie will cost ya... say fifty. OK?" Oh, my, she thought, this is so naughty of me. Was fifty too much? Too little? Should I tell him I'm only funning with him? Or should I... ?
"Forty." he said, flatly. Should I haggle, she thought? She decided not to. She was on thin enough ice as it was. Should I? Dare I... ?
"All right, but as I said, a quickie." He nodded, and turned to go up the stairs. She followed him, feeling absolutely exhilarated. Thoughts flew through her mind: I can't believe what I'm doing! Sex with a total stranger! Sex! Oh, my God! He's going to actually fuck me! Do I ask for the money up front? Will he expect me to suck him off? Oh, God, I'm getting wet! This is too insane! Why am I doing this?
Once in his bedroom, he stood there looking her over, as if inspecting the latest merchandise. She felt a broad flush come over her, and her knees weaken. Get a grip, girl, she thought, he's only a man. Relax! How bad can it be?
"What's your name, honey?" He now grinned at her.
"Lau... uh... Lana. Lana... uh... Licks. Lana Licks, What's yours?" She now had a new name, a hooker-sounding name. What fun.
"Larry, babes, but all my friends call me Spike." He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wallet, extracted two twenties, and offered them to her. She took them, jammed them into her purse, and said, "Well, Spike it is, then. Shall we get to it, Spike? As I said, it has to be a quickie. OK?" He nodded, and started to remove his clothing. Oh, God, she thought.
As she watched him undress, while undoing a button of her own, she thought: Oh, God, I sounded so brazen just then. So hussy-like. My, my. It seems the bookworm has turned.
As she dropped the white, see-thru blouse to the floor, she felt a cold breeze hit the tops of her breasts. The air conditioner. She unzipped the mini-skirt, let it fall to the floor, and stepped out of it. The chilly air now hit her all over, making her realize just how hot her body really was.
Before Laura was down to just her bra and panties, Spike was totally nude. She stole a quick glance at his cock, and thought about how big it looked to her. It had to be over 8" long, and was very thick, and had an acute upward curve to it. The head, purple tinged, looked bloated and swollen. It looked as if it would hurt her upon entry. She shivered, just thinking about this. And felt her pussy tingle and twitch.
"Here, baby," Spike said, hoarseness to his voice. "Let me help you with those. I like to do that." He came over to her, and knelt down. He slowly lowered the panties, as if relishing the surprise to come. As the panties cleared her bush, he leaned in and kissed her there. A quick kiss, with his tongue doing a flick at her pussy lips. A jolt of electricity seemed to go through her entire body, and it took a great effort to stop her legs from wobbling. She had the urge to swoon.
He then put his arms around to her back, and unclipped the bra's single hook. As he pulled the bra from her, she felt a thrill in her breasts, and the nipples seemed to be hardening up. Spike looked at her chest.
"They're beautiful, honey, absolutely beautiful." He reached out with both hands, cupped her breasts and, using both thumbs, tweaked her swollen nipples. "Oh, yeah, baby, these are something else!" He bent over and kissed her right breast, his lips targeting the nipple. She felt a shiver go through her entire body, and her legs seemed to want to give out.
As he switched his lip's attention to the left breast, she moaned. "Oooh, that feels good, Spike, real good." She placed both hands on his head, and drew him to her, pressing his face into the tit. He now moaned. And then kissed and sucked the now face-flattened breast excitedly, as his hands kneaded them both at the same time.
He worked her breasts for quite some time; kneading them, sucking them, pressing them to his cheeks, while constantly moaning. She, feeling now more like a Lana than a Laura, entwined her fingers into his hair, and pressed him even closer to her. She moaned constantly, and just let herself fall into the lewd magic of it all.
She felt Spike's fingers find her pussy. Then his fingers plied the entrance, and then plunged in, stirring around inside her. At first, she felt a twinge of shame knowing he was discovering just how wet and hot she was, but then she relaxed by saying to herself: I'm a hooker, for crissakes! I'm supposed to be hot and wet! Ain't I?
So she let herself just enjoy it, not even caring when an intense orgasm overtook her, and made her throw her arms around his neck, and yell out loud, "Oooooh, Spike, oh, oh, you just made me cum! Ooooooooh! Oh, oh, Spike. You darling man, you!" She felt herself slightly collapsing again at the knees.
Spike whispered, "On your knees, Lana, darling." At first, she didn't understand. Then she did. He wanted her to suck on him. Instinctively, she reached down and took hold of the base of his cock. She looked at it as she lowered herself to her knees. Up close, it looked even bigger, and scarier somehow. And much hairier.
She wondered if he would know she had never sucked a cock before? She tried to remember what she had read on the Internet about giving good head, but her mind was fudgy. But how hard could it be, really? Wasn't sucking a natural thing? No one had to teach a baby how to suck on a nipple.
She moved her head closer to the cock head, letting her lips brush against it. She opened her mouth, formed a toothless oval, as she had read how to do, and took the large cock head in. With both her eyes closed tightly.
The large head filled her mouth immediately, its bumpy underside pressing firmly into her tongue. It felt odd, both hard and soft at the same time. It also felt strangely pleasurable, as sucking on a large nipple would. As she moved her mouth forward on the shaft, and crossed the bumpy ridge, she was aware of her saliva. It seemed to be coating the cock, and making it feel slick and nice. She took a little more of the shaft, and heard Spike moan above her.
"Oh, Lana, what a mouth! It's as hot as Hades!" He took her head into his hands, and pulled her mouth farther along the thick shaft. She felt the head hit the back of her throat, and not stop. She thought of the Internet. As the cock head touched her gag reflex, she swallowed hard, as if ingesting a large piece of meat, just the way the article had mentioned. And was amazed when the cock went down her throat without making her retch.
With both eyes still tightly closed, she felt the curly hairs on the base of his prick gently touch her lips and nose. Oh, my God, she thought, I'm actually deep throating him! She had to see for herself. She opened her eyes and saw it was, indeed, true. The entire 8" of Spike's solid cock was in her mouth and down her throat. It had to be, for her eyes were less than an inch from his pubic hairs. And she hadn't even gagged once.
"Oh, baby, you suck cock like no woman I've ever met. Keep doing that. That taking it all thing. OK?" He heard her mumble around his dick. "Mmm, mmm." With both eyes open now, she deep throated him repeatedly, relishing in her newfound accomplishment.
And it was just too much for Spike.
"Oh, kiddo, I can't help it, I'm gonna cuuuuummm!" He pulled back to where just his cock's head was fully in her mouth. Then he came...
And it surprised her. The warm, sticky liquid came shooting into her mouth with unbelievable force. The first spurt hit the back of her mouth, and she felt it go down her throat, forcing her to constrict her throat slightly. The second blast hit the same spot, but she was ready for it. She swallowed just as she felt it hit, helping it on its way to her stomach. She felt her eyes tear up. She blinked them a few times in an attempt to dry them.
Then more cum of Spike's followed, but with less force. More of a dribbling effect. A large puddle of cum formed itself on her tongue. She felt it, sticky and glue like, between her tongue and Spike's prick. It squooshed out around the cock, coated her cheeks, and escaped her lips. She was aware of it on her chin.
She swallowed, and felt, for the first time, the slightly burning sensation of semen in her throat. She sniffed in, and could smell the musky odor of his sperm. It all had an unusual effect on her. She found herself loving it, this blowjob thing, and she even loved the taste of his ejaculate. She knew Spike was finished, but she chose to keep sucking on him. Her plan, if it was a plan, was to let him tell her when she should stop.
Finally, he did. "Okay, sweetie, that's good." He pulled his now flaccid cock from her mouth, and released his hold on her head. He then helped her to her feet.
"Baby, you give one fine blowjob!" He grinned at her. "Unreal!"
"You really think so?" She was fishing for a compliment, but she didn't care, as she wanted to hear it.
"Oh, yeah, I've had some good cocksuckers in my time, pardon my French, Lana, but none were as natural at doing it as you were. Christ, I know a bunch of guy who would pay the whole fifty just to have you blow them! If and when you have more time, that is."
Then Lana, the wanton cocksucking, cum-loving hooker said, "Really? I'd like that, Spike, and I could sure use the money." Oh, God, she thought, what if he actually sets it up? What then? Do I do it? Can I do it? Oh, God, a bunch of men! Naked men! With their hard, erect cocks out!
"Listen, Lana, I really wanted to fuck you, but you made me cum too fast, so how about I set something up for the future? And we could make a deal. If I find you five guys, at fifty each say, for just blowjobs, I get a free fuck. How's that sound to you?" He looked at her, and waited for her response.
"Let me think a sec, OK?" Thoughts raced through her mind. Should I do this? This crazy thing? Five guys! Five blowjobs! All that cum! It's so slutty! But who would know? Just me. Who would it hurt? No one.
"Okay, Spike, we have a deal." Whew, it was that easy to become a slut.
"Good. Now, Lana, how can I get in touch with you?"
She thought a moment, and remembered the computer she had seen in his other room.
"I can only be contacted by e-mail, Spike, so I'll give you that address... "
LAURA WINDSLOW, aka Lana Lick, the newest slut cocksucker hooker of the evening, could have taken the taxi the few blocks to the party, but she didn't want anyone else to see her in this getup. Especially friends.
One look at her in this costume, she knew, and the snide, but funny comments would start. They would be joking, of course, but she felt she would blush so violently, even at the first comment, that they would guess what she had done just blocks from them: Sucking the big cock of a total stranger. They would read it all over her face. As if her face was covered in Spike's cum.
It was ludicrous, to be sure, but the feeling was strong enough to have her give the cabbie her home address. She was there in less than twenty minutes.
As she got off the elevator on her floor, she saw a man at Ken's door. When he keyed the door, she realized it was Ken. He was all dressed up, with a suit and tie, as if he had just come home from either working late, or an early-ended date.
He turned and looked right at her, his key still in the door. "Hi, there, just move in?" He smiled. Shit, she thought, he doesn't recognize me. Well, why should he in this outfit? For some odd reason, she played along, making her voice sound deeper and sultry, and sexy.
"No, I'm just visiting... uh... my cousin. Maybe you know her? Laura Windslow?" She smiled at him. "My name is Lana, Lana... Lick." She had almost forgotten what last name she had used with Spike.
"Nice meeting you, Lana. I'm Ken, Ken White, and sure I know Laura. We've been neighbors for ages now. I feed her cat, Wiggy, and water her plants whenever she's out of town." I know, you dummy, I know. "But I'll tell you, Lana, you two sure are different from one another. You must be distant cousins." He grinned at her. She thought, what's that supposed to mean, ass hole?
"What's that supposed to mean?" She hoped it sounded a tad pissy. Even without the ass hole tacked on the end.
"Uh... nothing. It's just that Laura is... well... and you are... uh... both different, but both lovely, to be sure." He reddened a bit, and grabbed a quick breath. "You just look different, is all I mean."
She diluted the piss a bit, but it still had some acid in it. "Oh, I see. Laura dresses mousy like, and I dress... how would you say I dress, Ken?" She was having fun with it, this putting him on the spot. Especially so because his ears had reddened again. And his mouth now hung agape.
Before he could speak, she said, "Like a tramp? A tart? A trollop? A hooker? Tell me, huh, Ken, I can take it." Oh, what fun! What delicious fun. He looked stunned. And dopey like.
"Oh, no, Lana, none of those. You dress... uh... like a... like a... a film star. Yeah, an actress, a gorgeous actress, like... uh... like Angelina Jolie. Sexy, but very sotiscaphated... I mean sophisticated." She laughed to herself. Sotiscaphated!
She decided to really push the envelope. By really boggling his mind. And by giving dear old neighbor Ken something to really chew on.
"Well, Laura and I are different, Ken, but in a way you couldn't possibly know. I shouldn't tell you this, just meeting you and all, but my psychiatrist says it's healthy to do just that. So, here goes. Ken. Laura has escaped our genetic curse, Ken, which runs in many of the females in our family, but I haven't." She paused, making him wait. He looked all ears.
"I came here to see if Laura could help me overcome it, her being so sweet and innocent and all." She stopped again, keeping him on the line. Not taking his eyes off her, he removed his key from the lock. She noticed his hand shook as he tried to find the pocket's opening in his trousers.
"You see, Ken, I suffer from severe... nymphomania. That's right, severe nymphomania. I need a man twenty-four hours a day, Ken, just to feel anywhere near close to normal. Understand?" Oh, what fucking fun! His eyes were now as big as the proverbial dinner plates. He nodded, and his head looked as if it was ready to fall off his neck.
"Geez, Lana, that's a shame. I think. But you're right, if anyone can help you, it's Laura. She's just the opposite of... oops!... sorry."
"Don't sweat it, Ken. I take no offense. I'm used to it by now. But you might also be able to help me." She let it hang there, very pregnant like.
"H-How could I pissobly... er... possibly help you?" He looked as if his mind was churning away a mile a minute on the possibilities. She thought: Pissobly! How cute. His mind is sure below the waist! A Freudian slip if ever there was one.
"Well, my shrink told me that the best way to kick a bad habit is to be weaned off it gradually." What fun! "He said if I could find a willing man, one who understood the situation fully, and wasn't looking for any romantic entanglement, a man who could have sex with me just to help me, well, I'd recover more quickly." She grinned at him, with the implied offer on the loose. Oh, what a ball! What a fucking ball.
"You saying it would help you mentally if I had sex with you?" His upper lip was now covered in perspiration.
"Exactly, and Immensely!" She smiled at him. Sweetly.
"Sheesh, Lana, I don't know. I've never had an... "
Mrs. Goldsmith came out of her apartment, a trash bag in her hand. She was on her way to the incinerator room. Ken opened his door, and said, "Listen, Lana, let's not talk out here. Come inside, and we can discuss it some more." He held the door open for her. As she entered, she thought: Well, he hasn't said no just yet. Now let's see if I can get this big doofus to say yes! Let's see if it's a pissobolity! She laughed in her head.
Inside, and with her back to him, and hearing him shut the door, she walked over to his glass-covered coffee table, seductively wiggled her ass on the short trip, and bent over, knowing the raised mini-skirt was giving him a good view of her panties. The white, see-thru panties that let her bush show through.
She reached a hand down, and touched the table's surface, and felt the skirt climb up her ass even higher. "My friend, Wilma, has one just like this, Ken. Lovely. Especially the glass top." She ran her fingers over the glass, sensuously, while stalling in this lewd position for his full benefit. She could hear him breathing, and heavily, it seemed.
He said, "C-Can I make you... uh... would you like a drink, Lana?" She took advantage of his new Freudian slip.
With her ass still aimed his way, she said, "Can you make me, Ken? Of course! If you have some red Burgundy wine." Oh, how playful she was being. "I come cheap, every time I come!" She had said the word as if it was spelled cee--you--em. She heard him take a breath in. She straightened up, and turned toward him, a lascivious smile on her face.
He said, "R-Red burgundy! That's Laura's favorite. But I guess you know that already."
"No, I didn't. But how about that? Where somewhat alike after all, she and I. Now if I can get her to wear mini-skirts, we'd be two peas on a pod!" She laughed.
"Good luck with that, Lana. She's not the mini-skirt type. And I don't know why not. I've seen her in shorts, and she has some dynamite legs on her. Oh, well, different strokes, and all." He fixed the drinks, making a Scotch and soda for himself.
He offered a toast. "Well, Lana, cheers, and here's to your success." He held his glass out toward her.
She said, quite softly, with her wine glass poised in mid-air, "My success, Ken, will come to me tonight if you help me by... fucking the bejabbers out of me!" She clinked his glass. And, as she took a sip, she heard him audibly gulp. What fun.
He took a sip of his Scotch, and said, looking at her over the rim of his glass, "God, Lana, you don't beat around the bush, do you?" His ears were red again. And he had just given her more verbal ammunition.
"Me beat around the bush? Don't you get it, Ken? I want you to beat around the bush, my bush. And you would be helping me with my mental problem at the same time." She paused and glared at him. "For if I don't get fucked, and real soon, Ken, I'm gonna take off all my clothes, run into the street, and fuck the eyeballs out of the first man I meet." Or, she thought, run back over to Spike's place. For her panties were now soaked through and through.
She tacked on, "And it will be all your fault, Ken." She crossed her arms in front of herself, with the wine glass spilling a drop in the doing, and put a hurt look on her face.
He just stood there for a moment, frozen, just staring at her, and then said, "Lordy, lordy, lordy, Lana, this is all so freaky. So unreal. I don't know what to say. You wouldn't really run out in the street and... "
"I wouldn't?" She reached up with her free hand, and undid the top button of the thin blouse. "Wanna see me do just that, Kenny, old chum?" She quickly popped a second button, then a third. He had an amazed look on his face. She hoped she had seemed maniacal enough in her actions, and how a proper nympho in heat would act.
"Whoa, Lana. I believe you! Listen, if it would help you... "
"Oh, it would, Ken, it would." Momma, she thought, he's going to do it!
"Well, okay then, but Laura's not to know about it. Agreed?"
"Don't worry about that, Ken, I'd be the last person in the world to tell her."
Ken nodded, threw a hand out in space, and pointed its forefinger toward the bedroom. "Shall we?" Without a word, she walked past him.
Ken, you big phony, she thought, you must think I'm blind. Did you think that big tent in your trousers could escape the lurid eagle eyes of old Lana Lick? That wanton whore who now rules the night?
Just you wait, Kenny Wenny, until my hot mouth shows you the new trick it learned tonight...
IN THE BEDROOM, Kenny Wenny became an animal. But not a kind and thoughtful animal. He seemed to have undergone a severe personality change between the living room and the bedroom. And it was one even the slut cunt whore Lana Lick side of Laura didn't exactly like.
He fairly ripped the clothes from her body, not seeming to care a damn if they got ripped along the way. He seemed possessed. A Mr. Hyde kind of Kenny. He tore his clothes off, and tossed them in the air willy-nilly, and obviously uncaring as to where they ended up.
Then he grabbed her shoulders, quite roughly, and said, "On your knees, slut, and suck my cock." She almost protested something, but his hands were pushing her down. Perhaps, she thought, he's using some weird reverse psychology on me to cure my nympho side. She decided to play along with him.
"Now, cunt, suck it, and suck it good!" She obliged him, and tried to let his words turn her on, but he had spat them out at her, which turned her off. She thought of Spike. Spike, fully believing she was a street tramp, had treated her with more respect than Kenny was now, and Kenny believed she was the cousin of his neighbor. It all seemed topsy-turvy to her.
She hadn't sucked him but a few minutes before he pulled her to her feet, and dragged her into his bedroom. She stood by the bed, her back to it, and waited for the next surprise. He showed it to her by pressing his right hand to her chest, and pushing her. She fell back onto the bed.
"Spread those legs, cunt, and show me what you got for me." As she reluctantly assumed the wanton position, she thought: Christ, he hasn't even kissed me yet! And I don't think he will. She looked at him. What, she wondered, have you done with my Kenny?
He joined her on the bed, and his foreplay consisted of mounting her and frantically trying to find her hole with his cock. When he did, he jammed it in so roughly, she yelped. "Ow, that hurts!" He paid her no mind. You motherfucker, she thought, you have all the finesse of a fucking Nazi chatting up a prisoner. But with far less charm, you bastard.
He fucked her, if one could call it that, with all the passion of someone doing pushups. Up. Down. Up. Down. Ho hum. Ten more. All the while hurting her with his uncaring, and badly aimed, prick pokes.
Mercifully, he didn't last long. And, when he came, the only thing she heard him utter, was, "Ooof!" His pushup work was done. She felt him go flaccid almost immediately, and heard a shloop sound when he withdrew his limp prick from her. It reminded her of someone slurping up a short strand of spaghetti.
Then he got off her, but not in a normal way. He hopped off of her, or so it seemed to her, and landed beside the bed. His speedy, precision-like execution reminded her of a gymnast's dismount. As smooth, and as slick as that. She said to herself: That performance gets you a ten, Ken, but your other performance, well...
He looked down at her. "I'm gonna take a shower. Care to join me?" The way he had said it meant just the opposite of what he had implied. He sure didn't want her to say yes. She knew he was done with her, and it was good riddance time.
"Uh, no, Ken, you go ahead. I've got to get over to Laura's, anyway. I'll let myself out. OK?" He nodded, turned, and was soon closing the bathroom door behind himself.
She got out of bed, and dressed hurriedly. When she was at the front door, and holding it ajar, she looked back toward the bathroom door. Then she said, in a normal conversational voice, "You dumb fucker, you don't deserve a nice slut cunt whore like Lana Lick!" She exited, and slammed the door behind her. She turned, and saw...
"Good evening, Mrs. Goldberg, and how are you this fine and lovely evening?" Laura smiled at the woman, who held two trash bags in hand. Mrs. Goldberg stood frozen there, her eyes wide, and her mouth hanging wide open. She then gasped, ducked back into her apartment, slammed the door shut, and let Laura hear four locks being clicked, quite noisily, one after the other...
THE NEXT DAY, she received an e-mail from Spike. He had used the address she had given him: LWind25@AOL.Com. His message was quite short, but quite to the point:
Lana: All set. Tomorrow 7pm. Got you a 6th as a bonus! If you would like 2 more, I can swing it. Let me know by 5pm. Don't forget our deal! OK?
See ya gorgeous, Spike
She stared at the screen. Then spoke out loud to it, as if she had to hear the words to make them real.
"Six men! Eight if I want it! My God! And our deal! He wants his free fuck! Is Spike planning on fucking me before the men arrive, or after? With all of them watching us? Oh, my God! Would some of them later on want to fuck me, too? Probably. Most men can go twice. Oh, my God! Do hookers really do this stuff? They must. Spike seems to be taking it so all in stride, as if it's an ordinary, everyday event. Oh, my God!" She stared at the screen. "Oh, my God!"
As she hit Reply, she said, to the air, and one more time, "Oh, my God!" She then typed:
Spike: 7p.m. fine. 8 better for me. Haven't forgotten our deal. See you then.
Love ya, Lana
She had almost typed in Laura from force of habit.
Just after hitting the send button, she realized her mistake. Although she hadn't asked him to get the two extra men, she had implied it by leaving off the p.m. after the 8. "Oh, my God!"
She moved the mouse, planning on sending him a corrected message, but halted her hand in place. She picked the mouse up, and spoke to it; "I'm being silly, little mousie, if I'm going to be sucking off six men, what's two more? As they say, mousie, the more cock to suck, the merrier. Do you agree?"
She nodded the mouse up and down. "Good! I thought you might. And, dear mousie, if they all want to fuck me afterward, so what? I can handle that, can't I?" She nodded the mouse friend again. Then put it back on the desk. They now understood each other a little better...
LAURA ARRIVED at Spike's place on the dot of seven. The cab ride over had filled her with mind with giddy exhilaration, fearful anticipation, and sexual excitement. It had also filled her panties with oodles of juice. And she was not only ready for anything that might occur, but she had resigned herself to thoroughly enjoying it. All of it, come what may. In her mind, she had spelled come as cee you em.
She had changed into her superhero Lana Lick costume at Margo's place. It would keep Ken from bumping into her again. Margo was off somewhere doing what airline personnel do. Some trip to the Bahamas, if she remembered correctly. This time, however, she wore a raincoat over the outfit. The superhero, it seemed, didn't want to be seen in public.
The very idea of going through with it had sparked her mind, and inflamed it with intense sexual heat. Eight men! It was all so depraved, so lewd and lascivious, so taboo, so slutty and wanton, and so unlike the real her, the mousy her, the woman who would never have gotten into Ken's bed playing it the way she had played it. For whatever that was now worth.
In spite of his idiotic performance, Ken had gone ga-ga over Lana, the slut cunt whore nympho Lana, and had no idea he had been having sex with the mouse next door.
Boy, she thought, if he could only see me in action tonight! Shit, he'd see the mouse that roared! Ha ha! While she swallows the cum from eight men. And fucks any one of them who needed fucking. Yeah, Kenny Wenny, you'd have a heart attack watching the little mouse with all the big bad, horny wolves. So, Kenny Wenny, go take another shower.
Spike, in just a robe, ushered her in, and immediately dispelled any question about when he would be fucking her. "The rest of the guys, Lana, all eight of 'em by the way, will be here around eight, so we have a good hour to ourselves." He kissed her lightly on the cheek, as any uncle might.
Then he said, quite gleefully, "Let's get naked!" She liked Spike's bluntness, and it made her feel a tingling thrill shoot up along her back, and then center itself on the back of her neck. Bathing in the aftermath of the thrill, she removed her clothing, down to bra and panties. She now stood there, waiting for him to do the thing he liked to do. And Kenny? Go fuck yourself!
"Geez, Lana, you're even more beautiful than I remembered. And if I weren't old enough to be your father, I'd fall head over heels in love with you. And I wouldn't care who else you fucked, as long as you came home to papa." He smirked at her, and then dropped his robe to the floor.
She smiled at him. "Oh, papa, what a big daddy you are!" She reached out and fondled his prick, feeling the heat and meatiness of it. And the plump, swollen head. She ran her fingers around the head, exploring its girth and ridge. Spike let out a low moan.
"Tell me, Spikey Wikey, just how long is this puppy wuppy, anyway?" She was curious.
"Real angry, it hits eight and a half. But wait'll later on. Old Henry's got over twelve hanging off him, and it's bigger than," he lifted her arm up, 'your sweet lovely wrist." He gave the inside of her wrist a kiss.
"My God, Spike, he'll choke me to death!"
"Nah, baby, you just relax your throat, the way you did with me. You'll see, it won't hurt a bit. If anything, it'll feel great! Does to most women who suck him off, I'll tell you. But, hey, in your trade, don't you run into some pretty big ones?"
She lied. "I've only been doing this for a few months now, Spike, but so far I haven't had anything that big. You sure I can swallow him?" She had trouble picturing taking a cock that big down her small throat.
He nodded. "Piece of cake. Fucking him is easy, too, all you... "
"That reminds me, I wanted to ask you if some of them would also want to fuck me. You know, after I blow them?" Might as well know now.