'Whore'

My voice had been so slurred on the phone he'd known immediately what I'd done.

'I'm coming home.' He'd said. I thought he'd sounded pissed off, but then I hadn't been in much of a state to tell. He'd been away for just over a week, and I'd been doing ok, but then last night a few of us went out on the town and I'd bumped into an old acquaintance at a club. One thing had led to another, and before I knew it we'd ditched the others and were whoring our way towards a sizeable pile of drugs.

As always the drugs made it so much easier. Club toilets; not classy, but very handy for scoring and whoring, besides, it's hard to feel classy when you've a stranger's cock in your arse and another in your mouth. Oh, I can act classy at such moments; hell, I'm a natural born performer, and a natural born whore, I can feign just the right amount of pleasure even while I'm resisting the urge to vomit. But feel? That's a whole other matter; usually I try my damnedest not to, safe in the knowledge that the drugs will wash it all away.

I'm still such a junkie; I've been on the right side of clean for years, and yet, put me in a situation where there are drugs to be had, and I'll do whatever it takes to get them. All things considered, I'd done far worse for a lot less, and the packets in my pockets piled up into a decent night's gains. As always, I'd spent the remainder of the night and the following day too smashed to think, and then all of a sudden and all too soon the phone was ringing and it was him.

'Hey' I'd answered cheerfully, utterly convinced that even though I could barely see straight, I’d still be sounding and acting sober. He wasn't taken in for a second. When I hung up I couldn't even remember what he'd said, other than he was coming home. I wondered vaguely if he'd said when, and then I passed out on the bed again.

Hours, I had hours at the very least; he was at least an eight hour drive away, and he'd have to make arrangements and stuff, surely? No way would he just drop everything and... the world receded back into blissful oblivion and I drifted, half aware and half dreaming, in that drug induced place of safety where nothing could really touch me or harm me.

Nothing except him. I woke to him shaking my arm and saying my name impatiently. I opened my eyes reluctantly, and then in horror. How the hell had he got here so quickly? When the fuck had he learned to teleport? Oh hell, I looked down at myself, still dressed in a miniskirt and stockings, which, with my build, is as close to drag as I can successfully get without looking ridiculous. Most days he would have approved, but most days it would have been solely for his benefit.

The drugs had pretty much all fled from my body, leaving me coming down and weary, with an acrid taste in my throat. His face showed none of the disgust I was expecting, just concern. I'd never made any secret of my occasional forays back into prostitution and drugs, but I'd only ever indulged in such behaviour when he was well out of the way. I was ashamed at being caught out, and increasingly angry because I felt ashamed. Shame left a worse taste in my mouth than the drugs had. I pushed myself up onto one elbow and looked at him. Suddenly I was furious.

'Can't you just be angry?' I lashed out verbally, trying to get the first blow in. 'Can't you just yell at me and be hurtful and spiteful?’ That way at least I could have fought back, at least I could have stopped feeling so bloody guilty before he’d even opened his mouth, and at least I wouldn't have been the only one in the wrong. I knew I wasn't thinking straight, but I couldn't make myself care; I've never been good at drug come-downs, and I've never been good at being in the wrong.

'Fucking accuse me already, will you? Whatever it is you've come all this way to give me shit for, just do it and get it over with.' My heart pounded in my chest and my voice rose, fear making it sharp, and guilt lending it a cutting edge. ‘Don't just look at me with those fucking puppy dog eyes and make me feel worse with every passing second.'

‘I came back because I was worried about you. That's the only reason.' His eyes met mine steadily, and I knew he spoke the truth, but I was beyond being reasonable.

'Not because you were jealous?' I taunted, knowing I was pushing him too far, yet unable to stop myself. 'Not because you couldn't bear the idea of me fucking other guys? I'm fine, you can see I'm fine. Christ, if you'd asked me on the bloody phone I'd have told you I was fine and you could have saved yourself one hell of a journey for nothing.'

His mouth tightened slightly, and the look in his eyes hardened. 'Who says it was for nothing?' He asked, an angry edge to his voice. His eyes travelled slowly along my body, taking in the smudged make-up, the tacky clothes. I felt naked and vulnerable before that look, ashamed. I'd never wanted him to see this; I reached down onto the floor and found my dressing gown, picked it up and was about to throw it round my shoulders.

'Don't' He said. His voice was part plea, mostly command. I froze, uncertain what to do, unsure of what he wanted of me. Bewildered and confused, I looked a question at him.

'Do it for me. Whatever it is you do for them, do it for me.'

Oh christ. Did he have any idea what he was asking me to do? I'd bared my soul to this man; I'd shared my secrets and my dreams with him. I loved him more than I'd ever loved anyone else; the thought of acting the whore for him, of treating him like a punter, the whole concept revolted me, hurt me. I gave him a quick despairing glance, and I could tell he was thinking it through at the same time as I was, and unfortunately he was finding a lot more appeal in the idea than I was.

'No.' My voice lacked conviction. 'I don't... it's just not right.'

'I'm not jealous; it's never made me jealous, but it fascinates me. It's a side of you I've never seen even though I'm well aware that you do it from time to time. I'll be honest with you, sometimes the thought of it repulses me, but I've never asked you not to do it. So I'm asking you, just this once, to do it for me.'

'I'm already yours.' I tried to laugh, to laugh it off. 'You don't need to buy me.'

He wasn't about to be brushed off so easily. 'Are you telling me that they all want to love you like I do? That you pretend to be boyfriend and soul-mate, as well as lover?' He put his hand into his pocket and drew out a wad of cash. 'Humour me, pretend we've never met. I just want a fuck.'

I stared at him for long moments, and then just nodded dumbly. I could think of so many reasons why this was a terrible idea, but my half-doped brain refused to allow me to articulate them, so I nodded again, peeled a few of the notes off and handed him the rest back. 'You're sure?' I asked, knowing he was, but hoping desperately that he'd changed his mind.

He more or less ignored my question, as I'd known he would, instead he looked at the roll of notes in his hand, and then at me. 'That buys me...?'

'Pretty much anything you damn well want.' I answered him brusquely, feeling sick to my stomach. I left him in the bedroom and went through to the bathroom; I washed, I brushed my hair, I re-touched my eye make-up and straightened my stockings. I couldn't really put it off any longer; I pulled my heeled boots and black leather jacket on and stroked my cock into life before I went back to him. 'Pretend we've never met' he'd said, but I couldn't see him as a punter, couldn't work up the necessary contempt and loathing.

I sauntered back into the bedroom, projecting a confidence I really wasn't feeling. He sat sprawled on the bed, his jacket removed and dropped onto the floor, long legs stretched out. His eyes followed me, looked me up and down. Slowly I removed the jacket and came to a halt in front of him, I lifted my leg to rest one foot on the bed beside him and leaned in close.

'So, you want to fuck me?' I made my voice deliberately husky, almost breathless, as if the thought of him fucking me was the most erotic thing I could imagine. To be fair, most days it was, but this just felt wrong, I couldn't even seem to treat it as a game, which might have made the whole thing a lot easier, and a whole lot more pleasant.

'Entertain me first.' He picked my bag up and handed it to me; I flushed, he'd obviously been through it; it contained the inevitable condoms and sachets of lube as well as the only sex toy I own; a thick black 8inch dildo, packed in a 'carry case'. I removed it from the bag and then from the case, reluctantly, feeling self conscious and uncomfortable. I shot a quick look at him as I split one of the sachets and smeared lube over the dildo; he watched my every movement and his eyes were bright and eager. He caught my glance and nodded to the bed. I nodded back, and crawled to join him, but he pushed me away.

'On your knees, so I can see.' He spoke casually, but the words, and his indifferent treatment of me stung in a way I hadn't imagined. Still, I turned away from him, on my knees as he’d demanded, resting on an elbow and reaching back with my other hand to lift the seam of the skirt with the tip of the dildo. I ran it slowly along the crack between my arse-cheeks and paused at my hole, then gradually I began to work it into me, mentally flinching from the cold lube and the unforgiving girth. Moaning, simulating pleasure, I began to fuck myself with it. I hadn't used it the previous night and I'd forgotten how big the bloody thing was.

I could feel his eyes on me as I pushed it deeper and deeper into myself, glad that I could at least keep my hand wrapped around it and spare myself the last couple of inches. I moaned and writhed, I made all the appropriate noises, and eventually I looked back over my shoulder at him.

'Your turn?' I asked, still thrusting the thing in and out of myself, with that slack jawed, moronic expression that passes for sexual enjoyment plastered on my face. He nodded. I tucked the dildo between my ankles and continued to ride it, as I swivelled round to face him. He knelt in front of me and I undid his jeans slowly, one button at a time. As I freed his cock, he took me by the hand.

'Wait. Keep it in you and come over here.'

He stepped off the bed and out of his jeans in one easy fluid motion. I followed more awkwardly; it's hard to walk naturally with a dildo in your arse. He stopped, leaning against the wall opposite the dressing table.

'Now suck me.' He wrapped his hand into the back of my hair, pulling my head towards his cock as he spoke. I started to kneel to obey him, but he jerked me upright by the hair. I hissed in pain but said nothing, just looked at him to see where this was going.

'Bend over and do it; I want to watch you fuck yourself some more.'

I glanced back over my shoulder, and realised he'd positioned me in front of the dressing table mirror on purpose. His tone was really starting to irritate me, but I'd taken far worse from punters; trouble was I still couldn't see him as a punter, no matter how much he acted like one.

I bent over, pulling my skirt up slightly as I did so, in order that it wouldn't obstruct his view, then I leant down to lick at the end of his cock. I ran my tongue around the head, nibbling and sucking at the foreskin as I did so, slipping my tongue underneath it the way I knew he loved. I wrapped one hand round it, reaching back with the other to continue pushing the dildo into my arse. He ground himself impatiently against my hand, and I sucked the head of his cock into my mouth, gently pushing his foreskin back with my lips and tongue, feeling a shiver of satisfaction when he moaned in response.

I rippled my fingers, tightening them round his cock, then I began rubbing the shaft while I sucked at the end. I moved my fingers out of the way and took him as deep into my mouth as I could, sucking hard as I withdrew again slowly. I built up a rhythm and matched it with the dildo, knowing he was watching me in the mirror, and he responded as I'd known he would, pushing harder into my mouth, hands tightening in my hair.

I kept my tongue moving, now using it to push his cock hard against the roof of my mouth, now running it around the head before sucking him in deep again. Much more of this and he'd come. The same thought must have struck him because he slowed down and then pulled out of my mouth. I slowed the dildo down with him, half expecting him to object, but he was already turning me around eagerly.

He took the dildo from my hand and fucked me hard with it for a while; so hard that my simulated moans became tiny gasps of pain. I reached down and wrapped my hand around my own cock, and he let me stroke myself back to arousal, then he pulled the dildo out and knocked my hand away hard. I looked at him in shock, but his eyes were cold.

'Did I pay you so you could entertain yourself?' He asked, his voice harsh.

There really wasn't any answer to that. He pushed my head down roughly and I felt him start to slide his cock into me. He wasn't gentle about it, and I was glad the dildo had already relaxed me. I like him deep inside me, I love it in fact, but I like him to stay there, to fuck me short and deep, keeping me full of him, our bodies grinding together. Right now he was doing the opposite, pulling nearly all the way out and then slamming back into me. I gasped, and then sobbed in pain, but it just seemed to inflame him.

Where was my professional detachment now? I leaned over the dressing table as he pounded into my arse, and I couldn't bring myself to look at my reflection; it was all I could do to not cry. It wasn't that he was hurting me; he was, but I'd had so much rougher whilst working; it came with the territory.

To be fair, I'd had much rougher from him under different circumstances, and I'd loved every minute of it, but this, this was a side of him I'd never experienced, coldly indifferent to me, taking what he wanted, and more or less unaware of me; he didn't even know he was hurting me because I barely existed for him. From a punter it would have been totally normal, but from him it was painful and humiliating.

Then he slowed, and pulled out of me. I looked back at him, half afraid of what he would do next, but he put a gentle hand on my shoulder and pulled me upright, then his arms enfolded me in a hug. Bewildered and confused I leaned against him and he lifted me and carried me to the bed. He laid me down on my side, and gently stroked my cock, then he snuggled up close behind me, and, still stroking me he once more pushed himself into my arse, but this time he was gentle and tender. This time he fucked me how he knew I loved it, and I felt myself responding despite the fact I was still furious with him.

His fingers played along my cock, stroking, teasing, rubbing me, and I moaned and sobbed for real, all pretence gone, luxuriating in the feel of his hand on me, his cock deep inside me. He kissed the back of my neck, gently bit my shoulder as he ground into me and I moved my hand until it rested upon his hipbone, pulling him deeper into me, writhing back against him helplessly. His breathing became deeper, more urgent, and I held back until I was sure he was coming before I let go and joined him, thrusting into his hand and sobbing his name until I was spent.

His arms encircled me and we lay in silence for a while. Eventually he spoke.

'No more babe, please, for me? Never again?'

I rested my head against him, and leaned an arm behind me to hug him close to me.

'No more.' I lied. 'Never again.'

-

(Writing by Danny Darke. For more information about the author and any of his other works, please visit dannydarke.com Thank you!)