Asking For Trouble (29 page)

Questions I didn’t much care about wafted lazily around my brain. I allowed Ilya to carry on, relishing the feel of his firm hands and the warmth of his nearness.

‘Indulge in your fantasy,’ he breathed, dreamily seductive. ‘Maybe you’ll never have another chance as good as this. Think of it: you, the centre of attention. Lecherous men. They all want you, Beth. They’re so hot for you because you are so fucking beautiful and so fucking easy.’

His teeth scraped lightly on my neck and a hand stroked up to palm one breast. I could feel myself weakening, moistening.

‘It’s just like your fantasies,’ he continued huskily, ‘but bigger and better. It’s so liberating. You’re in someone else’s hands. They laugh. They say coarse things because you’re just a cheap little slut. And everybody wants a piece of you and, God, you adore it. All those hands, all those cocks, all that appetite. Just for you, babe – so dirty, so horny, so wet.’

He clasped me steadily, a thumb brushing to and fro on one nipple, his other hand massaging my pubis through my dress. His swollen crotch dug into the softness of my arse and he ground his hips, ever so slightly. My nipple puckered beneath his touch and my pussy tingled with desire for him, my wetness quickly gathering.

‘Did you know?’ I whispered. ‘When you phoned me earlier, did you know they’d be here?’

‘Yes,’ he said, tender yet confident. ‘But I knew, if I told you, you wouldn’t come.’

‘I might have done,’ I replied quietly, knowing it was a lie.

‘Mmmm,’ he said, murmuring idle pleasure as he fondled and caressed. ‘You turn me on so much, Beth. Ah God, I want to see you naked on that bed, gasping
and groaning, hands all over your body. I want to hear you panting and wailing while someone screws you, making you come, again and again and again.’

A moan escaped my lips. Pretend it’s fantasy, I thought. You’ll never see them again. Different social circles. I could just wipe them from my brain, like men of imagination. After tonight, they’d cease to exist.

And Ilya was here to keep me safe. We were a team. It was all OK. It would be hot – so good, so dirty, so cheap. My vulva swelled as my sense of reality become delirious and deliciously veiled. I felt a little drugged, even though I wasn’t, unless Luke was part of the game and he’d slipped something into my whisky. But no, this wasn’t the game. Remember. It was bigger than that. Better than that.

I had a misty awareness of Ilya whispering in my ear, shepherding me towards the bed. We sat together on the edge and his caresses continued. Then the two of us were leaning backward and Ilya’s hands were sliding on my bared thighs, nudging under my little black dress.

‘Show us all what you’ve got,’ he breathed, and he wriggled my dress higher.

I whimpered pleasure and widened my legs as Ilya pushed the fabric up over my hips. He stroked my filmy red knickers and my sex quivered and pouted, warm milkiness seeping into the gusset. Then he slipped my knickers down and off.

Someone in the room gave a low appreciative whistle. I tensed slightly, fighting to stave off shards of fear and disdain which would puncture my lustful haze. Then I relaxed, gazing up at the cracked ceiling rose, allowing Ilya’s hands to press on my inner thighs and open me up.

When he drew away from me, I kept my feet where he’d placed them, spaced far apart on the floor. The plump creases of my cunt were split and wet, advertising my easy availability.

‘Hallelujah,’ came Tony’s monotone voice.

In my peripheral vision, shadows moved on the stripy wall. Briefly, I craned my neck. I had a greedy, smirking audience: a couple of the guys had shifted their chairs for a better view; another with short curly hair was leaning against a wardrobe, chewing gum in that rapid, cocksure manner; Tony was approaching me.

Though I loathed myself for it, I couldn’t help but respond to all that attention. They were the enemy, dull-witted and crude; and they wanted to use me as their cheap little whore because Ilya owed them money. I was just a pawn in someone else’s game, played by someone else’s rules.

It was degrading and scary. I loved it and I hated it. Arousal pumped its hot blood into my groin and my sex-lips fattened with sordid hunger.

Tony knelt on the ground between my spread feet. I dropped my head back on to the mattress, eager to take whatever he had to give, yet reluctant to show it. His fingertips pinched lightly on my inner labia and he parted my lips. I sensed him peering.

‘Ooo, dark up there,’ he said. Then he added, ‘Whoops-a-daisy,’ and slid two fingers deep into my hole.

It felt good, but I released only the lightest of groans as, high in my vagina, he twisted left and right.

‘She’s fucking soaking,’ he announced with a gleeful titter.

‘She always is,’ replied Ilya blankly. ‘She’s a dirty little bitch. Told you she was.’

His words bewildered me. Did that mean we were no longer a team? That it wasn’t me and him in the hands of bad men, suffering for some greater good? That it was just me?

The mattress dipped and Tony’s pointy face, smirking and shifty, loomed up to confront my own. He held himself above me, one hand on the bed, the other plunging fingers into my sex, and grinned.

In the yellowish half-light, I squinted up at his silver-grey eyes, and decided that Ilya hadn’t abandoned me. He wouldn’t do that. He was merely pretending to side with the enemy in order to make my part easier: it was still me versus the bad men, but they couldn’t really be that bad because Ilya was one of them. He was helping me. Of course he was.

So I surrendered to the luxury of groaning and squirming, embracing my sluttish hunger, and bucking my hips to meet Tony’s finger-thrusts.

‘You’re ready for a good shafting, aren’t you?’ he leered, his fingers picking up speed.

‘Yeah, go on, Tone,’ said the bouncer thug. ‘Give her one, but be quick about it. My dick’s itching to get in there.’

I really disliked the bouncer thug.

Tony strummed my clit.

‘You ready for a good shafting?’ he repeated.

A groan rolled in my throat as a flurry of pulses flooded my sex. ‘Yes,’ I growled. ‘Yes, I’m fucking ready.’

‘Well, isn’t that a shame?’ Tony smiled. ‘Because I’m ready for a good blow job, see? So you’d better get on your knees and do it, hadn’t you, darling?’

I moaned a complaint, yet scrambled from the bed to oblige, smoothing my dress down in the process. The sooner I did requests, the sooner I’d get a taste of the action.

As I knelt on the carpet, Tony unzipped, freeing his bulky erection from the constraints of his underclothes. His flaring prick jutted lewdly from his flies, obscenely fat when compared to the rest of his body. My lips parted as I reached to take him into my mouth. But he took a large step back, thwarting me.

‘C’mon, darling,’ he teased. ‘Crawl for it.’

‘Yeah,’ came someone’s voice. ‘You’re into play-acting, aren’t you, girl? So you be the donkey and that’s your carrot.’

The loutish men laughed as I shuffled to catch up with Tony. I wondered what Ilya had told them about us. It hurt too much to linger over the thought, so I pushed it away.

There wasn’t much space and Tony just moved in backward circles, clasping his big, hard cock and aiming it at my mouth. Willingly, I gaped to take him, but he teased and dodged, urging me to suck him, offering himself, then denying me the chance. His domed glans kept skimming my open lips like I was bobbing for apples.

But it was just a little entertainment to amuse our spectators and Tony soon tired of it.

‘There you go,’ he breathed, as if he were doing me a big favour, and he drove his length into my mouth.

I engulfed him, wrapping my lips round his turgid shaft, then gliding up and down.

My awareness of those ogling men, with their keen eyes and bulging groins, fired me with the glory of filthy lust. Beneath my dress, my inner thighs were sticky with sliding juices. I massaged Tony’s slender buttocks, my hands roaming eagerly on his jeans.

‘Mmm, yes,’ he said, his pelvis rocking lightly. ‘Go on. Suck it, bitch. Suck it good.’

And I did, with the dawning realisation that this man might last for ever. Then a mobile phone started ringing, shrill and close, and I faltered, feeling Tony fumble to retrieve it.

‘You just keep at it,’ he urged as the ringing stopped. ‘Yep?’ he answered. ‘All right, Mick. What can I do for you? . . . Yeah, spoke to him yesterday. No worries. Should be ready before the month’s out.’

Tony continued with his conversation and a streak of resentment made me reach into his clothes to fondle his tensed-up balls. I drew extra hard on his cock, lashing my tongue and sloshing saliva.

He uttered a rumble of pleasure, then followed it up with a hasty laugh.

‘Nah,’ he said into his phone. ‘Just got a whore on my dick, that’s all . . . Yeah, she’s not bad. Bit eager for a whore. Sucks like a dream though.’

Anger made me want to clamp my teeth on him. But I resisted, determined instead to just suck like a dream. I wanted to make him come, mid-phone-call. That might ruffle his feathers.

‘Anyway,’ Tony said. ‘Kline Leisure are sorting the paperwork . . . Yeah, the miserable old bastard, but what can you do? Told him we’d get someone else in next time.’

We carried on that way: Tony talking; me fellating. My cunt throbbed heavily, revelling in my apparent worthlessness. I was just some two-bit whore, sucking on a stranger’s dick, so insignificant that I hardly deserved a mention, never mind attention or – God forbid – respect.

The pleasure my body found in that made me feel diseased, because all the men around me saw my whorishness as the truth. This wasn’t how things were with Ilya, when afterwards we might say, ‘Hey, that was fun.’ As far as my audience was concerned, I was a slut through and through. Nothing else; no one else.

In my mouth, I felt Tony’s cock flicker with a surge of tautness. He was as inflexible as iron. He had to be close. Victory was in my sights.

Tony, his thighs straining, made a strangled noise into his mobile. ‘Call you back, mate,’ he croaked, then he beeped off his phone and tossed it over to the bed.

‘Ah, yess,’ he hissed, clutching a fistful of my hair, keeping me steady as he thrust and thrust.

Then he snatched himself from my lips, jerking my head back. With a rumbling sigh, he climaxed, directing his cock so that his spurting liquor splashed on to my upturned face.

I tasted his bitterness on my lips and pressed them together, not wanting any more.

Dragging my forearm across my chin, I heard a growl of cheers and guffaws that sounded dutiful rather than enthusiastic, the way applause sometimes is.

Tony tidied his prick away and I smeared the last of his juice from my face, drying my hands on my dress.

Then the bouncer thug swung himself purposefully from his dressing-table perch and strode over.

‘Next!’ he hollered cheerfully, as if we were in a doctor’s waiting room.

My heart sank but my treacherous sex rejoiced. He had huge rugby thighs, and his movements were graceless and stiff because of all that bulk and muscle. I really didn’t like him, but his crotch was packed to bursting. I wanted someone to fuck me and I was in no position to pick and choose.

So I made no complaint and, when he hooked his hands under my armpits and lifted me effortlessly to my feet, my groin began to pound frantically.

‘So you’re not after a blow job,’ I said bravely.

‘Nope,’ he said, undoing the back zip of my dress in one fluid swoop.

Then, just as swiftly, he pulled the dress up and over my head, flung it to the ground and fumbled with my bra. The guy with the ring in his ear put his fingers in his mouth and wolf-whistled.

When I was naked, the bouncer thug, his arms like tree trunks, steered me quickly to the bed, ordering me to stand at the foot, to bend over, to grab hold of that rail ‘’cos you’re gonna need to, girl’.

I clutched the low, brass-coloured footrail and fearlessly, wantonly, I spread my feet for him. I heard his trousers drop, felt him shuffle up close and don a rubber, which surprised me, but I guessed it was just the way it had been with Pete: motivated by a selfish ‘you don’t
know where she’s been’ rather than out of any concern for me.

Then – oh bliss – the bouncer thug drove his prick into me, packing me with flesh.

Buried in my eager wetness, his cock felt like his body – stocky and thick, stretching my pussy walls wide. I cried out, overwhelmed by pleasure, and he went straight into top gear, gripping my hips with his big stubby hands, pounding fast and furious.

He emitted a series of sharp snorts, rutting like a beast, and I gasped and panted as my cunt turned to liquid fire.

‘Trav,’ said Tony calmly. ‘Suck her clitty or something. I like watching whores come.’

‘Yes,’ I wailed. ‘Yes.’

With indecent haste, Ilya ducked down beneath me.

‘Fifty quid she comes in a minute and a half,’ came a voice from the table.

There was laughter. ‘Make it a minute and you’re on,’ said another.

‘Done,’ came the reply.

My bouncer thug, his breath increasingly snuffly, was slamming my body back to meet his frenzied thrusts. Ilya’s fingers struggled to hit their moving target and, before they could, the bouncer thug climaxed with an oafish roar of triumph.

I howled in disappointment, which mutated into delight as Ilya’s knowing fingers found my clit. But I wanted both.

‘More,’ I wailed as the bouncer thug withdrew. ‘Someone else. Oh, more. Someone fuck me.’

I needn’t have asked.

The guy who chewed gum was already whipping his belt undone and swaggering across the foggy room, his face immobile apart from that fast-rolling jaw. I felt Ilya’s warm wet lips mould to my pulsing clit and my orgasm soared to closeness as his tongue-tip danced.

But when the gum-chewer got into position, Ilya quickly replaced mouth with fingers.

‘You fucking dirty slag,’ said the gum-chewer stickily, and he penetrated me with a fierce jab.

‘Come on, girl,’ yelled a voice. ‘Come on. Twelve seconds. Ten . . . Nine . . .’

Somewhere in the countdown and the horse-racing cheers, I climaxed, much to the delight of Tony and whoever had won the bet.