shaking uncontrollably, feeling sick and tired. I need just a small bit, a small fix to tide me over until I return home again.
“Jesus, sweetheart, your arse is fucking incredible,” the guy mumbles out over the pounding music.
“Cheers. So is it in there?” I ask him, knowing he is touching my backside to place something in the pocket in the back of my shorts.
“It is, but I don't take money darling, that’s not how I roll. How ‘bout let’s take this somewhere a little less crowded and a little more private and you can pay me there?” I don't have a chance to answer because his hand is clasping mine and he is dragging me through the sea of sweating and gyrating bodies. I am feeling nervous, anxious and scared. I need to take whatever he has given me, and soon.
He pulls me into an unused cloakroom at the back of the bar/club. The musty, damp smell hits my nostrils, making me feel uncomfortable. I feel as though I’m on an episode of one of those fucked up Crimewatch programmes. That’ll be the news tomorrow, ‘Young mother of one found dead in cloakroom at night club, class A drugs found on her body’ . What a bloody fantastic parent I’m turning out to be.
“So, sweetness, about that payment..?” He pushes me against the wall, his erection hard against my stomach. I feel sick to my stomach, but I need whatever is in my pocket. I want to be able to sleep at night without waking up by something plaguing my brain.
“Aha, what do you want?” I ask him outright. I feel like a whore right now, the one Leighton thought me to be, pimping myself out for the smallest break from the feelings inside of me, but there is nothing else I can do, no one understands what I am going through. No one would be able to help anyway, there is only one thing I consider to take the edge off and it’s in my jeans pocket.
“Well, my dick is throbbing like a bitch, and I think your beautiful mouth could do something to help with it, don't you?” He pushes me down the wall, my back scraping against the age-old bricks, my knees connecting roughly with the cement floor.
I gulp down the bile that is rising up my oesophagus; I know I have to do this, just this one time. It will be over quickly, if I use the techniques Leighton had taught me, every man would go crazy for the skills I possess.
I breathe out a shaky breath as my hands reach for his slacks and unzip them. The guy has style, that’s for sure. He is wearing a crisp, expensive suit, perfectly styled hair with designer stubble on his jaw and a toned hard body. His appearance will make this degrading process a hell of a lot easier, and the reward of the substance he has for me, will make me continue, regardless of how I am feeling inside my heart and head.
I draw the material of the expensive charcoal suit, down his thighs. His cock juts free, not imprisoned by underwear. What is it with every man I let use my body, deciding underwear isn’t a good thing to wear, it just makes this whole thing a hundred times worse in my head, for some reason.
I mentally prep myself, encourage and fight myself. I have to do this. The shakes attacking my body are becoming uncontrollable and the pain in my skull is so fucking fierce I am ready to rip off my own head. I need sleep but I will do anything for five minutes of peace from my thoughts, fears and regrets.
I remind myself, I am single now. I had called it off. Leighton has no reason to be upset with me, unless you count desperately scraping for drugs, the one thing I had assured him I was sorting out. I am sure Leighton is enjoying his newfound freedom; he seemed very keen to get rid of me two days ago.
I use this knowledge to continue this dirty, disgusting act.
I surround his hard, impressive dick with my small, petite hand. I am gobsmacked by the thickness of the thing; my fingers unable to reach completely around it. I gulp down my shock, as I lick my lips.
“I know sweetheart, it’s a very nice dick, I rather like
“Jesus, sweetheart, your arse is fucking incredible,” the guy mumbles out over the pounding music.
“Cheers. So is it in there?” I ask him, knowing he is touching my backside to place something in the pocket in the back of my shorts.
“It is, but I don't take money darling, that’s not how I roll. How ‘bout let’s take this somewhere a little less crowded and a little more private and you can pay me there?” I don't have a chance to answer because his hand is clasping mine and he is dragging me through the sea of sweating and gyrating bodies. I am feeling nervous, anxious and scared. I need to take whatever he has given me, and soon.
He pulls me into an unused cloakroom at the back of the bar/club. The musty, damp smell hits my nostrils, making me feel uncomfortable. I feel as though I’m on an episode of one of those fucked up Crimewatch programmes. That’ll be the news tomorrow, ‘Young mother of one found dead in cloakroom at night club, class A drugs found on her body’ . What a bloody fantastic parent I’m turning out to be.
“So, sweetness, about that payment..?” He pushes me against the wall, his erection hard against my stomach. I feel sick to my stomach, but I need whatever is in my pocket. I want to be able to sleep at night without waking up by something plaguing my brain.
“Aha, what do you want?” I ask him outright. I feel like a whore right now, the one Leighton thought me to be, pimping myself out for the smallest break from the feelings inside of me, but there is nothing else I can do, no one understands what I am going through. No one would be able to help anyway, there is only one thing I consider to take the edge off and it’s in my jeans pocket.
“Well, my dick is throbbing like a bitch, and I think your beautiful mouth could do something to help with it, don't you?” He pushes me down the wall, my back scraping against the age-old bricks, my knees connecting roughly with the cement floor.
I gulp down the bile that is rising up my oesophagus; I know I have to do this, just this one time. It will be over quickly, if I use the techniques Leighton had taught me, every man would go crazy for the skills I possess.
I breathe out a shaky breath as my hands reach for his slacks and unzip them. The guy has style, that’s for sure. He is wearing a crisp, expensive suit, perfectly styled hair with designer stubble on his jaw and a toned hard body. His appearance will make this degrading process a hell of a lot easier, and the reward of the substance he has for me, will make me continue, regardless of how I am feeling inside my heart and head.
I draw the material of the expensive charcoal suit, down his thighs. His cock juts free, not imprisoned by underwear. What is it with every man I let use my body, deciding underwear isn’t a good thing to wear, it just makes this whole thing a hundred times worse in my head, for some reason.
I mentally prep myself, encourage and fight myself. I have to do this. The shakes attacking my body are becoming uncontrollable and the pain in my skull is so fucking fierce I am ready to rip off my own head. I need sleep but I will do anything for five minutes of peace from my thoughts, fears and regrets.
I remind myself, I am single now. I had called it off. Leighton has no reason to be upset with me, unless you count desperately scraping for drugs, the one thing I had assured him I was sorting out. I am sure Leighton is enjoying his newfound freedom; he seemed very keen to get rid of me two days ago.
I use this knowledge to continue this dirty, disgusting act.
I surround his hard, impressive dick with my small, petite hand. I am gobsmacked by the thickness of the thing; my fingers unable to reach completely around it. I gulp down my shock, as I lick my lips.
“I know sweetheart, it’s a very nice dick, I rather like
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