It's Not Prostitution Ch. 01

It's not prostitution, or at least that is what Trevor tells me. It's not sex in exchange for money, not exactly, because that would be illegal in L.A., but there's nothing illegal about a phone call is there? I would have actually wanted to ask Mr. Facelli about it, but he didn't seem much for small talk when we met, he was more about getting straight down to business the minute he got me alone in his car. He flashed the money the moment we were alone, like a good customer, though Trevor doesn't like any of us calling them that. He prefers us call them "friends" for I guess that's what they are for the time we have together. I didn't have time to count it, but I saw the stack of bills in the envelope, a bunch of 1s with a whole lot of 0s, and that was enough for me.

I almost laughed when I got the call from Mr. Facelli, his daughter Ally a classmate of mine at Deering High. I was a bit worried he might recognize me, but truth was I didn't really know what even he looked like, the few parties Ally had thrown kept secret from her parents at their beachhouse. I knew him by name though, Ally's father of course, and one of L.A.'s most well known criminal defense attorneys. He had developed some notoriety at my High School when he defended Brian Seslin, the supposed rapist and murderer of Lauren Green, the wife of one of our English Teachers. The case closed without a conviction, and that pissed Mr. Green off, obviously, but that wasn't why I was here. It wasn't my place to argue anyone's guilt or innocence. Mr. Facelli knew that, and well, again, I didn't have any time to really ask him anything before I found his cock stuffed in my mouth as he drove.

Trevor had given me the run down before I received the call. Mr. Facelli liked good girls, very good girls, and he enjoyed doing bad things to them. He needed a good actress, that is, after all, what Trevor told us we were, and I was the best of them, Trevor's favorite. I could act like I had never had sex before. I could act like it frightened me. I could act like Mr. Facelli's cock was way too much for me to take into my tiny mouth, which wasn't entirely acting, and what made me Trevor's most valuable asset, I would cry on queue, letting tears fall down my cheeks, down my lips, and over my "friend's" cock as he forced it over my tongue and down my throat.

It wasn't all acting, like I mentioned. My hands upon Mr. Facelli's stomach and thigh, pushing him away, and the fight I put up to lift my head from his crotch, that was really just a natural reaction when I found it hard to breathe. Gagging on his cock when he thrust the whole eight inches of it down my throat, bucking his hips up into my mouth, that again was reaction. My muffled screams as he forced me to suck him, that was the acting part. The tears, also fake. Pretending the whole of the night that I had no idea it was Mr. Facelli's intent to rape every entrance I had, that is why I was Trevor's favorite, his best. It took a great deal of control for girls like me to whimper all night in fear and pain like a pure, innocent schoolgirl, rather than moan like a slut.

It was only a ten minute drive from where we met to Mr. Facelli's beachhouse, nine and a half of which he kept me held down hard to his cock, instructing me as if I didn't know what to do, to kiss it, lick it, and take it all the way down my throat. As if it weren't forceful enough while he was driving, when he parked his Porche in his garage and no longer had to concentrate on driving he was able to focus solely on the game he played with my mouth, holding me down with the both of his hands and bucking his hips up even more powerfully so that the back of my head slammed against the underside of the steering wheel. I was a bit surprised it lasted as long as it did. Not many men had the ability to hold it in for ten minutes while I blew them, but Mr. Facelli kept it up for another three minutes or so before he gripped my hair even tighter in his fists, thrust his hips up until my lips tasted his balls, and exploded wave after wave of cum into my mouth. His near breathless words were like harsh demands, commanding me to take it all, his hands refusing to let me up until he felt my throat swallow three times, the only remnants of his semen coating my lips and making them glisten.

When at last I was able to rise, coughing and crying like the talented actress that I was, he gave me his one ultimatum before he exited his car.

"Not a single fucking word," Mr. Facelli demanded of me, and the way he said it... the look on his face when he said it... to be honest, I wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

He opened my side door and drew me out by my wrist, leading me into his empty beachhouse, never turning on a single light.

I'm not sure why my body shuddered when the door locked shut behind me. I've been "raped" before. It's a more common fantasy than men will often admit to. Many of my customers, or "friends", have wanted me to play the victim, and it's a role I've gotten very good at. I've been raped before too, and as odd as it may sound, that night two years ago wasn't as scary as this single second when the door clicked shut. Maybe it was the sound of Mr. Facelli's voice in the car, maybe it was the look in his eye, or maybe it was because I was hopped up on coke that night with Trevor two years ago.

With most men, that can afford me anyway, that's all it is, a fantasy. They fantasize about being utterly dominant and violent because truthfully they're not. They'd never rape a young girl, and that's why they spend thousands of dollars to hire one who doesn't mind letting it happen, one who would never speak of the encounter. Some of them try talking dirty and I'm forced to do all that I can just to keep from laughing, to keep up the act that I'm frightened of them. Some of them try to get as rough as they can, thinking that if they bang me harder it will somehow make their four inches actually hurt. I let them believe it, but with some men it just isn't true. They pull my hair, they spank my ass, but they just don't have it in them to hurt anyone. A few times I've actually had to stop acting so well, sensing them about to break, reminding them that I was a hired slut and that they've paid for me for the night for, well, anything and everything. Wait, scratch that, I'm not supposed to mention that.

Suffice it to say, for some girl out there these kind of guys would be their knight in shining armor. Mr. Facelli for some reason didn't strike me as that.

I had met him once before, about two years ago at Ally's sweet sixteen party. He seemed like a good father, sparing not a single expense to give his daughter the perfect night. I was one of about 50 girls that night though, so I'm not sure why I was worried he would recognize me. Maybe, just maybe he might recognize my name, but that wouldn't really matter, since I don't use my real name for these encounters anyway. To my "friends" I'm merely Angel. I had seen him in passing too every now and then when I spent time with Ally, but it's not as though we were best friends or anything, so the encounters were sparce. All this wasn't to say however that he didn't have that grey shadow of mystery looming over him.

I remembered Kaisie McDermott's accusation two years ago that Mr. Facelli had raped her that night. I remember how she was so adamant about it, even though we all knew she was piss drunk that night, for about four days before she suddenly shut up about it and refused to ever speak of it again. I remember two months later when she found out she was pregnant. I remember how frantic she was, and I remember how all that drama seemed to end as soon as it had started when she somehow found the money to pay for her abortion without even telling her parents. I couldn't help but wonder if it all had been true, and just what I was getting myself into now.

Fuck it, I thought as Mr. Facelli led me deeper into his dark beachhouse. I may play the role of some innocent, naïve schoolgirl, but I'm tougher than that I told myself, banishing the worry from my head. What could he do that hasn't already been done anyway?

Mr. Facelli's beachhouse was, for all intents and purposes, my dreamhouse. Three stories of sheer glass walls, that sparkled silver in the daytime, and felt to glow even at night. The front door was less than ten feet from the warm sands of the Pacific Ocean. The windows of the master bedroom were just the perfect mix of protection and thrill. In the daytime the reflective glass shined far too brightly for any to see in, while letting those inside see out without trouble. At night, well when it was dark inside anyway, little could be seen from the beach, not without binoculars anyway. It was such a beautiful place. I had told Ally that I would give anything to be fucked in this very master bedroom.

Not that Mr. Facelli had any reason to contemplate this question, but if he ever was compelled to seek out the truth, he'd find that tonight wouldn't be the first time I've been on this bed, but rather the third.

For the brief moment that I could I glanced at a framed picture on the nightstand beside the bed. Mr. Facelli was in it, as was Ally. Mrs. Facelli too, looking the ever classy broad she always did, gowns, pearls, glitz, and glamor, and Brad as well. I tried not to grin at the thought. I wonder what Mr. Facelli would say if he knew. They were the All American Family, living the American Dream, or so the picture would lead one to believe. I knew more about their real family than perhaps even they did, most of them anyway.

It wasn't long before I found myself thrust up against the bedpost, pinned hard against it. Hot lips came to devour my neck and a strong hand slid up underneath my pink skirt, fingering me through my panties. Mr. Facelli apparently didn't cum hard enough in the car. I gasped and whimpered like the good girl that I was, sounding afraid.

"W... what are you doing, Mister?" I squeaked meekly as my body was fondled by his hands.

"Whatever the fuck I please," Mr. Facelli took just a second to respond before running his lips over my skin again. In most rape fantasies, the man tries to give off the impression that he doesn't care what the girl wants. In Mr. Facelli's case, I really don't think he did.

His hand gripped the back of my neck. My body was thrown down onto the bed. As I tried to rise I found his whole body straddling my lower back, keeping me down. I knew what was about to happen and so I began to flail on the bed frantically.

Or at least I thought I did.

Mr. Facelli grabbed my wrists, holding them together as I tried to pull away from his hold. He bound them with leather cuffs, even too tightly for my liking, almost cutting off the blood circulation to my hands. I cried out for him to stop, to let me go, but it was mere moments before my hands were bound securely to the bedframe.

I struggled and shook the bed. He grabbed my neck and really did cut off my windpipe for several seconds. I screamed out for help, not too loud to actually alert anyone, but loud enough to make it sound real. He stuffed my own panties in my mouth to shut me up. He put a black blindfold over my eyes to cover my tears, as though he didn't care, and then...

Mr. Facelli went to take a shower.

To be completely honest, this part kind of set me back. It's not what I was expecting to say the least, but I wasn't ever the one to make decisions in this sort of thing. It must have been fifteen minutes or so that he was gone, leaving me with little else to do... but think.

So I thought of some happy thoughts.

I thought about the first time I had been inside this beachhouse, one of Ally's crazy parties about two years ago. Jason Eversman, he was a senior at Deering then, had snuck me up to this very bedroom to fuck me. He had only spent about four minutes pounding my pussy before pulling out and straddling my chest. I remember it well because that was the exact moment when Ally and Pete Weston had pushed open the door, half naked and intent upon doing the same thing, only to see Jason spray his load all over my surprised face. I'm hardly shy or bashful, but in that kind of situation I think anyone would become speechless for a time. I hadn't known Ally all that well at the time, but she only laughed, and truth be told, it was a bonding experience.

Ally was a rich bitch, but she wasn't some cunt. She wasn't a priss who told us to get the fuck out. She just asked us to move over a bit. The four of us spent about the next two hours "bonding" with each other.

Peter fucked Ally on her back, and it wasn't long before Jason got worked up again enough to fuck me for a second time. After both boys came, we switched. Well Jason and Peter did. Ally and I weren't required to move. It took the boys about an hour and a half, and three or four sacks full of cum each, to finally drunkenly cheer for the two of us to fuck each other. Ally wasn't exactly the most gracious hostess, and hospitality wasn't her strong suit. She didn't really put her guest, me, first. She laid back and I was the one to go down on her. Peter came up behind me and his cock soon came to stir in my pussy again, while Jason tilted Ally's head off the very bed, fucking her mouth upside down while he played with her breasts.

I couldn't help but remember with a bit of a smile how much trouble Ally got into the week of our junior prom. When her father found out she had had sex with a 35 year old man he quite literally blew his top. The poor guy is now serving 25 years for statutory rape, prosecuted by Mr. Facelli himself, who would stand for nothing less than the maximum sentence. His argument was a "need for humanity to remember its morals and decency" though everyone knew it was to tell all of California not to fuck with him or especially his daughter. The guy defends rapists for Christ's sake, and Jesus if anyone knew what he was about to do this night.

I don't really have anything against hypocrites though. I'm not exactly the paragon of morality myself, after all.

My mind then wandered to Brad.

Brad Facelli. One of the stars of Deering's football team when I was only a freshman, and one fucking hottie to say the least. He was the second, or I suppose the third guy, to take me on this very bed. He was an arrogant asshole, that was for sure, and one rough fuck as I remember. Seems he takes a lot after his father. I wonder what his father would think if he knew his son had gotten to me before he had. His daughter too even...

I tried to hide a laugh at the thought that after tonight, Mrs. Facelli will be the only one in their immediate family that I haven't fucked.

Eventually I hear the shower shut off and the door opens and closes again. I hear Mr. Facelli walk back out into the bedroom, and I remember just where I am and who I am with. I curse myself for being so... unprofessional. I'm supposed to be an innocent virgin tonight, and I can already feel how slippery my thighs have gotten just thinking of all the times I've been fucked on this bed.

A hand falls upon my cheek. It slides out to grip the back of my neck, turning me the way it wants, controlling me. I've never actually been blindfolded before, and it is somewhat unnerving. I've never realized how disorienting, and truly frightening it can be when you're robbed of your ability to see. I'm sure that is what Mr. Facelli was hoping for. I guess he has no reason to know how good of an actress I am. I'm led to Mr. Facelli's cock again. I can tell just by the smell of it, and so I play my role as best I can.

"Please, Mister... I thought we were just going to..." I whimper softly before I find his cock shutting me up yet again, its full length seeking entrance into me.

He's oddly gentle with it, unlike in the car, using rather slow strokes as he fucks my mouth. His grip upon the back of my neck is still hard, but his rhythm is slow.

"I know what you thought, sweetie," Mr. Facelli says down to me. I pretend to gag a bit on his cock, trying to hide a laugh. That's what he always calls Ally. "But let me enlighten you and that tight little cunt of yours of how this is going to happen."

Again a shudder runs through my body at the way in which he says it.

"You get your 1,500 dollars, and I do whatever the fuck I desire to do," he lays out all too bluntly. "Is that fucking clear?" he rasps, and again my body shivers... Trevor would be pissed to know that Mr. Facelli referred to this as prostitution. It's kind of an unspoken rule with him. Who would have thought a coked out pimp, for all intents and purposes, would be so full of idealistic nonsense. By the way, don't tell him I just called Trevor a pimp, he'd kill me if he knew.

"I said is that fucking clear!?" Mr. Facelli demands, and his grip upon the back of my neck tightens to a degree I've never felt before. It actually makes me scream down the length of his cock, no acting, no games, his strong hand sending a sharp sting down my entire body, as though I had just been tazed or something. Reflexively I nod my head up and down as much as I can with his cock still stuffed in it. A tear actually falls down from under my blindfold, one I didn't tell to fucking fall.

"Good, now get it slick for me, sweetie," Mr. Facelli then says to me. I don't quite know how, but I can tell that he is smiling, grinning, smirking, and to be honest it kind of pisses me off. I can't exactly say why. I know I'm a slut. I know I came here to be used and abused. Truth be told I'm actually attracted to the arrogant asshole type, that's really the only kind of guy that has ever had me without paying, and yet in this moment it makes me mad. I try not to think about it though, doing what a good girl does and following directions. I'll be happy when this is over and Mr. Facelli is 1,500 dollars poorer.

"Mmm, you are one hungry little whore, aren't you?" Mr. Facelli laughs, still sliding slowly into and out of my mouth.

It doesn't fucking make sense. Trevor told me Mr. Facelli wanted a good girl, the rape fantasy, to dominate an innocent and naïve girl. Mr. Facelli had told Trevor exactly that... unless... I can't help but curse around Mr. Facelli's cock. Trevor fucked it all up.

I can read people, all too fucking well. I guess that's another reason why I'm so good at this. I can tell in Mr. Facelli's voice, truth is I could hear it all along, and I suppose now I know what made my body shiver so.

I know what he wants, and I know just how fucking stupid Trevor was.

Mr. Facelli wanted the rape fantasy, he had told Trevor as much before Trevor had given him my cell number. It was Trevor's stupid ass who told me to doll myself up in my good girl clothes, to play the coy little schoolgirl, thinking he knew it all and that all men wanted the same thing.

Well Mr. Facelli didn't want the rape fantasy. He didn't care if I was a schoolgirl or not. He didn't care if I was a paid whore or not. He didn't care if I was dolled up or jigging out. No, he didn't want a fantasy. He didn't want an actress, no matter how well they could play the part, no matter how realistic they could make their cries sound.

He just needed a girl.

"You seem scared," Mr. Facelli laughed as he fucked my mouth, and even without my eyes I could tell it was just some cruel joke. It was like he had been able to see through my act the entire time, knowing I wasn't some innocent, pure girl, but seeing me as the high priced slut that I was. Somehow he knew I had a strong will... I could somehow sense it... and that was why he was willing to pay so much for a night with me. This fucking asshole got his thrills out of breaking it.

"Fuck you!" I shouted on his cock, though whether he understood the words I can't be sure. Maybe he did because he began to laugh even louder, fucking my mouth a bit rougher with his cock. I actually felt my heart begin to race. Not out of excitement, and not out of fear... sadly not yet, but out of anger.