Marla

The dark haired woman strode into the room -- confident, a confidence bordering on arrogance. Her hair shone beneath the glare of the spotlights, hair so unfeasibly black it had the blue sheen of a crow's feathers, hair so straight it looked ironed. The woman paused and time stretched for the Watcher, hidden from view, safe behind the wall in the voyeurs' cocoon. This was the sublime moment; the instant that the Watcher craved, this was the moment, the sum of effort, and the pinnacle of achievement. It was the instant of delight or disappointment. The Watcher had experienced the crush of frustrated plans in the past; there had been several failed efforts in times gone by.

The magnificent woman in the viewing room, believing that she was alone, behaved without affectation or self-consciousness, and, with a shrug of her shoulders, let the full-length leather coat drop to the floor. Luscious, thought the Watcher, she's luscious.'

Marla, unaware of being observed, posed, hands on hips, in accordance with prior instructions. She prepared herself for her lover. She stood and thrust the smooth mound of her mons outwards, her face a mask of disdain -- aggressive, challenging.

She cupped her breasts in her hands and teased the nipples into stiff points. The saucer sized, dark areolae puckered as both teats thickened and grew. "Lovely big, heavy tits," the Watcher murmured, excited by the tanned body. The golden skin in contrast with bikini outline of pale flesh that patterned the woman's breasts heightened the Watcher's arousal.

A man entered the room; he was Armand, the organiser, naked, the trunk of his erection jutting upward in an angry curve, a scimitar of tumescent flesh. The thing was so stiff it barely swung as he slowly walked toward Marla. Then, again following earlier instructions, Marla turned slowly. As she moved she inspected the room while idly manipulating her nipples to elongated arousal. Spartan in terms of furniture the room contained a bed, a hanging chair suspended by ringbolt and chain, and a leather chair. There was a wide mirror set into the wall opposite the bed, a mirror almost as deep as it was wide -- a mirror that afforded the Watcher a view over the entire room.

Marla's slow pirouette allowed the Watcher time to fully appreciate every sweep and curve of her superb physique. Tall anyway, Marla's height was exaggerated by the tight fitting, thigh high boots, boots of a deep scarlet colour adorned with spiked heels. The same heels clicked on the marble tiles as Marla continued her revolution -- a noise the Watcher found arousing. Sluts in high heels,' an internal monologue continued. The Watcher surveyed Marla from the tip of her silvered heel to the shimmering crown and whispered, "My oh my, what a delightful bitch. What a truly magnificent example."

Marla sank into the high backed leather chair, she hooked her legs over the arms and her thighs spread wide. Having no idea she was being observed from beyond the mirror, that her intimate place was exposed to the Watcher's stare, Marla slid a finger between the folds of her labia and took several lazy sweeps at her sex. Her own touch caused a gasp to burst from her mouth as the pleasure pulsed between her legs.

Armand slid his fist along the length of his cock several times before bending to kiss Marla on the mouth. The pair kissed gently at first, with the kiss growing more urgent as lust flickered and flared. Armand grabbed Marla's wrist, preventing the woman from stroking herself.

Marla moaned into the man's open mouth as the trickle of her excitement dribbled through the cleft of her buttocks. "I want to touch myself," she groaned. "I'm so hot down there, so itchy, I need to rub myself."

"Yes, allow her," the voice came through the earpiece lodged in Armand's ear. "I want the slut to rub her cunt."

"Do it then," the man intoned, "touch yourself, show me."

"Oh fuck," Marla groaned, as her fingers mushing around and around. "This is so nasty... Oh fuck, it's so naughty." Her expression altered into a grimace of absolute pleasure. Her eyes were tightly closed; the cords on her neck were taut lines of sinew as the woman uttered obscenities through gritted teeth.

The man stepped back, watching as Marla frigged her sex with frustrated urgency. He took several occasional tugs at his thick member, encouraging the thing to remain erect and upright -- goading it into anger.

"I want her to suck you," the voice through the earpiece ordered.

The woman opened her eyes at Armand's touch on her shoulder. For a moment her expression was confused, her mouth hung slack and her eyes were glazed.

"Suck me," he commanded and offered himself, lividly erect.

Marla growled and bent to accept the proffered penis. Her painted lips stretched around the girth as she took a goodly portion of meat into her mouth. After a few moments of noisy sucking she let the thing spring from her lips and then immediately took it in hand and slobbered her tongue around the purple domed cock head.

"Big and thick," she hissed, "and so hard too..." She took several long licks up and down the shaft, "And those hanging balls," she looked up at the man and grinned, "are they full of come? Are you going to show me a fountain of spunk later? ...After you've fucked me?"

Armand remained silent, but merely looked down at the woman as she redoubled her efforts at sucking and slurping over his prick.

The voice in his ear ordered, "Paint her face with your glue. Smear the bitch with it."

Armand pushed his fingers into the woman's thick hair and gripped tightly, causing her to gasp with pain. As she stared up at him Armand grinned and smeared the gooey, purple, head of his cock over Marla's cheeks and chin.

"Oh god," Marla sighed, "that's so dirty. Use me, use me like a whore."

Despite his calm, professional demeanour Armand felt his arousal burning ever brighter as the enthusiastic exhortations burst from the woman's mouth. Her bright lipstick was now a smudged mess, her face was smeared with traces of goo, and her ruined appearance only served to further arouse the man rather than detract from her sexual allure.

The Watcher observed the scene and relished the sight of Marla being abused by her stiff cocked attendant. The sounds delighted the Watcher. Superb. What a body. So sexy... So curvaceous... Those big tits... "Open her legs, spread her legs so I can see her."

Armand obeyed and held Marla's booted legs apart. The Watcher savoured the moment. Marla's vulva appeared hot and swollen, her labia pouted and a steady trickle of syrup slid from the obviously clenching opening. The bitch is clamouring for it. Oh that pussy... So wet, so hot and wet. "Suck her clit. Slurp at her cunt. Make her wail!"

Armand bent to the task and Marla grunted at the first slow stroke of his tongue across her clitoris. She arched back against the chair and jerked into Armand's face, urging him to lick at her opening, to taste the honey that dribbled from her.

"Suck my pussy you glorious bastard," she urged. Please, please get me off. I need to come... The excitement, the build up... Oh god..." Armand lapped at her sex, taking slow, lascivious licks from the tight nub of the clitoris, splitting the sticky labia before swirling around the pee hole for an extended moment, causing Marla to squeal and shriek with delight. He moved lower, prising the firm flesh of her buttocks apart before probing into the stain of her anus, an action that elicited further shouts. "Suck my kitty... Lick my arse! Oh... Oh fuck..."

Armand then concentrated his oral efforts against Marla's clitoris, while at the same time launching a double-pronged assault on her pussy and anus. He slid his index finger into her slippery vagina and simultaneously pushed his middle finger against her reluctant arsehole. The woman grunted loudly when she felt both digits entering her body. Her mind, unable to cope with the sensations rolling through her, babbled incoherent nonsense.

"Fuck...I... No... Oh my god... I... I need..." Her voice tapered off into a long, drawn out moan. Her head thrashed from side to side as she mauled at her breasts. Her hips convulsed and her thighs trembled as her climax flashed, a white-hot starburst between her thighs, with the concentric circles of ecstasy rippling outwards from that core.

Marla fell suddenly limp, her immaculate hair now mussed, the gaudy lipstick ruined, and her face streaked with drying pre-come -- Marla was a bedraggled shadow of her former self. Her earlier magnificence had been thoroughly debauched, but this was only the beginning of the night for Marla, the Watcher had plans for her.

"Make her stand." Armand roughly hauled Marla to her feet. "Show me her kitty; I want to see how hot she is."

The man forced Marla to bend forwards at the waist. "Show me your pussy," he growled, "expose yourself."

Marla pulled the cheeks of her buttocks apart and revealed the dark rosebud of her anus. Her labia, puffy with desire, peeled apart with sticky reluctance at the pressure from her fingertips. Her opening gaped, slick and obscene, and gave the Watcher a clear view of her scarlet arousal.

Then, to Marla's stomach slide of apprehension and delight, the door opened and two more naked men entered the room.

***

It had all begun one balmy summer's day -- the kind of day that Marla favoured. She sat on the terrace and watched the world go by. She observed the tourists and the native Londoners alike as she basked in the warm sunshine by the Thames. She sipped at the frosted glass and enjoyed the sublime moment of carefree existence.

Then she felt the tingle and sudden flush that presaged male attention -- someone was looking. Marla took a surreptitious sweep of the pub patio. There was nothing immediately apparent, but Marla knew that she was being watched. Her sixth sense was highly developed, honed over the years, well used, and trusted.

Men had ogled Marla since her figure had blossomed into voluptuous ripeness over the course of a single winter. Autumn had bid farewell -- in a celebration of ochre and bronze -- to a gangly girl, while spring had shone a beatific smile upon a lush beauty -- all traces of pubescent awkwardness gone.

Marla vaguely understood the affect she had on men. She knew there was something about her, something about the way she was built, the way she moved, and the way she looked...

She recognised the yearning in their expressions, realising early on that in her presence men were driven by the same mindless instinct that a dog displays when it scents a bitch in season. She had witnessed scenes of foolhardy endeavour by normally levelheaded professional types. She had endured several unpleasant close calls from the rougher element -- so she had learned to trust that sensation, that instinct, when it came upon her.

Another scan of the vicinity and Marla spotted a likely candidate. He was leaning against the railings, apparently looking across the river. Perhaps he was studying the dome of St Paul's; perhaps he was watching the river? No matter, Marla felt the notion that it was he who was observing her, despite his apparent indifference.

Late forties, athletic, short hair, sunglasses. It had to be him.

Not bad. Marla mused. Even though she was the object of so much unwanted male attention, she was still human, she was a female animal in her prime, and of course she possessed the same needs and desires as any woman. She sipped her drink with practiced nonchalance, all the while keeping the man on the periphery.

Marla finished her drink, stood up, and deliberately made a show of smoothing her denim skirt over her hips. She lifted her foot onto the wooden bench and pretended to fiddle with the ankle strap of her shoe. She wanted to give the man a good, long look at her body and at her smooth, tanned leg. It wasn't often that Marla flaunted herself, but there was something about the man that made her bold -- she wanted him to see.

Marla stepped down onto Jubilee Walk, turned left and walked off towards Southwark and the Millennium Bridge. As she moved, Marla gave an unnecessary and exaggerated roll of her hips -- if the man was watching she wanted him to admire, she wanted to show a view of London to remember.

Marla paused for a few moments outside the Tate Modern Gallery. She made a charade of deliberating whether or not to go inside, but secretly scanned the path along which she'd come. She felt a slither of disappointment when the man was nowhere in sight. He looked interesting. How long has it been since..? Marla was surprised to realise just how long an interval had passed since she'd last enjoyed a man. "Months, it's been months." She shook her head, "I'm too fussy for my own good -- too fussy and too suspicious."

Marla saw him again on the tube. She looked up and felt the jolt of recognition when she saw him step into the carriage. He arrived in the moment before the rubber edged doors slid closed, stepping with nimble grace into the narrowing gap. Once again he appeared completely oblivious to Marla's existence, but she felt the tickle of her sixth sense as it kicked in again.

During the journey, as the train rattled, hummed, and swayed through the labyrinthine tunnels below London, Marla surreptitiously observed the man for any hint of interest in her.

Finally, at Kings Cross, just as Marla stood up, he smiled at her. "Hello," he said and stepped off the train alongside Marla.

The suddenly direct approach caught Marla off guard. "What the..." Marla blurted. The man smiled again. Marla felt the blush sweep up her neck and burn her cheeks, normally so confident, so assured, Marla had been wrong footed -- an uncommon occurrence -- but the man's physical proximity and the fact he wore sunglasses even on this subterranean level unnerved her. It wasn't that she was intimidated; she didn't feel any sense of malice at all, the man made her uncomfortable in a way she couldn't define. He was physically attractive and he smelled divine -- Marla was fastidious about hygiene. She felt her body responding.

"I'm sorry," the man apologised. "How crass of me, I didn't intend to cause you any anxiety." And then, before Marla could recover he added, "but I have an offer for you."

*** Prostitution, Marla analysed her feelings as she deliberated Armand's offer. Plain and simple -- whoring -- no matter how he dressed it up.

"An arrangement," he'd called it, scribbling in a notebook and turning the page so Marla could read the number.

Marla was appalled at the figure he'd noted. "That's an obscene amount of money for an obscene suggestion," she'd said quietly. Marla felt as though she had slipped into a dream, surreal, bizarre. All around her -- in the busy coffee shop, outside in the world beyond the glass -- people were engaged with the everyday nonsense of real life, yet here, sat in front on her as calm as you like, he was suggesting she sell herself -- sell her body, allow herself to be... to be...

Used... used and abused. Even as those words slithered across her mind Marla experienced the first tiny pulse of excitement. The thought of behaving in such a wanton and depraved manner... Beyond the bounds of convention...

"No," Marla said emphatically and suppressed the nascent arousal. "What you're suggesting... It isn't decent. It's very wrong."

Armand shrugged, "As you wish." He'd noticed the flicker in Marla's eyes. He'd seen her pupils dilate, and he recognised the signs. He knew the wisest course was not to press the woman, to allow her time to think. The wickedness of his suggestion would slither and slink around in her head, polluting her thoughts and corroding her morality, he was almost certain of it. "A number–" he scribbled again on a page in his notebook. This time he ripped the page and placed it on the table in front of Marla. "For if you should change your decision."

Marla remained at the table after the man had paid the bill and left. The white page, roughly serrated where it had been torn from the notebook, lay on the table in front of her, taunting her.

Go on, a dark voice snickered. Take it, put it in your pocket. Marla's hand hovered over the page, then retreated. "No," she whispered and shook her head. "Don't... It's filthy, it's obscene... How dare he..." Marla was adamant.

Nevertheless, when she left the café, the scrap of paper was folded neatly and secure in her wallet.

***

The voice slipped into Marla's head like melted dark chocolate– Go on, you know you're itching to call, it's just too tempting to pass over. The money -- so much money, and for something that deep down you know you want to do. You can be a whore for the evening. They lust after you anyway. Let them have you, but make them pay.

"It's me."

"Who's 'me'?" He knew exactly who the caller was.

"Marla, from the other day, the coffee, the offer -- remember?"

"Of course I remember." His voice was ice. "What do you want?"

Again Marla found herself off guard, wrong-footed. Damn him. "I wondered..." She hesitated. "I wondered if the... Offer... If the offer was still open."

"Of course it is." He then gave Marla a series of instructions. He outlined his requirements and gave an address and time. "Give me an address, email, postal, whatever, there will be a letter," he continued, "read it, digest the contents, and then destroy or delete it, whichever."

Two days later Marla found herself surrounded by three naked men, men with hard cocks. She knew what to do. The letter had been very succinct.

***

The men moved quickly, one took hold of Marla's wrists and held them tight, while the other forced her head low. Armand positioned himself behind Marla and bumped the dome of his cock head against her vulva. He pushed and felt a slight resistance before his cock pushed into Marla's body. Marla hissed when she felt Armand drive into her, and then she was forced to open her mouth and accept the second man.

With the third man holding her wrists, Marla was forced into an awkward position to suck the thick cock that was cruelly fucking into her mouth. She was in a whir of sensation, with Armand bucking into her in a hard, steady rhythm, and with her mouth stuffed unceremoniously with man-meat.

Armand pulled out of Marla and immediately knelt behind her. He forced her buttocks apart again and slid his tongue as deep into the dark flourish of her anus. He then slurped and sucked at Marla's pussy that was now leaking juice and making her labia slick.

"Oh god," Marla groaned when she was momentarily free of the cock in her mouth. "Stick it back in me. Fuck me. Hold my hips and bang me hard. I..."

Her urging was cut short by the insistent thrust of the third man's cock between Marla's lips, the remainder of her sentence reduced to unintelligible garbling as she moaned and grunted through the thick mouthful.

And so the scene progressed for several minutes. Armand fucked into Marla, his taut stomach slapping against the flesh of her buttocks. The other two men took turns in holding Marla by the wrists and alternately forcing her to suck their cocks. The sounds that reached the Watcher's ears through the sensitive microphones installed in the room were muffled grunts and groans of pleasure from Marla, the sound of slapping skin as Armand continued to thrust into her, and the slick, wet squelch of Marla's sex as she grew ever wetter.

"In the hanging chair, put her in the hanging chair and pull a train on the bitch."

Armand obeyed the voice and pulled Marla roughly across the room. He forced her back into the hanging chair and lifted one of her legs. "Take the other leg, Peter," he instructed, and one of the men moved quickly into position. "Fuck her, Anton," Armand indicated Marla's gaping quim. "Stick it to her, then its Peter's turn."