Pretty Baby Ch. 03

"Are you all right?" Ian asked me after Julie had left. I rolled forward on the couch, tapping my tenth or so cigarette over my ashtray. Julie had cleaned up my apartment while I was in the hospital. The clean aroma of Pine Sol and other cleaners filled the air.

I shrugged. "I will be," I said.

"He really meant something to you, didn't he?"

I sighed heavily, staring out. "I really don't want to talk about him, Ian."

He fell quiet. We watched TV for a while. I was aware of the grimy feel of my skin. Between my self-loathing and my stay in the hospital, I hadn't washed our showered in a week. I wondered how Ian put up with the smell.

I pushed up from the couch and headed to the bathroom, peeling off my clothes. "I'm gonna take a shower," I said.

Ian didn't say anything. He just watched me go.

***

I scrubbed my skin nearly raw, turning the water dial to make it as hot as I could stand it. I washed my hair, shaved my legs and pubic mound of the stubble that had formed. Finally feeling human, I switched off the spray and toweled dry. I had forgotten about Ian in the living room. I just wanted to go to bed.

I looked in the mirror, saw a more familiar me. The bags were gone, as well as the redness from my eyes. I was once more a teenaged Catholic school girl. For a moment, I thought I had stepped back in time to before it all started, before that day in the mall with Miguel and Rick . . . .

But I had not. The joys and mistakes of my life remained. I had no choice but to go on. I touched the raised welt of the cut on my wrist. It was itchy, but I refrained from scratching it. I hoped, in time, that the scar would fade.

I flipped off the light switch, stepped into my bedroom. I stopped, looking at Ian laying in my bed. He had pulled up the indigo silk sheets to his waist. His muscular chest was bare, rising and falling as he breathed slowly. His head was tilted toward me on the pillow, eyes open, watching me.

For a moment, I thought about covering up. I thought about telling him to leave. But those thoughts faded quickly, like morning mist under the sun. Instead, I padded across the carpet to the bed and drew down the covers.

He was hard, his penis hovering stiff and long above his toned abdomen. Yet there was no sense of immediate desire coming from him. I looked to Ian's face, saw the stoic look. He was letting me make the decision.

I didn't say a word. I just slipped my leg over him and moved up until I straddled his face. I wasn't wet, but that changed quickly as his tongue slipped between my puffy lips and into the hot center of my sex. I closed my eyes, letting my passion simmer and grow. I rolled my hips in slow circles, gently grinding against his mouth. He brought up his hands and gripped my firm cheeks, my hips.

"Uhn . . . ahhh . . . ." I moaned softly, pushing down firmly against Ian's mouth. I hadn't been with him in months, and my desire was telling. His tongue probed more insistently into my pussy, starting the trickling flow of fluid that dripped into his mouth. He sucked my lips and smacked his own, and I moaned with ever-increasing pleasure.

I reached down and gripped handfuls of his silver hair, pulling his head deeper between my thighs as I rode his face. I rubbed my clit against his upper lip and nose, making the lower half of his face shine with my juice. I pumped my cunt down against his mouth, and Ian stiffened his tongue to make it like a small cock that thrust up inside me. I fucked his face with hard, short motions of my hips, wanting him . . . using him . . . .

I shuddered and moaned loudly when I finally came, gushing my fluid onto his tongue. Ian moaned, tasting me, sucking me. I let the warm rush flow through my body, and groped my breasts as I mashed my sopping pussy against his face. I ran my hands through my damp hair, pulled on thick wet strands as I hissed with my much-needed release.

Then, abruptly, I pulled off Ian and slid down in the bed, turning away.

My pussy quivered with aftershocks. Ian didn't move for several moments. I nibbled my thumb, waiting for him. When he finally spooned up against me, his hard cock pressed against my cheeks, I sighed deeply. I grabbed Ian's hand, settled it upon my left breast. My nipple throbbed against his palm. He kissed my shoulder, my neck and settled comfortably beside me.

And finally, I fell asleep.

***

It was another week before I called Cleo. Ian had left the morning after our little tryst, and had not been back. Honestly, I wasn't disappointed. The dynamic of our relationship was precarious; the more time Ian spent with me, the more he lost control of me, and he knew it. So, to expect him to remain would be asking him to give up his influence, and that, Ian would not allow.

"Hi, Cleo."

"Hey, honey," she said warmly. "How are you feeling?"

I laughed softly. "Honestly?"

"Of course."

"Horny."

Cleo chuckled, a breathy, warm sound. "Alyssa, you don't have to come back. Not yet, or not ever."

I frowned. "Am I kicked out?"

She laughed again. "I think you misunderstood me, baby," she said affectionately. "You're always welcome to come back, but you're not expected to."

"I wanna come back."

"Are you sure?"

:"Yes."

"Well . . . there are a couple of men we can set you up with. They'll be gentle, I know. I've been with both of them—"

"Cleo."

"Yes, dear?"

"Give me a special client. Someone who just wants to fuck."

" . . . Alyssa, I don't think—"

"I do." I said firmly. "I want it raw. I don't wanna hear any sob stories. I wanna fuck and I wanna get fucked, as much as possible. Set it up or I walk away."

She sighed again. "Be ready by nine," she said.

***

I wasn't given any special instructions although I had been told I was going to an exclusive dance club. So I dressed in my little black dress and matching fishnet stockings. I strapped on my 'ultimate' come-fuck-me shoes -- black heels with gleaming silver spikes -- and applied blood-red lipstick and severe mascara. I covered the scar on my wrist with a spiked leather band. Staring at myself in the mirror, I decided I looked like a Gothic slut queen. My hair fell loose about my face, brushing back and forth over my dark eyes. I felt like a predator preparing for the hunt.

James dropped me off before the front door of an exclusive rave, one of those places where you stand in line while the bouncer decides who's hot enough to get in. I strode past the line of a hundred and more would-be partiers, only peripherally hearing their denouncements and jibes. The overly muscular bouncer gave me an appraising look as I stepped up before him.

"Look, you're hot, baby," he began. "But get in line like—"

"Yvette," I said, cutting him off and glaring at him through my bangs. "For Mr. Garza. Raul Garza."

The bouncer regarded me a moment, then looked down at the small clipboard he held. He nodded, then smirked. "Welcome to Club Zero," he said.

***

The music was pounding and primal, infusing me with raw, sexual energy. The club was dark and smoky, with flashing lasers and glittering strobes. I made my way through the crowd, having been told at the front door, by a raven-haired girl with a pierced eyebrow, that Raul Garza was to be found by the 'western DJ booth.' I would recognize him by his thick, shaggy hair and red silk shirt.

Men leered at me as I passed them, calling out and even reaching for me. I ignored them, shrugging them off. I was looking for one man in particular.

Raul Garza was easy to make out in the crowd. He was a tall man, lanky, athletic, good-looking. His crimson shirt was halfway unbuttoned, providing glimpses of his hairy chest as he moved. The loose cuffs of his sleeves graced his hands. A thick gold necklace hung around his neck; a Rolex graced his left wrist. He wore expensive leather pants, the creases of which caught the strobe lights of the club.

Around him, girls and women flocked like naïve moths to a flame. He flirted and casually reached for them; they giggled and flirted back, but lacked the confidence to follow through. I did not.

I boldly intruded, stepping between Raul and a couple of stupid girls who giggled and posed they way they were expected to. I barely heard their insulted protests over the music as I met Raul's eyes directly.

He seemed to recognize me right away. Not me, as a person, but me as the woman he had sent for. I took him to be the type with too much money and not enough brains to use it wisely. Probably some rich entrepreneur's son. A playboy with an inflated view of himself.

"Hello, Raul," I said.

He smirked, impressed with himself as he assessed me with draconian eyes. "Oh, I so hope you are Yvette," he said.

I grinned. "That's me, big boy," I said. "Come on."

I dragged him to the dance floor and proceeded to put on a show. All sense of etiquette fled from my mind, not that Raul would have appreciated it. This wasn't the place for a dainty lady of the evening. Raul wanted a carnal, sluttish, dance-floor queen, and that's what I gave him.

The crowd thinned out around me as I whirled and danced, tossing my hair about and running my hands up and down my body. Sweat oozed from my pores as I really got into it. I tugged on my dress top, making my tits pop out once in a while, my polished puffies catching the light from the strobes. I hiked up the hem of my skirt, splayed my legs and squatted down, leaning back with my hips gyrating and humping the air, letting anyone who cared to gaze upon my trimmed snatch. And many looked.

Applause erupted from the crowd, encouraging me. Men and girls alike surrounded me, groping, touching, fondling. I reveled in the attention, and pulled random, anonymous faces to my breasts, feeling their tongues and lips upon my nipples. I reached for hands and guided them between my legs. I groaned as I felt fingers digging deep inside me, pumping hard and fast in tempo to the music. Someone got behind me -- male or female, I didn't know and didn't care -- and thrust their wet tongue past my anus.

Other hands roamed over my body, and I sucked on fingers that came close to my mouth. I tasted sweat, nicotine, alcohol, and occasionally, the tart, sweet flavor of pussy. Whether or not it was mine I didn't care. The attention intensified by hedonistic rush. I loved being the slut on display, even as I hated what I was making myself do.

A girl got on her knees and shoved her face between my thighs, devouring my needy cunt. I gripped a handful of her dark hair and shoved my clit into her mouth, riding her face as hundreds of eyes watched, making her suck the cum out of my pussy when I came.

I bent over backward, keeping the girl's head between my legs, and a man stepped up, pulling his cock out and slipping it into my mouth. I sucked him hard and deep, taking his length all the way into my throat, and accepted every sticky, runny drop of semen he gushed into my mouth. I straightened, still dancing, caressing my body, and let some of the cum in my mouth dribble out and down my chin to my naked breasts. I made an exaggerated display of swallowing the rest and licking my glazed lips. There was more cheering.

Then, somehow, Raul was before me, grinning and holding me close. I ground against him, telling him without words that I wanted -- needed -- to fuck. My top remained down and my skirt stayed up. Cum glistened on my chest. I didn't bother to wipe my chin. I rolled my hips, grinding my naked pussy against Raul's leather-covered cock. His hands squeezed my tits roughly. I grabbed his head and forced it down, pushing one of my puffies into his mouth. He sucked hard and bit down, sinking his teeth into my tender flesh. I cried out and nearly came again.

I hadn't had a single cocktail, but I felt drunk nonetheless. My dress was little more than a black band of cloth around my waist as Raul pulled me through the club. Hands from the crowd graced my naked hips, breasts, and pussy. A girl jumped out and latched onto me for a moment, fastening her mouth to one of my tits and groping my tight box.

"I just love your videos!" she cried, sucking her slick fingers as Raul pulled me away.

"Stupid cunt," he muttered derisively once we reached a relatively quiet alcove. He looked me over. "She thinks you're a porn star."

"I am, tonight," I said, running my own fingers between my legs and licking my sweet juice from them.

"Oh?" asked Raul, fishing out a set of keys from his pocket. "Are you? Are you ready, Yvette?"

"Yes," I hissed.

He gave me a snide look, then clutched my hand and pulled me out of the alcove. Down a short hallway we went, beside a large mirror on the wall, to a door that Raul unlocked with his keys. I figured he either owned the place or was in with the manager. I didn't really care about such details.

Raul shoved me inside, making me gasp and stumble. I looked around quickly, noting a couple of large couches, ottomans, and chairs. The immense window that looked out onto the dance floor outside was the other side of the mirror I had seen. It maintained my exhibitionistic arousal. I could see the hundreds of people outside, could pretend that they saw me.

"Take it all off," Raul said, leering at me. "Except for the stockings and heels."

I needed no further encouragement. I was there to be a slut, after all. I pulled off what remained of my dress, letting the cat's head charm on my gold waist chain dance above my pussy. The flimsy dress dangled off my finger before I let it fall to the floor.

"Bring it on," I challenged.

Raul stared at me, his lust obvious. He stepped back through the door as I waited. In short order, he returned, holding the door open as several men entered the room. Four, five, six of them . . . they all looked upon me hungrily.

I wasn't the least bit intimidated or scared. My confidence was borne from the fact that I knew these men wanted me, that they would practically beg to have me. Unashamedly naked before half a dozen men, I settled my hands on my hips and stared them down. "Well?" I asked. "Who's first?"

The guys all exchanged excited and intimidated looks. Raul moved around between us. "You can only fuck her if you have a condom," he said to them.

Immediately, the men all started fumbling in their jeans and slacks, searching for that elusive package. But one man didn't bother. He was stocky and dark, and unzipped his baggy jeans as he approached me.

"I saw that little show you put on the floor," he said, extracting his hard cock. "I want some of that. Suck it, slut."

I grinned and dropped to my knees, tossing my hair back. The stocky man thrust his hips out, jabbing his stiff penis toward my face. I licked my lips, opened my mouth, and swallowed him whole on the first plunge, grinding my chin against his balls.

"Oh, shit!" he grunted, grabbing hold of my head.

In short order, men surrounded me. They pulled on my body, getting me up onto all fours atop one of the broad, round ottomans. I kept the stocky man's cock in my drooling mouth as I felt someone pushing into me from behind. I whimpered and moaned, experiencing the thrill of being filled from both ends. The men's rude, crass voice filled the air.

"Fuck yeah!"

"Do that bitch!"

"A cock in her mouth and one up her cunt!"

"Yeah, you like that, don't'cha, bitch!"

"Do it, dude! Fuck the slut's mouth!"

Their offensive words fueled, but as to why, I will never really know. I reveled in the role of the slut, the whore, the gang-bang girl. The cocks pounded in and out of me at both ends. I sucked hard on one, squeezed the other with my pussy. I was a woman possessed, desiring nothing other than crude, raw hedonism.

It wasn't long before I came, gasping and panting around the thrusting cock in my mouth, drool dripping down my chin, and the men followed soon after. A flood of warm syrup gushed to my tonsils just as I felt the firm throbbing of the cock inside my pussy and the tight grip of hands clutching my cheeks. The shuddering moans of the man fucking me told me he was cumming, filling the condom.

The dick in my mouth pulled out, making semen drip from my lips. I swallowed what I could, licking my lips before another cock took its place, plunging into my hungry mouth. The spent dick in my cunt slipped out, and another pushed in. I moaned, sucking and fucking desperately. My hands were lifted and wrapped around throbbing penises. I stroked and tugged on them, keeping them ready for their turn in my holes. I grunted with each hard shove of the cocks that penetrated my cunt.

I came again and again, eventually becoming incoherent. The men took turns in my mouth and cunt, fucking me as I was bent over on all fours, then as I was flipped over and laid on my back. Men masturbated over me, and I heard them joking crudely and commenting on my body and eagerness to satisfy them. Semen was splattered all over my face, upon my tits, on my swollen pussy.

At one point, after at least half a dozen men had fucked my increasingly loose pussy, they pulled off their condoms and poured the warm, gritty contents into a martini glass. It was tilted to my lips, and I struggled to gulp it all down as the men -- there had to be at least ten or more in the room by then -- chanted "Chug! Chug! Chug!" They applauded loudly as I swallowed the last gooey drop.

I lost track of how many cocks invaded me, how many spurts of semen splashed into my mouth or upon my body. I was aware only of a numbness, a detached feeling, as my body was used, defiled. After a while, I stopped cumming, but the men did not. I was getting tired, and I wanted to stop, but it did not deter them. I didn't need to move other than to work my jaw and hold my legs open. I was a plaything, a receptacle.

It was hours before it was all over.

I lay upon one of the couches, tasting the mingled cream of well over a dozen men in my mouth. My pussy throbbed; I was incredibly sore and gaping. I forced open my eyes, looking up at the ceiling, but my vision was blurry. My head was spinning, yet I had not consumed a single drop of alcohol. I realized I was light-headed from all the sex. Men I didn't know -- and never would -- had had their way with me. And I had let them, willingly and eagerly.

Someone was cleaning my body with a warm, wet cloth, starting at my face and working down. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation, the only moment of tenderness I had felt the entire night. When the gentle warmth slipped between my legs, I spread my thighs wide. I murmured with pleasure, even though my swollen pussy ached from all the relentless pounding.

I felt something soft, yet firm, press against my swollen labia, realized it was a mouth. But not a man's mouth. This was tender and sweet, and knew just where to lick and suck. I lifted my head a moment, glancing down. All I saw was a head of long blonde hair between my thighs. I heard the unknown woman's muffled moans and sighs as she lapped at me.

And then a shadow passed over my face, a man's slender but muscular thigh. A hard cock hovered before my face for a moment before easing past my lips. I sucked it automatically, even though my jaw was tired. I watched the man's hips move back and forth as he fucked my mouth, tasted the sweet oozing oil on my tongue.

The woman's mouth left my pussy, and the man pulled back from my face. I looked up, smacking my lips, and saw Raul smiling down upon me. He moved down my body, his cock slick and wet and poised to enter my swollen tunnel.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he said.

"Mmmmm . . . ." was all I could respond.

I felt him push his cock inside me, which made me wince at yet another penetration. He started moving faster and faster, and I could just see the blonde-haired woman on her knees behind him, watching as he pumped his slick shaft in and out of me. It was only then that I realized he was fucking me with his naked cock.