The One Handed Harlot

Mr. Estovich's Tales of Tail: The One Handed Harlot

Stephen winced a bit at the smell, not just the aroma, but the very texture of it. Grease and filth and fat and grease and... god knew what else. Jesus, how do people eat this shit? He didn't know, didn't want to know, and frankly, he didn't care; Stephen wasn't at this pit of a burger joint to admire the cuisine.

"Thank you, oh, don't forget your receipt," the girl said, awkwardly handing the little strip of paper to some dude who was far too voluptuous to be a dude. She was behind the counter, working the register. The man smiled at her, his bag of filthy delectables sitting on the counter between them. The girl looked at them a moment, then at him, meeting his eyes. Finally, she reached out with her hand... herotherhand, the one that wasn't there, and pushed the bag over to him with the nub at the end of her arm.

"Thanks," he said, his eyes never leaving hers as he picked up his sack and found his way.

Stephen stood by, away from the line, watching this little interaction take place. He'd been doing it some time now, off and on over the last couple weeks. He'd stopped in with some buddies one day when he'd first seen her. One of them made a comment about her missing appendage, chuckled a little, no one thought much of it... no one but Stephen.

"Give the girl a hand," Charlie had said. What a dick.

The next person walked up, a woman with two balling giblets clinging to her knees. It was nearly eleven at night; the place would be closing soon. What on earth did she have her kids out at this ungainly hour for?

The girl spoke to her, blue eyes glistening in the harsh, low-rent luminance. Her face was round, a tiny mouth, well-set betwixt a pair of mildly chipmunk cheeks, dainty brows, a button nose, and eyes that seemed maybe larger than they should be. Her neck was lean, moving down into a pair of narrow shoulders balanced upon a nicely arched collar. Her outfit was far from flattering; frumpy and greasy and unbecoming of the body which Stephen could tell rested underneath. A polo shirt, tucked into a pair of Dockers. The collar of the thing was wrinkled, one side sticking up at an odd sort of angle.

Girls never look good in polo-shirts... ever.

But even in such weak surroundings, the swell of her bosom was evident. Nice breasts, well centered, not too high and not too low upon her chest, and though the fabric was thick, Stephen swore he could make out the tiny pin-points of what he imagined were a pair of soft-pink nipples.

Can't usually see such detail through a bra.

Perhaps she wasn't wearing one?

Perhaps...

The girl was typing on the register with her left hand, hergoodhand. She unconsciously ran the nub of her right wrist through her hair, the ends of bone and flesh pushing the strands back the way fingers might have done.

Stephen kept standing... kept watching, thinking about the nubs, the one on her wrist and the ones beneath her shirt. They'd be closing soon. Perhaps he'd get to find out if she wore a bra under that unflattering shirt... perhaps...

* * *

"You've been watching me."

Stephen looked up at the girl. He was sitting in a booth, a magazine open before him, sipping soda through a straw.

The girl was standing over him, tight lipped. She looked nervous.

"Why have you been watching me?"

"I don't know wha-"

"I've seen you." She was nervously rubbing the nub of her right arm with the appendage of her left. "You've been in here a few times. I've seen you standing over there, just watching me."

Stephen was dumbfounded by her directness.

"I wanted to meet you."

"Why?"

"Why wouldn't I, you..." suddenly his intended line of bullshit seemed inappropriate in the face of those huge eyes, accusing him. "I thought you were pretty. I was hoping to, I don't know, get to know you."

"Your friends were laughing at me."

"But they're not here. They didn't come back to see you, I did."

She seemed to consider that a moment when a guy in a floppy button-down and red tie called out from the door.

"Hey, I'm taking off, are you ok- Hey, Sir, I'm sorry, we're closed for the evening."

She looked into Stephen's eyes for a long, tender beat.

"It's okay Bill, he's with me."

* * *

The fries sizzled as they hit the scorching grease, kicking up a flurry of bubbles and sound. The Girl was wiping down the front of the machine, pushing the rag along in wide, circular strokes with the nub of her right arm.

"So, how long have you worked here?"

"A little while," she said. "But you don't care about that."

"Wha-but I do."

"That's not what you wanted to ask me, I can tell. I can always tell with people. It's been a long time since... since I lost it." She took the rag in her left hand and held up her nub, looking at the residue of moisture, glistening off the end where the skin held taught across the violated bones. "I was just a little girl, six years old."

"How, um... how did it happen?"

"A firecracker. My dad handed it to me, lit. Told me to throw it, and I wanted to, but for some reason, I just couldn't. I held onto it instead and watched the flames sparkle off the ends of it. Watched the little lights dance in the air. It was so beautiful, I just... I couldn't let it go. Then there was a loud bang, and my mother started screaming. I remember all the blood and the skin. My hand was still there, but it was black, parts of it burned to a crisp. I can remember the smell of it, almost like when you burn a piece of hair, only with meat thrown in underneath."

A little belldinged. The girl seemed to come out of her moment, hitting a button on the machine which lifted the fries from their sizzling sea. She tossed them in a basket and put it on the counter.

"They're good, have some."

Stephen grabbed one and immediately dropped it, shaking his hand from the burn. The girl took his hand by the wrist, putting his scalded fingers to her lips, rubbing the skin across them ever so gently. Her tongue came out, cool and wet, giving a minor air of relief to the sharp pain. Stephen felt himself growing hard. She took two of his fingers in her mouth then, her eyes coming up to meet his. He pulled his fingers down, curling her bottom lip, exposing a row of petite little purls and light pink gums.

"I feel it sometimes, you know."

"Feel what?"

"My hand. They say it's a problem with my brain, like it doesn't understand the hand isn't there. Phantom Limb, it's called, but I don't think so."

She put her hand to his groin, squeezing almost tight enough to hurt; Stephen let out a surprised little gasp. Her mouth opened up, finding his. Her tongue parted his lips, running across his teeth as their moisture began to mesh.

"I think we're all things at all times," she said, the words missing both her lips and his, instead speaking directly to his throat. "You're still a little boy, and I'm still a little girl, and we're just grasping around," she undid his pants with her left hand, taking out his cock, stroking it. "looking for something that feels good."

Stephen reached around her, lifting her up by the rump and pushing her onto the counter. Breaking their embrace, she pulled her shirt off, letting her bosom find the air. Stephen was right, she hadn't been wearing a bra, but the nipples, he'd got wrong. They weren't pink at all, but instead a dark brown, nearly olive hue, and they rested high on the breast, allowing the lower slope to hang far below, not sagging, but like a fleshen tear-drop.

Stephen took to them, lips curling about one nipple, then the other, teeth going every-so-slightly to work, urged on by the approving moans of the one-handed girl. She held the sides of his head, tight, pressing him to her chest, fingers on one side, nothing but pressure on the other.

He slid down, letting his tongue trail her lips, snailing a line of saliva down her belly, taking a moment to probe her navel. She inhaled, giggling a bit as Stephen pulled at her belt, unbuckling it, opening the button to her pants, sliding the zipper down. Flexing her legs, she lifted her rump off the counter, letting him pull her pants down her legs. Large, black, intricate tattoos snaked across her lower waist and thighs, disappearing under the depths of her panties.

Stephen pressed his lips against her cloth-draped mound, inhaling there, no rush, letting his tongue slowly moisten the outer layer of the fabric. Her aroma hung in the air, sweet, wanton, and a dark line of acceptance was slowly growing outward from the crux of her snatch.

A little design was cut into the fabric just above her mound, a sort of interpretive flower. Stephen rubbed his nose against it as his tongue continued to work, feeling the ever-soft surface of her private skin.

She was looking down at him, heavy lidded, just the tip of her tongue sticking from between her lips. Her skin was flush, little sparkles of color erupting atop her cheeks. The girl lifted her bottom again, an invitation to continue. Stephen hooked his fingers under the band of her panties, not needing to be told twice.

Her underwear slid off in one smooth motion, not even slowing at her feet as they cascaded to the floor, and Stephen leaned back, taking her in. The tattoo swirled about her sex, like a shadow. She had shaved herself clean, but left a short blossoming of brunette hair above her slit.

The fluorescent light sparkled off the moisture of her pussy.

The girl looked down at him still, her breasts moving up and down with heavy inhalations. She was waiting... waiting for him to take the lead, to make the next move. Waiting for him to let her know that he liked what he saw.

Stephen did... he did indeed, and with a practiced grace, he slowly moved his tongue from the bottom of her labia to the tip of her clit, spreading it wide, touching the inner, the outer, and everything in between on his maiden journey.

"Oh yes," she implored, letting her head fall back and her eyes fall closed as Stephen went to work. He massaged the little crest of her ass he could reach from between her thighs as he continued to let his tongue probe the well-shorn crevice. Her skin was on fire down there, the heat from her unseen layers bringing beads of sweat to the edges of his hands. Her thighs were getting greasy with excitement.

She was panting now, and Stephen's cock was alive, moving on its own with every painful beat of his heart.

"I want... I want you, up here," she said, pulling him up, his lips away from her sex to her own as she shoved her tongue into his mouth, unconcerned with the flavors it might find. His penis pressed against her, grinding into her stomach hard enough to leave a mark, but he held back, waiting.

"Please, I want you," she said, the words coming out hot against his ear. Stephen bit his lip, his eyes closed tight. He'd wanted this, but had never... never in a million years expected it.

"I don't-"

"What?"

"I don't have a condom."

"I don't care, please, just-" that was all he needed. Lifting onto his toes just enough to find purchase, Stephen pressed his weight against her, his hips spreading her legs to their outward limit as he buried his cock inside of her.

The silken walls of her vagina ran the length of him, and he could feel it, all of it, as if every contour of her pussy pressed into him, making contact with his sensitive flesh piece by piece, yet somehow all at once.

It was fantastic... it wasn't going to last long if he wasn't careful.

She scooted forward, her ass coming to the very edge of the counter to grant him deeper access. Stephen had one hand on the table-top, the other gripping her rump as he thrusted, his ass moving forward and back as his cock plumbed her, thighs slapping against thighs, the room silent but for the sounds of panting and wet, smacking flesh.

Her eyes were closed. She gripped him with her left hand, little claws digging into his back, the nub of her right pressed hard against him. She reached down with it, between them, letting the smooth, damaged end rub against his flapping balls. She pressed it up, against the underside of his cock, shoving him against the upper wall of her vagina as he moved inside and out of her.

Stephen felt it, the taught, rough skin of her g-spot grinding against his glans as the tingle of doom rose up from his nuts. He bit her shoulder, hard, and she yelped, bucking her ass forward even harder, trying to get him in deeper; trying to shove more of him into her than was even there.

"Oh God, I'm gonna-"

"No."

She pulled the slimy nub away and put it to the center of his chest, shoving him away. "Not yet."

She slipped off the counter, leaving a moistened trail of their exertion in her wake. Itjustmanaged to cover up the burger smell.

Slipping around him, she leaned up against the fryer, hand on one side, nub on the other, and stuck her ass out. Her cheeks parted, her pussy opened up, layers unfolding before him in a display so obscene he couldn't help but stare. Stephen smiled, gave her ass a nice, hard slap. She yelped in appreciation, bending over further.

She couldn't be more splayed; the edges of her pussy trembled in their slippery excitement. Stephen grabbed her hips and just shoved himself in, no aim, no help, no reason... there wasn't anything stopping him.

"Oh God," she implored, the fryer shaking below her for the impact of his thrusting. It was still on, steam rising up, hot, oily vapors obscuring her face, bringing a slick, greasy sweat to her jostling bosom. Her hair hung in thick strands, kicking back and forth.

It was so fucking hot in there. Sweat ran down Stephen's face, burning his eyes as he pounded, breathing through his teeth as he tried to shove his cock in deeper, harder, faster with every thrust of his hips.

The girl had her head down, against her left arm, face to the side. She leaned her right arm over, the damaged one, her nub resting just above the sizzling surface of the boiling, fetid grease.

Stephen could see, barely, through the heat waves of the grease and the sweat of his eyes, her amputated limb hanging just above the dangerous liquid.

"Oh God, please don't stop," she moaned then, bucking her ass against his hips hard enough to hurt. Stephen dug his nails into the flesh of her sides and kept pounding as he felt her orgasm rise, the guts of her vagina gripping him, milking him... the grease started sizzling. At the end of her missing hand, where the nub hung just above the surface, the bubbles kicked up with a loud, frying sound.

Stephen rubbed his eyes against his shoulder, trying to clear the sweat from them, trying to see clearly, because it looked like... the bubbles, the grease-

"Oh God, yes!" she screamed!

-were forming around the shape of a hand... a hand that wasn't there.

Stephen grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head back as far as the neck would allow. Her eyes were closed, her skin red, sweat pouring, lower lip bit down in pain. A tiny trickle of blood oozed down her chin as the "fingers" in the bubbles splayed out wide.

And then he lost it...

"Oh fuck!" Stephen groaned, falling backwards, pulling out of her with a giantschleppingsound. Ropes of jizm erupting from his prick, splattering against her ass and back and hair, and one beefy, intrepid bubble finding its way into the fryer, sinking to the bottom with a heartysizzlelike a batter-sopped McNugget.

The girl stayed against the fryer for a moment, panting, watching the milky glob boil and cook on its languid path to the bottom of the pool. The hand was gone. Finally, she let herself slide backwards, onto the floor, next to Stephen, and wrapped him in a sweaty hug.

"So, what's your name?" he asked.

She kissed him in response. "We probably shouldn't be laying here like this."

"Why?"

She reached under his ass and pulled out a fuzzy little piece of old, discarded meat, holding it up to answer his question. Flicking it away, she brought her right arm up, her nub against the edge of his face, and Stephen swore, he could feel fingers caress his cheeks.