Learning Curve Ch. 07

It's a nasty word. Whore.

Alena stared at the word she had scrawled repeatedly in her notebook – 'Whore.'

She had just finished researching the word, or rather the vocation of what was termed 'The world's second oldest profession,' and began asking herself the questions she had avoided until this moment.

Do I really crave psychological abuse? Do I have low self-esteem? I don't think so. But there is the question of economic survival. I needed money to keep going, which was certain enough. But how many feminists did I cause to roll over in their graves as I came on one cock after another and still ended up wanting more?

More to the point she realized she'd thoroughly enjoyed her night with the boys. And yet tonight she had another date with her middle-aged client who'd called her a slut as she walked meekly out of his hotel room, stuffing his money into her purse.

Aloud, Alena said to herself, "There are hundreds of reasons not to show up on tonight, just as there are hundreds of dollars telling me to get my skinny ass over there."

Alena wrestled with the problem for most of the afternoon. At one point she was convinced she wouldn't, couldn't go. But after leaving the campus following the last class of the day, her skin was crawling with a need for sex. She couldn't relax, couldn't eat, even Ellie, her oriental roomie knew enough to stay out of her way.

Exasperated at herself, Alena took an extra long shower, and carefully dressed for her appointment with Eric. She had to deliberately slow her pace so as not to reach the hotel too early, and still she did. Alena considered waiting in the lobby area but, her instincts told her the hotel would recognize her reason for being there and without any ceremony, ask her to leave. And so with some trepidation, she took the elevator to the

The elevator ride to the 7th floor was just as disconcerting. It was crowded with people headed for the rooftop bar, and the thought of going up there again made Alena cringe.

Outside the door, Alena stopped and looked at her watch. She was still ten minutes early. The hallway was deserted, so she sat on the carpeted floor with her back to the wall and settled down to wait the ten minutes.

At five to eight, Alena heard the elevator doors open and scrambled to her feet. She pretended to search for a key card in her purse, but needn't have bothered with the charade; it was him.

She ran her hands down her dress, smoothing any wrinkles and smiled at him, making her eyes smile as well.

"Have you been here long?"

"No, not at all."

"I apologize if I've kept you waiting." He swiped the lock and held the door open for me. "Please, come in."

It struck her as strange that he could be so friendly and polite until the sex happened, then he changed utterly, but there was something about the immaculately balanced duality that was both obscene and hypnotic.

The room was exactly as it had been before, a kind of sitting room affair with a pair of sofas, a desk with a laptop on it, a built-in entertainment cupboard with a wide-screen television in the middle, all done in endless shades of beige. The balcony door was shut, but I could hear the faint hum of traffic from the street below.

"Would you like a drink?"

It occurred to Alena that this was just another politeness, that she should refuse and get down to business.

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

"Do you mind if I have one?" he asked, shrugging off his suit jacket and laying it carefully across the back of one of the sofas. "It's been a long day."

"Please, go ahead."

He turned towards the bar fridge and then stopped, looking back at me. "Are you sure? I've got vodka. That's what you had the other night, wasn't it?"

"Okay, sure, if it's no trouble." She wanted to kick herself for being so wishy-washy.

He looked at me oddly again, and began to fix the drinks. The ice cubes clinked as he dropped then into the glasses. He brought the drinks over to where I stood and held one out for me.

"Thanks."

"Have a seat."

She nodded and sat down on one of the sofas. It felt hard and recently manufactured, and had that faintly acrid smell of new upholstery. He took the seat opposite and sipped his drink.

For a moment, the glass in his hand made Alena think of the old subliminal message research that documented images of skulls and naked women in the ice cubes of alcohol print advertising.

"I'm very pleased you decided to continue our arrangement." His voice was pleasantly casual.

"I hadn't really intended to."

"That's understandable. New paradigms are not easy to adjust to."

Alena laughed, unable to help herself. "A 'new paradigm'. That's an interesting way to put it."

He smiled and shrugged. "A new mode of being, then."

Alena gave another chuckle. "Yes, a 'new mode of being'."

"That's a very nice outfit you're wearing. What's under the skirt?"

Alena's chuckle evaporated. She cleared her throat. This time, when she'd dressed, she'd done so knowingly, choosing a top with no buttons, a silk halter wrapped around to tie at the back. The skirt was the same; more or less like a sarong.

"There's nothing under the skirt."

He sipped his drink and sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "And why is that?"

"I thought..." I shook my head, and started again. "I thought there wasn't any point in leaving another pair of panties here."

"So practical, so pragmatic; but all the same, a lie."

She felt her face color, the tendrils of heat climbed up her neck and onto her cheeks. "You tell me, then."

"You wanted to get fucked. You wanted cock as soon as you could get it."

Immediately, Alena recognized the change in his tone. It was like a door opening, or a light going out. It was harsh and nasty, and highly erotic.

"Show me. Spread your legs and show me."

Leaning back into the sofa, Alena inched her thighs apart until she was sure he had a good view. His plump lips pursed, his pupils dilated behind his glasses.

"Wider," he whispered.

There was something very specific about the way he consumed what he saw in her that sent a surge of electricity down Alena's spine. He didn't just look. Somehow, his eyes were mouths: tasting, chewing, and swallowing.

Suppressing a wanton moan, Alena spread her legs even wider, pulled the sides of her skirt away. Everything revealed to him started to heat up and burn: the inside of her thighs, her cunt, and even the skin of her chest and face seemed to sizzle.

"Touch yourself. You want to. I know you do."

How could he know? Alena asked herself. Then she thought, he's wrong, I don't want to touch myself ... I want him to touch me!

Nevertheless, she sent her hand down between her legs; her fingers slipping easily between the folds of her moistened labia, already infected by his desire for her.

After all, she thought as she began to masturbate, it was his money.

"Good girl," he murmured, then took another sip of his drink, took some ice into his mouth and rolled it around.

He stood up and walked towards her, crunching the ice in his mouth; the sound, dangerous, destructive, made Alena pause.

"Don't stop," he said, settling down on the carpet in front of her, between her legs. "Show me."

And so Alena resumed her attentions even more diligently, his close scrutiny pushing her on.

"You're wet, I can smell it." He took another sip and another ice cube into his mouth.

"Yes," she croaked hoarsely and her body twitched, as it always did when she masturbated.

He took hold of her thighs, pulled her hips to the edge of the seat, until his face was only inches from her cunt. Suddenly, he pushed her fingers aside and pressed his mouth to her mound. His ice cold lips made Alena squeal and arch her hips. As she recoiled from him he used his tongue to push the ice cube from his mouth into her.

The shock of the temperature change made Alena's internal muscles spasm shut around it.

Instinctively, she wanted to push it out, even as she felt it melting and trickling out of her.

"Don't."

She froze, knowing exactly what he was talking about. Still the ice burned inside. He took another cube from the glass, this time with his fingers, and pushed it into her opening. Then a moment later added another.

"Oh, my God!" Alena shrieked as she tried to roll away from him.

"Don't," he repeated.

She opened her eyes to look at him. He was holding the glass beneath her, catching the drops of melted ice. Alena made a wordless sound, fighting her desire to expel the cold invasion with all her might. It was a strange, awful sensation. Not pain, perhaps, but a deep, throbbing burn.

He lowered his mouth onto her pussy again, covering the whole of her mound. The heat of his mouth was exquisite. He snaked the flat surface of his tongue between her lips and pressed it hard against her clit.

"Oh, please... I'm going to cum. I can't hold it if I cum!"

"Then don't cum," he said, his words muffled.

"Not until it's melted."

Alena whined, straining to control muscles that fluttered and spasmed autonomously. His tongue began wicked little flicks over her clit, interspersed with long, slow laps. Her thigh muscles began to twitch, shuddering in sympathy with her cunt. Through her panting, Alena could hear the soft, liquid sound of water trickling into the glass beneath her.

Alena couldn't stand it anymore. "Oh, please!" she whimpered.

He lifted his head. "Please what?"

"I need to cum!"

"Not yet."

"I can't! I can't hold it any longer."

He put the glass down on the coffee table; it clanked dully, glass against glass. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he pulled out a condom. Carefully, slowly, he undid his belt, the button on his pants, and unzipped himself. And just as carefully, he eased his fully erect cock out of a pristine white pair of boxers, and slid the condom down its length.

The minute she saw it, Alena knew just how deliciously hot it would feel inside her. How beautifully it would soothe the cold burn.

Picking up the glass, he took a single sip, and then knocked back the rest of the diluted amber liquid in one go: the scotch, the ice water and Alena. He swallowed her. Then he let the glass drop to the floor and, in one fluid movement, pushed his cock deep into her cunt. Alena yelped. The heat of him was almost too much to bear after the ice.

"Like it?"

"Oh, yes. Fuck, yes."

"Good girl. Ride it."

He held himself still; his hands under her hips, so that she could roll them and push herself onto him. There was something deliciously exposed about it. He looked down at her, watching her greedily engulfing him, over and over again.

Slowly his enigmatic expression changed, as if with each stroke, she was pushing that reserve, that barrier, that hollowness away. A strange way to get to know someone, but that's what was happening.

He swallowed hard. She could tell he had to work to hold himself still. "Feels good?"

Alena smiled. "It feels wonderful."

"You're such a whore," he whispered, smiling down at her as she fucked herself on him.

"I know," Alena panted.

"You love it."

"Yes."

"What a sweet, fucking whore. Can't get enough, can you?" His voice was breaking now, and a distracted smile was playing on his lips. He began to thrust, and was guiding her onto him, his hands on her hips.

"Never! N... n... neither can you." Alena felt the electric swell of her orgasm beginning; a hydra at the base of her spine was opening its tendrils, climbing, spreading up the synapses.

She arched her hips high, spreading her legs even wider, and watched, hypnotized as his cock disappeared into her, over and over.

He grabbed her legs and pushed them up, until she was splayed open for him. "You like it, being my whore, don't you?"

She could hardly speak, it felt so good. "I like being your whore."

The instant she said it, Alena started to cum. He grunted and thrust hard, deep, not even bothering to withdraw before reburying himself. He was letting her spasms do the work, squeezing and milking him.

A small smile spread across his face, he began to fuck differently, smoothly, and Alena knew he was cumming. Fingers dug hard into her thighs then he shuddered and held himself buried in her, jerking as he orgasmed.

"Sweet God," he grunted. "You're nothing but cunt."

As the contractions eased, those words reverberated in Alena's ears. He crumpled forward, panting, with his face on her chest.

"Sometimes," she whispered, but said nothing further, just thinking the rest. Sometimes, for all the education, the centuries of civilization, the manners and the roles we all learn to play to well, the sophistication and complication of the whole of human society ... sometimes she was nothing but a cunt. And it felt simple and good and primal and, most of all, it felt true to admit it.

* * *

Alena didn't offer to stay; she knew he didn't want her to. Like the previous time, he took the five pristine hundred-dollar bills from his wallet and put them on the table, right next to the glass that had once contained the essence of her, along with some scotch and water.

This time, Alena didn't forget the money. She knew it would bother him if she did. She figured there was something about the money that made it possible for him to play this game. Alena tucked the bills in her purse and smoothed her crumpled, damp skirt.

"Next Thursday, then?" Everything, including his reserve, was back in place.

"Sure. Same time?"

"Yes. That would be fine."

"Goodnight, then."

He held the door open for her, and wished her a good night in return as she walked out.