Dani and the Christmas Dildo

It didn't feel like I had a wedgie, but I hoped the shorts were symmetrical across my butt. Things like that bother me.

I forced myself not to look at him as I mounted the stairs, and I didn't even strut, Ellie-like, along the metal balcony that fronted the old offices. I tried to walk normally, even though my pussy was rapidly funking up down below, even though I knew I was about to get laid. The big, high windows on the far wall told me dusk had turned into darkness at some point while I was patinating. Past the bathroom, past the room where I kept my clothes, and in through the third door, and that's when I turned briefly to look down at Jake.

The look was an invitation. He stared up at me like people stare at a crucifix. And then, with a cool smile, I passed into the room.

Instantly I was on my knees, shoveling dirty clothes and discarded bags underneath my bed. The desk had a bunch of sketches spread all across it; those could stay, as I doubted we'd be fucking across the desk. The bed was unmade, its sheets all rumpled, and I wasn't sure how I ought to wait for him: standing? Lying? Sitting? Naked? Almost-naked? I swept the sheets aside and dithered, and I supposed that was a good thing. Most of all I was hoping he'd come upstairs soon and deliver me from my indecision; fuck, this would be so much easier if he was paying.

At last, after vacillating long enough to get goosebumps, I heard feet moving across the concrete floor below, shaking the stairs as he followed me up, vibrating across the catwalk balcony outside. Jesus, he was striding; the guy was going to plunder me. I wondered what I'd done to make him want me so much, but then it didn't matter: he was standing in my doorway, the laptop dangling from his hand like the stage prop it was.

I decided it was time to get sexy. "So, Jake," I said deliberately, resting my fingertips on the mattress, "where were you going to set up your camera?" I wasn't serious, understand; I was just trying to be sexy. Not that it would have bothered me; Southside encourages film study of our performances, in the interests of improving our technique, and I'd seen myself fuck hundreds of times. "Or did you want to get down here on the bed and just go for it?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I was thinking of just going for it." He came into the room, his cock big and stiff in his pants. I knew my nipples would be staring at him, bursting through the frail and filthy tanktop. "But now that you mention it, a souvenir might be nice."

I shrugged elaborately and yawned like a cat, stretching my arms way up, consciously seductive. "Well, you do what you want." I got onto my bed, leading with my knee and sliding down onto my side like a slow-motion baserunner. "I've been on my feet all day. I'm just going to lie down and wait for you."

He took a step toward me and put his computer on the desk. He didn't plug it in. "You're filthy," he smiled. "You can't get into bed like that."

"Fuckit," I replied coolly. "I need to wash the sheets anyway."

He looked around, his Adam's apple bobbing. "So. Nice place you got here."

I let my dirty hair splay across the pillows and curled my legs off to the side. "It's an old warehouse. They used to store shit in the back rooms downstairs and lease out the main floor to a cabinet shop." I shrugged. "So now it's mine. Are we talking here, honey?" I patted the bed beside me. "Take a load off. You've been working hard today; I'd say you deserve a break."

"Well, if you insist." He disrobed with just enough self-consciousness to be charming, folding his clothes neatly and putting them on my desk. His body was fine, with neither Mike's wiry hairiness nor Andre's sleek, cetacean perfection, and not Bob's beer gut either. He looked... normal. He paused a moment, standing in a pair of fairly silly bicycle-print boxers, looking even sillier as his dick poked ludicrously out in front. I gave him an encouraging smile, and then the bicycles clattered down and he stood there with a red, veiny penis pointing at me like a shotgun, sprouting from a broad dark scattering of pubic hair and with a heavily sagging pair of balls dangling below.

I smiled wickedly and licked my lips. "Did you pick out those boxers, Jakey?"

"Uh, yes?" He bent over and picked them up, folding them once and tossing them onto his laptop. "They were on sale," he explained cautiously, and then I was staring at his ass as he spun around and sat down on the bed next to me. "Three for ten bucks."

"I can respect that," I murmured as he swung his legs up, and by then my murmur had turned into a smile, my smile into a kiss, and I was running my hands up into his chest hair, being careful not to touch the throbbing dick that now poked up like a sundial wedge. Might as well save it for later, I figured, and then my body was pressing up against his, the saliva was starting to spread, and I was smiling again.

My tanktop came off easily, even playfully, under his hands. "You're a really beautiful woman," he said softly, and by then I was letting my hands play with his cock and tickle his balls. He was hot and hard, but my practiced fingers decided he wasn't in imminent danger of immediate genital loss of control. This was no Kevin I was dealing with here. I giggled as my fingers found the oily stickiness at his piss-hole.

He ran his tongue teasingly across my lips, shadowing the finger he ran along my breasts. "What do you like, Marie?" he asked.

"I don't know," I whispered, smiling, and I was surprised to find that was true. I had no idea what I'd enjoy. There was a time I'd had an answer: assplay, usually with Mike, on a riskily experimental and highly naughty level. But fourteen months as the main buttgirl in a pretty busy whorehouse had made that, well, less than fun. "Surprise me. Oh, and, uh... people actually call me Dani."

"I know." He nibbled at my lower lip; it tickled. I flinched back and saw a wild look in his eye. "That was in the press kit, too." He was on his way down, then, running his slick tongue and his nibbling lips down along the tendons at the side of my neck with my fingers soft in his hair, winding up with his breath tickling my collarbone. He was on my nipple before I had time to react, my giggle turning into one of those caught-breath sighs I so despise when I perform them for my patients.

Only this one was real.

He was strong and slow on my tit: whatever hesitation he'd felt when he let his boxers down was over now. I shifted onto my back and smiled stupidly down with my legs slack on the sheets; Jake took advantage, sliding over to the other boob with a deftness that said he'd done this kind of thing before. I was a little disappointed, obscurely, that he hadn't shaved recently enough to avoid leaving faint red marks on my pale chest, but whores are used to dealing with those kinds of quirks.

I laid my head back, burying it into my pillow while his tongue ran over my salty skin. The sounds intrigued me; I'd heard them before, but then they'd always been more like feedback, letting me know what I needed to do next. This time, they were just passionate, sexy... fun. He chuckled when he heard me sigh, and then he tipped his head up. "You taste like ass." I looked down at his nude body, up on his hands and knees as he grazed.

"You sound like a man who's never actually tasted ass before," I kidded him softly, flirting with the idea of lifting my legs way the hell up and giving him a chance to expand his horizons a bit. "Not my fault, anyway. Someone didn't give me enough time to take a bath; don't blame me."

"Quit whining," he winked, and that was about the time his hand came to rest on the dirty boyshorts covering my mound; he was being polite, I saw, watching me to make sure I was okay with it. What a sweetie! I decided to encourage him.

"It's not an armrest, Jake," I giggled. "It's a cunt." I sent him on his way with a broad wink and a leisurely swat on the back of the head before I pushed my hands between the pillow and my hair, feeling the grit there, arching my body lazily while he took my underwear down.

Oral sex and I have a complicated relationship. It's the nature of my job that I don't often get it, and to be honest I doubted I'd ever really had it done to me properly. Mike was not a gifted cunnilinguist, though I knew Tori kind of liked how he did it; I'd always been disappointed in her for that. Her standards were normally higher. That first guy, the college guy who'd broken me in, had gone down there for a few minutes, but I wasn't old enough to appreciate it. And then that little shit Jose had tried, tried hard, but he'd sort of ruined oral for me for awhile.

That's why I was slightly apprehensive as I felt Jake's scruff, and the slick tongue beneath, come slowly down to play with my steadily dribbling vagina. But only slightly; I was starting to realize that all this was supposed to be fun. No pressure. He could suck, in the good way or the bad, and what did it matter?

So I let go, and relaxed, and that's why I was smiling with my eyes closed as the guy went down on me. He took his time and made a real effort, and as far as I could tell he did a great job: I didn't cum, but who cared? It was the thought that counted. He seemed mildly obsessed with my hairlessness; I'd been waxing down there as long as I could remember, and apparently he hadn't encountered that before.

His hands and mouth converged on me and in me. I felt fingers cradling my butt with one thumb poking up through my crotch, prying me open so that he could play; the other hand was searching, as men always did, for a g-spot. That was no trouble, at least; I'm a woman with a pretty prominent clit, and making myself cum is never all that difficult. Soon he was pinching me, his nails raking gently at the top of my slit while his lips slurped at my labia.

I admired his commitment. I had to taste terrible.

"Yeah, honey," I drawled lazily, mostly so that he'd know I appreciated this. "You just keep right on munching, Jake." He did, getting into a steady rhythm for awhile and now and then thrashing his tongue around uncontrollably, passionately, making me writhe despite myself. Before long, without even thinking about it, I was humping up at his face, my head turning lazily around to watch his naked body by the light of my bedside lamp; it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to rest my hand on his ass, my fingers creeping around toward his hole. What can I say? Old habits die hard. I could see his cock, bobbing in the shadows underneath his body, drooling steadily, and suddenly I wanted it.

"Hey, Jake." I sounded strained and husky, and by now my hips were moving quite on their own against his face. "You should just go ahead and fuck me now."

He looked up, his face glazed, and smiled in triumph. "Wait. Now, you say?" He hadn't stopped with his fingers, and I was still humping.

"Sure." I stretched, long and lean on my bed, arching my tits high. "If you're not too busy."

He looked at me, still smiling, and prodded something with his thumb, the one under my ass. I got a little spasm, somewhere between a tickle and a caress, and I inhaled despite myself. I saw now the confidence in his eyes, and felt it in his fingers. "I guess not," he said, and he wasn't really smiling the same way anymore. He looked more like a wolf now. We were both panting, but quietly, like we knew we had shit to do and wanted to get on with it; I was focusing on his cock as it dribbled across my thigh when he got between my legs, and I sighed as I pushed my hips upward.

He was there, suddenly, his head nudging at my pussy and his face an inch from mine, with gusting breath and fierce eyes. I wondered whether I had anything left to say, more flirts or something, but then who was I fooling? He was about to shove it in, and there weren't any more words, so I opened my mouth and brought up my knees and waited with my stubby fingernails resting near his spine, our bodies squashed together.

It had been awhile since I'd been taken this way. At work, at least 70% of my patients preferred me from behind; I was, after all, Southside's leading buttgirl. There was a reason for that: my ass was great. Of the rest, probably two thirds liked me on top, like they did most whores. So spreading wide and letting a man settle on top of me like this was pretty unusual, and definitely intimate.

He came in thick and hot and slithery, my own weepy vag stretching comfortably around his head, along the bulge in the middle, my body arching up until I felt pubes against my clit. I heard myself moan as he bottomed out, a satisfied "Nng" noise that made him sigh into my face. We quickly got comfortable, him cocking his knee up until his right thigh nudged my butt, gaining leverage; I brought my feet down onto the base of his ass, like a jockey spurring a horse, and I saw his eyes glaze over as he felt me hot around his dick.

"Feel good, Jakey?" I whispered as I twined my arms around his neck. I'd never been much of a talker until after the guy was in me. "How do you like my pussy?" I followed up with a deep, slick rattlesnake flicker of my tongue into his ear, his body settling on top of me. The weight felt good. He ran his hands up and down my sides, searching for a place to leave them while he railed me.

"Feels fuckin' great," he muttered, quite unnecessarily; we were both twitching down there, clearly enjoying ourselves. "Ready?"

"What do you think?" I swabbed out his ear again, and like a sprinter responding to the starting gun he glided out of me and then right back in, all the way, driving my breath out. Another thrust established the rhythm he wanted, and then I switched my brain off, lay back, and enjoyed the sticky thrill of getting myself well and truly ravaged.

Whores are always vocal during sex; they know men like to hear them, so they play it up to get that big tip. But I found I wanted to be loud for Jake, to make it special for him, and for me too. I grunted each time he bottomed out, his body powerful over mine, his fingers digging hard into the skin beside my shoulderblades.

God, but it was great: I was lubed up like I'd seldom been before, especially since I became a pro. The sound of us fucking was that addictive slap and smack of bodies meeting, overlaid by the syrupy cat-lick sound of a horny penis sliding along the lips of a horny vagina. The smells were already thick and reeky, powerfully dense in the little room, the locker-room stench of my stinky body blending with the furry scent of aroused hormones, and the result made us both red-brained with absolute lust; neither of us was thinking beyond the liquid, stabbing sensations as he drove frantically into me, our bodies thrashing together.

"Motherfucker," I moaned; he felt good in there, his cock just the right size. I was licking his face, totally out of control, my hands clutching now at his tensing ass, and he was plainly concentrating hard on not shooting his load. I decided to give him a break. "If you're going to lose it, honey, just go ahead and cum," I urged. I was on like three different kinds of birth control, and Dr diSpuglia had us tested all the time, and even if there was any risk I flat-out didn't care; I was under the control of Mother Nature now, my young body wanting desperately to get inseminated by this guy. "I'm doing great."

He wanted more, though. "Hold up." He stopped slowly, bringing himself back down to earth, and I felt the effort. "I don't want to stop," he admitted through his heavy breaths, and we kissed again as our hips stopped churning. "This just feels so fuckin' great," he repeated.

"Well, shit," I drawled, letting my feet flop onto the mattress, "why don't we switch spots? You just roll over and look pretty; let me take over." He didn't bother to answer, letting actions speak louder; there was a weird, warm sensation of emptiness as he removed himself, his dick dark and gleaming as he fell onto his back, his chest heaving, but I gave him no time to recover.

This was more like it. I liked being on top. I was up there before he was even settled, rolling my mound down his belly, hoping I'd line up with his dick; I liked mounting men hands-free, just sweeping myself along their bodies and spiking myself onto their dicks, picking up their shafts like a dustpan picks up the trash. There were risks to that kind of maneuver: too high and you missed his dick, too low and you took it in the ass, but I was usually able to pull it off. This time the right hole found his blunt, swollen head and vacuumed it in, me letting the rest of his shaft through as I straightened up to ride him. He looked up at me in admiration. "Nice move," he winked.

"Thought you might like that," I smiled, and then I was off and running. I started easily, gently, smearing my labia along his groin as the two of us made strong, burning eye contact. He was a hot, hard pole inside me, totally rigid, and I was doing all my kegels around him. I could tell this wasn't going to last very long now, so I reached deliberately down and took his hands. "Grab my tits," I ordered, and of course Jake was more than happy to oblige; he held them tight, his eyes staring now at my bellydancer hips, my rippling abs, the spot where his curly pubes gave way to the hard shaft that kept disappearing into my slit.

"You sure I can just do it inside you?" He sounded urgent.

"Hell fuck yeah," I grated. "Don't hold back." And then I smiled, wicked and powerful, and made a kissy-face. "We've got all night, and there's all kinds of shit I want to do to you." His eyes closed then, a slack-jawed look of rapture coming over his face, and then I was humping him like the whore I was. Up and down, my thighs working, the bed shaking, and I thrashed my hair around like a pole dancer, and his hands were sliding down my body and he was trying, weakly, to thrust into me, and then his dick was swelling against my walls and the friction went away completely because he was unloading right up in me.

It's usually not true that we can feel men cum, down inside there. But I can always tell anyway.

He exhaled harshly, trembling, his hands tight and low on my hips as though he was trying to hold me down against the sheer force of his load. "Gahh!" he was gasping, shuddering, arching, full of nothing at all but the sight of me gazing down heavy-lidded and slack-jawed as I took his sperm.

"That's it, baby," I purred softly, and that shocked me; it's not the kind of thing I'm used to saying, and certainly not in that tone. But I went with it anyway. "Get it all in there." He was, too, his penis shaking and twitching, and I did feel that. "Shh," I soothed, for he looked like he was going into convulsions, and he stared wild-eyed into my face as I dropped low to dangle my nipples over his. "That feels so good." I kissed him, gently and tenderly and with plenty of saliva, and I was touched when he reached his arms around me and held me close and warm, his cock still spurting weakly.

Well, I reflected as the flaming haze faded into the usual tawdry smells and greasy skin that happened afterward, if that's how normal people fuck, I should have tried it sooner.

* * *

Very early in the morning he lay there naked on his belly, marinating in whatever fluids we'd left on my sheets, and I leaned over and played with the top of his ass. "I can't believe it," I muttered with throaty playfulness, feeling almost giddy. "It's the 21^st century, for Christ's sake." I smacked him lightly on the shoulderblade. "You're a young single guy!"

"I don't know." He shrugged, but he was buried in so many pillows it spoiled the effect. "I guess I just never saw the point."

I thought about what to say. "I know I'm biased, obviously," I began, "but any modern American needs a tattoo. It's just the way things work now."