Dani in the City Pt. 01

Chapter 1: An Acquired Taste

A vibration on the balcony floor lifts me out of a light sleep. The droning of rush-hour traffic drifts up from the streets below. I grope for the phone underneath my recliner, taking care not to knock over the half-empty bottle of chardonnay I left there in the shade. Shielding the screen from the late afternoon sun, I read the message."Hi Dani. Got time for an old friend tonight? I can bring molly. 8pm?"

Mike? That's a surprise. It's been over a year. He was a regular client from back in my Modesto days when I still set up my dates through Craigslist and worked a regular day-job. Mike was a nice guy with very specific tastes, and we were always a good fit. He said he would be in touch, but they all say that. After I relocated to San Francisco and doubled my rates I kind of figured that was that.

So, do I make time for Mike this evening?

I sit up and yawn and knead some life into my aching thighs. I spent the morning mountain-biking in the hills and my plan for the rest of the day was to have a few drinks and read a book, maybe get an early night. I have a Silicon Valley event tomorrow that will probably turn into an all-nighter. Money's good right now and I don't really need the work. But I guess it could be fun to catch up. Plus the promise of some good molly has me intrigued, I must admit.

"See you at 8. Molly is more than welcome." I thumb the phone and let it fall in my lap.

On slightly unsteady legs, I ease up out of the recliner and head inside the apartment, put the wine back in the fridge, and drink deeply from a cold bottle of mineral water. I wheel my mountain bike out of the kitchen and onto the balcony, and clear the place up a little bit. I'm all sticky and moist from napping in the humid air, and I feel the urge to shower. But many of my clients prefer it when I don't, and Mike happens to be one of those clients.

My style is what you might call "raw." So long as the client is trustworthy, I have few boundaries in the things I will do and allow to be done to me, and I find that a relaxed attitude to personal grooming suits the more bestial tastes I cater to. I prefer not to shave the parts of my body that other girls might. Nor do I preen and exfoliate, wear makeup, or douse my body with perfume. I am happy to sweat, to go unwashed, even to stink if it is required. Not many girls are comfortable in this niche, but I have gradually made it my own.

In the air-conditioned bedroom, I step out of my jogging pants and remove my t-shirt and sports bra. I put on plain white cotton panties and a thin tank-top that stretches tight across my breasts. I roll out a yoga mat in front of the mirror and move through a series of demanding poses, relishing the tension and release as I stretch my long, athletic limbs to their limits.

My ass and legs are strong from long hours on the bike, my arms and shoulders tightly muscled due to the climbing and weights I do. I arch my back into a bridge, admiring the way my large nipples stand up under the tight top, and the indecent manner in which my unkempt pubic hair and full labia show clearly through my underwear. After twenty minutes or so of stretching I feel lithe and energized. I pull on a white tennis skirt, tie my long black hair up into a loose bun, light a cigarette, and read my book in the fading light.

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It's past nine when the intercom finally beeps. I had started back on the wine half an hour ago and now I'm mildly buzzed and irritated at Mike's lateness. I check the camera to make sure it's him. "You're late." I buzz him in without waiting for his reply. Rapid footsteps echo in the stairwell and then come two sharp knocks at the door, which I open after a deliberate pause.

"I'm so sorry, Dani. I lost a bunch of time trying to track down some molly and there is literally nowhere to park in this city." Mike is out of breath and looking slightly worried, but he can't help glancing me up and down even as I glare at him. He must be in his mid-forties, maybe twenty years older than I am, but he keeps himself in good shape. He works in forestry, or something outdoorsy like that, I don't remember exactly. Greying at the temples in a way that suits him, an almost handsome face marred with deep acne-scars from what he tells me was a particularly unhappy adolescence.

"You let your beard grow in."

"Oh, yeah." He runs a hand through wild stubble and gives an awkward little smile that amuses me for some reason and already I feel like I can forgive his lateness. If a new client showed up an hour late I wouldn't even answer the door. But seeing Mike in my apartment makes me suddenly aware that he is the only person from my old life to visit me here, and it gives me an oddly warm feeling. Sure, he's here to pay me to fuck him, but somehow it still counts.

"Come in you late piece of shit." I kiss him on the cheek and pull him inside.

"This is a great place." Mike puts a bottle of bourbon and a leather messenger bag on the kitchen counter and looks around. "I hate to ask you this, now that you're all simmering with rage and everything. But do you mind if I stay tonight? I thought we could get a little fucked up and I don't want to drive all that way again. If you don't have anything else on, of course."


"If you're flush enough to pay for the whole night, be my guest. But I have a thing tomorrow, so I need you gone early."

"At the crack of dawn, I swear. Is that the bathroom?"

While Mike pisses noisily in my bathroom, I take a look inside his bag: a pack of cigarettes, two cell phones, and a small baggie containing an off-white powder. But there are no pills. I hold the bag up, wondering if it is MDMA powder. "Wait, did you say you got some molly or no?" I shout, helping myself to one of his smokes.

"I see you got into my stuff." Mike grins as he walks out of the bathroom, still buttoning up his jeans. "Sadly, no pills. Nothing good around right now. Where are your glasses?"

I pull a pair of highballs from a cabinet, crack the seal on the bourbon bottle, and pour a good four fingers into each glass. "There's ice in the fridge behind you." I blow smoke toward the bag of powder on the counter. "So what is that?"

"Yeah, about that." Mike drops ice in the drinks and hands one to me. "It's meth. Look, I know what you're thinking, but it's the best I could do."

"You've got to be kidding, Mike. Meth?" I laugh. "I like my teeth, buddy. I like not having holes in my brain."

Mike shrugs and clanks his glass into mine. I stare him down and drain the whole four fingers, forcing him to follow suit. It burns like hell but I keep a poker face. Mike slams the glass on the counter and comes up gasping, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "You're a monster, Dani."

Mike pours another round of bourbon, smaller ones this time, and picks up the bag of methamphetamine. "This isn't that dirty street crystal, this is clean. Not cheap, either. You ever fuck on meth? It's better than MDMA. Turns you into a goddamn animal. By the way, you look ridiculously hot. Still working out I see." He reaches out squeezes my upper arm. I turn to the side, hitch my skirt to the hip, and flex one leg from thigh to solid calf. "Oh my god, you could absolutely kick my ass."

"And you would enjoy it, too. But, if I recall, it's my ass that brings you here tonight." I smile, pleased with my quip.

Mike hisses air between his teeth and looks me up and down again. "Well I'm doing a line. Maybe it's better if you don't. You're freaky enough when you're straight."

Mike taps a mound of meth onto the counter and nudges it into a fat line with his cigarette lighter. I swirl the ice in my drink and watch him fish around in his wallet for a banknote. Maybe the liquor is lowering my inhibitions, or maybe I just feel at ease in his company, but as Mike rolls up a twenty into a tight tube I hear myself say, "Jesus. Fix me a line too then, you hobo."

I did coke a few times back in college, but nowadays I pretty much stick to wine and the occasional pill. Some of the girls I worked with back in Modesto dipped in and out of that scene, and I saw enough to figure out it wasn't for me. I am not used to putting anything in my nose, and this time it's my turn to gasp as I snort the thick line of powder and my sinuses seem to ignite from the inside. I pinch my nose, sniff hard, and take a quick bite of the bourbon to counter the bitter taste in my throat. "Holy fuck that's rough."

"Acquired taste. Do you mind if I put something on?" Mike calls from the den, where he is leafing through my vinyl collection.

"Sure. Anything you like." The drug seems to take hold of me almost instantly. It begins with a warmth in my neck, then a pounding feeling builds in my head and a sense of weightlessness floods through me. It feels a little like coming up on MDMA, but more powerful and focused. I begin to feel hot and flustered and restless, like I need to move.

I remember my cigarette and suck hungrily on it and take another small swig of bourbon, taking an ice-cube into my mouth and marvelling at how good the cold feels when I crunch it between my teeth. I pace the kitchen floor, breathing deeply. "This stuff is pretty rad, Mike. Like, I'm already really feeling it."

"Oh it's killer. A real body high. Can I put some techno on?"

"Sure. Anything. Yeah. Techno sounds perfect."

I toss the cigarette into the sink and splash a little water on my face, then run my hands up my sides and give myself a small hug. I feel like laughing a little, and I let out a giggle, and another. The whiskey warmth is spreading out from my belly too now and my body is starting to vibrate with strange energies. I feel aggressive and clear and, above all, like I want to be touched.

The stereo starts to emit a deep and muddy bass-line with a steady beat and I am immediately into it. Mike stands in front of the speakers, nodding his head slowly to the techno music, unbuttoning his dress shirt to the waist. I notice he has dimmed the lights in the den and I remember that I am technically supposed to be working and should do my best to be a good host. I light another smoke and pick up the drink and seem to float over to Mike on legs I can hardly feel.

"Actually, this stuff is really fucking strong," says Mike. His cheeks are flushed red, and his pupils are like black pinholes in discs of almost colorless gray. Mike's full lips and weathered skin look quite beautiful to me in the low light. I take the cigarette out of my mouth and put it in his, letting him take a deep drag. Then I lift the glass of bourbon to my mouth and swallow a little before setting it down on the table. Swaying to the beat, I move in close and kiss him lightly on the mouth, flicking my tongue over his lips, inhaling the smell of whiskey and fresh smoke between us.

The music seems to swell in the room and pulse through my body. I notice I am rhythmically clenching a fist around handfuls of Mike's loose shirt. His hands alight on my waist and I shiver at his touch. "God, it feels like I'm getting these little electric shocks or something, my skin is just totally lit up." I nip at his lower lip with my teeth then suck on it. Mike returns the kiss, slowly sliding his hands up my rib cage under the tight top, his rough fingers trailing spidery sensations in their wake as they nudge up against the bottom of my breasts.

My toes curl into the deep rug as I shift my weight from foot to foot in time with the music. We are locked in a kiss now and Mike's tongue is pushing forcefully into my mouth and I hungrily accept it. Stubble rasps over my chin and cheeks, and I know they will be red raw later, but the soreness feels good right now. Our teeth click together a few times as saliva lubricates our lips. I run a hand up Mike's torso to his jaw then push fingers into his mouth alongside my tongue. I slide one thigh between his legs and grind against the stiffening lump in his jeans. My cunt responds to the deep kissing and him sucking on my fingers and I know that if I put my fingers down there they would come away slick.

I pull away from him as the forgotten cigarette burns down to my fingers. I drink the rest of my whiskey and drop the smouldering butt into the glass. It is time to give Mike what he came here for, and in my stimulated state I feel an urgent enthusiasm for the task.

"Sit," I say, putting a hand firmly on Mike's chest and pushing him backwards onto the couch. I lift the tank top, freeing just my left breast, the nipple of which I pinch hard, lifting my tit up and letting it fall back into place. The pain of the pinch makes my pussy twinge so I do it again. I give the breast a rough slap and leave it hanging out as I slowly turn my body around, craning my neck so as to fix Mike's gaze as I present my rear end to him.

Mike pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor, breathing heavily, face flushed and eyes half-lidded. With two thumbs, I ease the tennis skirt down over my hips, past the widest point of my firm thighs, then let it drop to the floor. I step out of the skirt, moving my legs slightly apart, and fold my torso forward until I can place my palms on the floor, presenting my ass directly in front of Mike's face. The blood pounds in my head in my bent-over state; my thick hair spills onto the ground where it pools in dark curls.

Eyeing Mike upside-down through my legs, I slide one hand up my thigh and press it against my pussy through the now-damp panties. I snag two fingers under the fabric and stir at the opening of my cunt, teasing out juices to coat my protruding pussy lips. I bring my slippery hand back to my mouth and suck on it. I have always liked the smell and taste of myself, but in my current stupor it is almost intoxicating and a shiver runs up the back of my legs to my spine as I breathe in the strong and heady smell of cunt on my fingers while Mike watches me, his face contorting with need. "Come closer, I need your tongue."

Mike jerks as if out of a trance. He leans forward on the couch and moves to pull down my panties, but I lift my ass away, out of reach. "I didn't tell you to take them off. I want you to lick me through my underwear." This command has the desired effect on Mike, whose particular kinks I have a firm grasp on. He lets out a low whimpering sound before nuzzling his face lightly into my cotton-clad pussy. "Smell it first." He obliges, inhaling lustily, his nose snuffling around at my sodden crotch like a pig rooting in filth.

When I am satisfied that Mike has had his fill of my thick scent, I bend my legs slightly, steady myself on one hand, and reach behind to grip his hair and pull him firmly into my rear end. His breath is hot on my ass and I feel his nose rubbing just below my anus in a way that brings odd little waves of pleasure. There is a gorgeous hot pressure as he starts to lap like a dog at my pussy through the cloth panties. I don't like to make a lot of noise, especially when I'm taking control like this, but I cannot help sighing as his eager mouth works over the sopping underwear. The wetness of his tongue and the slightly abrasive friction of the fabric send the walls of my pussy into aching spasms.

Mike eases off after a while, and I feel tendrils of drool separating as he pulls away. He slips his fist around the crotch of my panties and pulls it upwards so the fabric digs into me from my clit to my ass-crack, riding up between my labia. I wriggle my butt, easing open the thick pussy lips until they all but swallow the thin cotton. There's a light burning sensation as the material rubs directly over my clit. Mike moves his hand up and down so that his knuckles strum over my anus as the fabric glides like dental floss through my swollen lips.

Between my legs, I see that he has freed his cock from his jeans and is palming the head with his other hand. I bite my lower lip and push back, willing him to be rougher with his hand, my clit aching for a stronger connection to those hard knuckles.

In danger of getting lost in my own pleasure, I remember my duty to my client. I know what Mike wants. I reach back and pry his hand away then go down onto my knees and lower my chest to the rug, a single breast still exposed, turning my face to the side on the floor. One arm stretches on the ground in front of me, and with the other hand I reach back and tug the panties down to just beneath my ass cheeks, where I let the spit- and cunt-soiled crotch hang. I dig my fingers into my engorged labia, pinching the clit between my knuckles and frigging it slowly for him to see.

"I need to show you something." I arch my back and poke my ass up as high into the air as I can, spreading my broad cheeks apart and offering Mike an unfettered view of my backside. I let my pussy hair grow thick but my ass is naturally hairless and my dark pink anus stands in beautiful stark contrast with the pale skin of my buttocks. Mike grunts at the sight of it and beats his cock faster.

I contract my muscles, tightening the sphincter, then allow it to relax, making it twitch and dilate ever-so slightly. "Look at my dirty butt-hole. I'm frigging my little cunt and showing you my asshole," I say with the slow cadence of a hypnotist. I slide my fingers from my pussy and press them either side of my hole, squeezing and stretching the knot of my anus, prying it open for Mike to inspect. There is a cool sensation as my asshole sucks a little air inside it before popping closed again. I gather pussy juice and smear it over the wrinkled opening, returning to my cunt for more until my puffy anus is as glistening wet as my other hole. "I think I made a mess and I need you to clean me."

God, I love getting my ass eaten. Not only for the feeling, which is delicious enough in itself, but for the knowledge that someone is tonguing that dirty place where I smell dark and funky and where my filth comes from. That gets me off more than the sensation of it, but the drug has lit up my nervous system in new and strange ways, and when Mike begins licking my asshole, it sends such an intense rush of feeling through me that I immediately break out into goosebumps of pleasure. The left side of my body shudders with wild little spasms. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," I groan involuntarily. Mike works his face deep into my buttocks, his tongue working at my anus. I buck against him hard and my frigging hand is a blur. The stirrings of a fierce orgasm begin to uncoil somewhere deep between my dripping cunt and fluttering asshole.

I swear I am about to come, but instead the brimming sensation dwells obstinately close without climaxing. The walls of my pussy are clenching with pleasure as my fingers thrash over the hood of my clit, but something in the cocktail of booze and meth keeps me teetering on the edge. I feel a powerful urge to have Mike fuck my pussy. I feel sure I could get off that way, but I know that's not his thing, and I have to keep reminding myself I'm getting paid to attend to his needs, not mine.

In Mike's his eagerness to eat my ass, we have somehow ended up in the middle of the room. I reach behind, push Mike's head away, and lead him back to the couch where I make him lie down. His thick, circumcised cock juts heavily above his hairy navel, impressively erect, curving slightly to one side, a single colorless bead of pre-cum seeping from the tip. As I walk my thighs slip against each other, liberally lubricated with saliva and juices that run down from my ass almost to my knees.

I bend down and kiss him deeply, breathing in my own stink from his sullied face. It doesn't smell of shit exactly, but of something rich and earthy, but with a faint spiciness that is almost like marijuana resin. I grip his cock and jerk it off roughly as I kiss him. The wrongness of my own ass-smell filling my nostrils as I work my tongue into his soiled mouth really fucking turns me on. There is a heavy dropping sensation inside my cunt as it wets up again.