Pretty Baby Ch. 03

It was too late to protest now, and honestly, I didn't want to. I clutched Raul's hard body and met his every thrust eagerly. My pussy was inflamed from all the cocks it had known already that night, yet still, I wanted to make Raul cum. I wanted to feel it inside me. I needed that one last indignity.

He finally tensed and grunted, then sighed loudly with his release. The hot flow of his cum filled my aching cunt, and I moaned with one last, soft, rolling orgasm as well, squeezing his gushing cock. I felt like a fire was being put out inside me, the flames of my reckless passion doused by the seed of this stranger.

Raul slipped his dripping, cum-smeared dick from my cunt and moved back up over me, easing his pole down into my mouth. I eagerly sucked and licked him clean, tasting our mingled essence. I moaned around his dick as I felt the woman's mouth once again on my pussy, licking out Raul's cum. The feeling was delicious. She spread my lips wide apart and lapped as far into my hole as her tongue would reach. She smacked her lips and moaned, devouring his cum and mine mingled together.

Raul finally pulled out of my mouth and leaned over to kiss my sticky lips. "What a good little whore you are," he whispered in my ear. I could only murmur in response.

After several minutes, I sat up on the couch, looking around. The air in the room was thick and cloying with the aroma of spent semen, and stains soaked into the floor and ottoman. But no other trace of the men remained. I saw an open door to a small bathroom, and stumbled on wobbly legs toward it. My pussy was tender and red from all the abuse it had suffered. I realized I would have to wait a few days before taking another client.

I looked briefly at my face in the mirror. Most of my makeup was gone. My eyes were puffy, but the mascara had not run. A few dried streaks of semen decorated the bridge of my nose and forehead. My lips felt tender and numb. Strands of my long blonde hair were sticky and dark with sperm. Every breath I expelled from between my lips carried with it the aroma of cum.

I washed up quickly, returned to the room and retrieved my dress and purse. I called James, and he told me he knew the club pretty well and how I could leave without being noticed. I met him in a dank, poorly-lit alley behind the building a few minutes later, standing on shaky legs. I collapsed in the back of the Lincoln, every muscle below my waist aching.

I cried softly for a while, berating myself for what I had done. But I felt strangely cleansed, despite the stench of cum that surrounded me. In a way, I felt, I had exorcised my demons.

But, damn was I exhausted. How many men, Alyssa? I asked myself. How many cocks did you fuck and suck tonight?

I licked my lips, feeling them dry. My mouth was pasty with the residue of so many different flavors of semen. I had heartburn from all the fluid that had graced my throat.

"We're home, Miss Yvette," James said to me, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

I didn't budge. I couldn't. My strength had fled.

James put the Lincoln in park, got out. He opened the rear door, reached inside. I wondered if he was disgusted by the smell that surrounded my body. If he was, he didn't show it. He lifted me effortlessly, and I curled up in his arms, hanging onto him. I really didn't know this man, but he was my protector, my guardian. I knew I could trust him.

He carried me up the flights of stairs to my apartment door, and I managed to find the wit to unlock it with my key. Once inside, James set me down on my couch and began pulling off my clothes. I wondered for a moment if he intended to fuck me, but he disappeared into my bedroom and came back with a blanket from my bed. He wrapped my body snugly, then started a pot of coffee in the kitchen.

With effort, I sat up, holding the blanket around my body. "Why do you do it?" I asked him.

James turned to me, looking over the little breakfast bar of my apartment. "I might ask you the same question," he said.

I lowered my eyes, feeling ashamed. "Does it . . . does it ever bother you?"

I heard him sigh, and he came around toward me. Without the chauffeur's hat to cast shadows over his face, I realized he was actually very handsome, and did not appear as old as I had always believed. He had a square jaw and small eyes, a slightly crooked nose. There was an element of strength to him.

"Honestly," he said. "Only on nights like this."

I felt the tears forming again. "I don't know why I did it," I said, trying to control my voice. "I-I just felt that—"

"Yvette," he said, then stepped closer. He lowered himself before me. "Alyssa."

I blinked, staring at him. "You know my name?"

He nodded. "I know just about everything about you," he said matter-of-factly. "What I don't know is why a beautiful girl such as you would allow herself to be abused the way you were tonight."

I sniffled. "I deserved it," I whispered.

His strong eyes searched mine. "Maybe," he said. "But I'll tell you right now: if you keep doing things like this, you're going to have a different driver."

He stood and headed back into the kitchen. I followed him with my eyes, watched as he poured a cup of coffee. The aroma of Arabica beans filled my apartment. He brought the cup to me, having already added cream and sugar the way I liked it.

I couldn't help but smile. "How do you know so much about me?" I asked.

James' eyes were stoic. "It's my job to know," he said. He stood, turned to the door, then paused. "Oh. Here." He took out another crimson envelope, dropped it on the coffee table. It was thicker and heavier than any of the others he had given me before.

I stared at it for a long moment, then lifted my head as my driver -- my protector, my guardian -- opened the door. "James."

He hesitated a moment, not looking at me.

"I don't want another driver."

He didn't speak, but I thought I detected a slight curl at the corner of his mouth. He just nodded curtly, and left.

I sipped my coffee, found the remote for the TV and switched it on. Four in the morning, there wasn't much on except infomercials. I really didn't want to watch anything; I just wanted the reassurance that I wasn't alone in the world.

I finally reached for the red envelope. On every occasion I had opened one, I had found ten one hundred dollar bills inside. I breathed in as, this time, I counted ten, then twenty, then thirty, then forty . . . .

I stopped counting, slapped the envelope down in my lap. The amount of money I had received for my first gang-bang was ridiculous. Rather than feel rewarded, I felt even more cheapened, and ashamed. It was my last humiliation.

Never again, Alyssa, I told myself. You've paid your penance. Never again.

. . . to be continued . . .