tagErotic HorrorEnglishman In New York Ch. 01

Englishman In New York Ch. 01


Samara lay silently underneath the man, closing her eyes against the sight of his contorted and ugly face but keeping her legs spread as wide as possible. She couldn't complain; after all, he was clean and had taken a bath recently so his scent wasn't the problem. It was his gut. She should have never decided to take a fat man to bed but $400 dollars was too much to pass up. $400 dollars, bareback. His gut pressed into her abdomen and she was finding it almost impossible to draw a full, deep breath. Besides that, his pubes were rubbing her clit raw and it was becoming painful.

Finally, he sped up, humping her as if his very life depended on it and pounded her already sore hole until he was cumming. He jerked upward with each ejaculation, making her think of a whale leaping out of the water and four wet squirts later, he rolled off of her, both of them gasping for breath.

He wiped his face and looked over at her. "You were good."

"Uh, thanks." She sat up and patted his heaving middle. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

"Not at all. Just make it fast. My wife will be back any moment."

Samara stood, squeezing her legs tightly together to keep his watery sperm from sliding out. She managed to keep most of it in until she could sit on the toilet and use her muscles to express it out. She used a few wads of toilet paper to clean the mess, dabbing at the insides of her legs and trying to dry the lace on the top of her garter belts and stockings. Not bad, she thought. She flushed the toilet and headed back into the hotel room, wondering if she had any douche in her room. Might have to get some on the way home.

"Will you be on Essex tomorrow?"

"I don't know. Might be." Samara put her hand out and gave him her sweetest smile when he put four one hundred dollar bills onto her palm. "Want another date?"

"Yeah. Don't find too many whores who do it without a rubber."

Whore. She hated the word but it did describe what she was. She sighed and plastered the fake smile back on. "Well, come find me when you're ready."

The soft smack of the door closing behind her was comforting and Samara walked as quickly as possible to the elevator. She passed an older couple that gave her a mean look and she unconsciously tugged at the high hem of her pleated skirt, knowing that it wasn't going to cover the baby doll stockings and pink garters. The elevator came and put her out of their misery and within minutes, she was back on the street again, breathing in the fresh air of New York City.

Samara had lived in NYC for nearly four years and had been prostituting for almost the same length of time. A chance meeting in a bus terminal when she'd run away had hooked her up with Clarence. He was always on the lookout for fresh meat and her sixteen-year old body had fit his bill perfectly. Another girl, Tania, had taught her how to play the 'ho' game and in no time at all, Samara was making money, most of which was claimed by Clarence. When he was gunned down by a pissed of meth dealer, she turned to Gibson, another pimp who kept a better stable. She made better money with him but he required all of his girls to ride clients bareback. At first, she had balked, giving free oral and using condoms on the side but one of the johns had complained and a severe beating had changed her mind about crossing him again.

She headed down Essex and decided to take the alley back to Gibson's apartment. Her feet were killing her and she was pissed off that Tania had taken her old black fuck-me pumps without asking. Fucking cunt! She'd have to have a better lock put on her door. Gibson would probably see to it for her. A shadow detached itself from a doorway and she froze in mid-step.

"Good evening." The voice was low and cultured with an English accent like David Bowie. "Are you free tonight?"

"I'm not free but I can be bought."

He came into the light and she smiled, thanking whomever was upstairs that he was tall, rangy and handsome. "How much?"

"Depends what you want."

"I want you to suck my dick and swallow my cum."

"No rubber?"

"No rubber. What's the cost?"

"$300." He gestured for her to follow him and they went back into the same dimly-lit alcove that he'd emerged from. He immediately started to unzip his pants. "Money first, professor."

Once he forked over the money and she had checked it and put it away in her wallet, she knelt on the dirty ground, waiting as he opened his pants. His cock popped out, thick and hard and she made a sound of appreciation as she reached for it.

"Nice cock. Sure you don't want to fuck?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

Samara didn't know and would never know what happened after that. All she would remember was the sudden, blinding flash of silver in the light, a burning sensation across her throat and her head being jerked up by the hair. His cock disappeared from view and suddenly, it was impossible to breathe. She struggled, trying to loosen his grip but found that her arms felt like lead weights and that her focus was blurring.

He just smiled and using her hair, lifted her head up until his cock was brushing the wide incision he'd made in her neck. Her warm, spurting blood coated his rod, making the entrance slick and velvety. Perfect. Simply perfect. He thrust again and again, his body shaking as she gurgled and struggled and he fired off his load, just as she took her last breath.

Perfect. He tossed her aside like the refuse she was and zipped his pants, enjoying the feeling of her viscous blood trickling through his pubic hair and drying on his testicles. Simply perfect.

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