Chapter 46

I was alone, sitting in the corner of the cabaret, legs crossed with a deliberate slowness, letting the slit in my dress slide up almost too far — but not quite. The high heel pressed firm against the worn wooden floor, while the red and amber lights of the room painted me in a warm, sinful glow, like every shadow falling on my skin was a silent invitation.

The glass of whiskey rested between my fingers, which twirled it slowly, as I scanned the room through the thick haze of cigarette smoke hanging in the air, like a veil blurring what was real and what was just the act. The music in the background — an old blues tune, the kind that screams heartbreak — amped up the sinful vibe. I didn’t smile. I just waited for some sorry bastard with cash to buy a piece of me.

My eyes drifted lazily around the room. There wasn’t much interesting in that empty night besides one guy staring at me, trying to sweet-talk me while probably forgetting he was in a whorehouse and I was a woman for sale.

I felt it, even without looking. The weight of his gaze cut across the room, stripping me bare with the precision of someone who knew every inch under that dress. But to anyone watching from outside, he’d just be another john sizing up some hooker.

Only the two of us knew the truth.

This was our game. Our fantasy. He played the guy paying for it, I played the woman giving it up. No love, no ties — just raw desire, pure performance. A script we wrote together, every move rehearsed, every silence loaded with hidden intentions.

When he stood up and walked toward me, I didn’t look away. I just uncrossed my legs, let the dress settle back against my body, took a deep breath, and waited.

Like a pro would. Like his whore would.

He approached with confident steps, stopped by my table, and leaned in slightly, with that bored attitude that only made the game hotter.

“Takin’ any customers?”

I lifted my gaze slowly, letting out a sigh that sounded like impatience, but it was all part of the show. I crossed my legs again, letting the dress ride up a little higher.

“You see anyone else sittin’ here with me?”

He smirked from the corner of his mouth, pulled out a chair, and sat down across from me, with that cocky calm of a guy who thought he had the upper hand.

“And how much you charge, you little whore?”

I didn’t flinch. I just tilted my head a bit, letting my hair fall over my bare shoulder, and wet my lips before answering.

“How much you willin’ to pay?”

He laughed, in that way that came off like contempt, but I knew: it was pure excitement in disguise.

“Depends… you do the full service?”

I let the silence hang between us for a second, like I was sizing him up, weighing if he was worth the trouble, before answering with the same cool, the same bite.

“The works…”

I looked at him, making up a price — I had no clue what an hour with a hooker cost. “Five hundred bucks.”

“Deal!”

He grabbed my hand, and I led him to the room with slow, almost lazy steps, like I had all the time in the world, like I already knew exactly what was gonna go down in there.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, he slammed the door shut, while I was already ahead, slipping my panties out from under the dress and letting them drop silently to the floor. I sat on the edge of the bed, legs parted just enough, one hand on my thigh, the other sliding along the mattress edge, faking total indifference.

I tilted my head, lifted my eyes with that blasé look I’d practiced so much, and asked, voice dripping with fake disdain:

“You want a blowjob to get that thing hard, sir?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Guys always want their dick sucked.

Without waiting for an order, I leaned forward, yanked his belt with a sharp, precise tug, and unzipped his pants, feeling the heat from his body escape, thick and throbbing. The zipper came down with that muffled rasp, and I slid my hand inside the fabric, finding the bulge still half-asleep but already stirring under my touch.

I gripped his cock firm, felt the hot skin, the growing weight, and pulled it out, letting it rest in my palm for a second while I looked up at him from below, with that gaze of someone who did this every damn day, out of duty, for cash… but with the flawless technique of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.

I leaned in and ran my tongue slow over the tip, just to wet it, just to tease, before taking him all in, sucking hard, no gentleness, like a whore would, like a pro with no time to waste.

He let out a muffled sigh, and I smiled inside, but kept my face neutral, focused on the job.

I worked my head in a steady rhythm, firm, letting saliva drip, soaking, slicking every thrust of my hot mouth around him. I felt his cock pulse, swell, harden, thicken until it was rock solid, throbbing against my tongue.

While I sucked, I kept my hands busy: one squeezing the base, controlling the pace, the other sliding up his thigh, his belly, tugging his pants lower, leaving him more exposed, more vulnerable.

When I felt him fully hard, totally ready, I pulled my mouth off with a wet pop and looked up, licking my lips like I was wiping away the excess… or gearing up for the next round.

I leaned in again, closer to his crotch now, and whispered, with that same fake contempt:

“There you go… damn, sir, you’ve got a nice cock!”

I said it, sounding impressed, with that mix of compliment and tease. “How you wanna fuck me?”

I lay back on the edge of the bed, spreading my legs wider so he could see my pussy, wide open, on display — the best goods in the house, part of our game, part of my role.

He didn’t waste a second.

“Get on all fours, you slut. For what I’m payin’, you talk too damn much.”

I played offended, raised my eyebrows like I wasn’t expecting that treatment, rolled my eyes, let out a dramatic, heavy sigh, before obeying.

I turned slowly, letting the dress bunch up at my waist, and got into position just like he wanted: on all fours, ass up high, offering what he’d just bought. I braced my hands on the bed edge, arched my back, stretched my legs out, and felt the cool night air brush my hot, exposed skin.

I heard him come up behind me, pants still half-open, the muffled clink of his belt leather against fabric, the scuff of his shoe on the carpet. I felt his hand grab my waist hard, pulling my hips back a bit more, adjusting me like he was handling merchandise, prepping something he’d just acquired.

I stayed in character to the end: quiet, submissive, ready for whatever.
But what came next… that wasn’t acting anymore.

He held me tight by the waist, digging his fingers into my skin, yanking me back toward him roughly. And without warning, without any warmup, he slammed into me all at once, violent, angry, like he was done pretending, like he needed to own me for real, right there, right then, no matter the cost.

“You whore…”

He growled, burying himself in me brutally, while I let out a hoarse, muffled moan, the air rushing out of my chest.

The thrust was so deep it arched my whole body, gripping the bed edge harder, trying to steady myself, trying not to collapse under that savage assault. I felt him tearing into me, filling me up beyond what I thought I could take, all the way to the bottom, until it hurt… and it did hurt… but that pain was what made me feel alive, on fire, pulsing.

“You slut… filthy bitch…”

He kept going, through gritted teeth, pounding hard, fast, rough, each thrust slamming my body against the bed, shoving me, breaking me down, making me moan louder, unable to hold back anymore.

His hands clamped my waist, then slid up, grabbed my hair, yanked my head back, forcing me to arch even more, to open up, to give myself completely.

“Look at me, you bitch… look at me while I fuck you!”

He demanded, pulling harder, drawing out a moan mixed with a wild, delirious laugh, because in that moment I wasn’t anyone anymore… just a body surrendered, a pussy spread wide for him to pound whenever, however he wanted.

And he wanted it.

His cock plunged in and out of me in a frenzied, uncontrolled rhythm, wet, messy, making that obscene slap of flesh on flesh, juices mixing, desire burning up to the edge.

I felt my orgasm building fast, rising up my legs, my belly, like an electric current making me shake, making me bite my lip so hard I nearly broke the skin. My thighs quivered, my core clenched, my chest heaved wildly, while he fucked me like he wanted to split me in two, destroy me, mark me forever.

“That’s what you like, huh? Being treated like the whore you are…”

He spat, with that raw, animal voice, while he filled me, devoured me, invaded me without mercy.

And all I could do was moan, scream, my pussy clenching tighter around him, sucking, pulling, begging for more, for everything.

I was totally lost.

I felt my body opening, dissolving under him, as the pleasure consumed me from the inside, exploding before I could hold it, before I could even warn him.

“I’m… gonna…”

I tried to say, but the words broke off, because right then he thrust deeper, harder, and I came hard, with a raw, desperate scream, contracting all over, squeezing around him, milking every inch, every throb, every plunge like it was the last.

The orgasm ripped through me like a violent wave, shaking me from head to toe, sweat trickling down my back, legs giving out, arms trembling, while I held the position, on all fours, spread open, surrendered, fucked in a way no act could ever touch.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept pounding, kept calling me whore, slut, slapping my ass, yanking my hair, fucking me until I thought I had no body left, no strength, nothing.

And when I thought I couldn’t take anymore… he groaned loud, guttural, and buried himself to the hilt, gripping my waist so hard he left bruises.

I felt him cum inside me, hot, thick, spurting hard, filling me, soiling me, marking me in a way no shower, no time, no clean sheets could erase.

I stayed there, still, arched, head down, breath ragged, feeling him empty into me, feeling his cum trickle down my thighs, warm, sticky, while my own orgasm still pulsed, throbbed, making my whole body hum.

He released my waist slowly, took a deep breath, and stepped back, leaving me there, open, exposed, skin marked by the slaps, the pulls, his force… and my pleasure.

I smiled to myself, still panting, still slick with wetness, still feeling his body inside me even after he’d pulled out.

I collapsed forward, lying down, laughing and spent, arms stretched out on the bed, chest heaving, trying to catch my breath.

“Enough of this whore shit… come lay with me…”

I said, between laughs, voice still cracked from the exhaustion and the climax.

He curled up with me, lay beside me, pulled me by the waist, tucked me against his chest, and we held each other, bodies still hot, still stuck together, while kisses mixed with laughter, sweat, and rest.

“Since I gave you the full treatment, you’re gonna pay me for real!”

I teased, glancing at him sideways, with that sly smile, legs still tangled with his.

He laughed, running his hand through my hair, pulling my head in for another kiss.

“You’re too smart for your own good… I can fuck you for free… why pay?”

“But you didn’t say free… you agreed to five hundred bucks!”

I insisted, raising an eyebrow like I was collecting a serious debt.

He burst out laughing, squeezed my ass hard, and shot back, nipping at my chin:

“Babe… that’s why every whore gets paid upfront.”

I laughed loud, wriggling in his arms.

“I’m callin’ my pimp!”

I threatened, between giggles, biting his shoulder, tugging with my teeth, making him flinch and laugh along.

Between kisses, teasing, and laughs, we wrapped up our night, wrapped in each other’s arms, satisfied, marked… partners in crime in yet another fantasy we always knew how to live like no one else: dirty, intense, over-the-top, ours.