Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 176002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
I try to imagine Josh here, fucking another woman in a room like mine. Squalor.
“What was she like?”
“A nice, blonde woman in her fifties, going through a divorce. She hadn’t fucked her husband in years. Hadn’t fucked anyone in years, actually. She was taking it wild. Working through every fantasy she’d ever had.”
I contemplate leaving it at that, but I’m just too curious.
“What fantasies did she have?”
“They ramped up in time. Degradation and deepthroat, at first. Wanted to be told she was a horny, cheap bitch as she gagged on cock. The opposite of the demure, meek little wife figure she’d been acting out through a twenty-year marriage.” He pauses, shooting me a glance. “It was as though she was chasing the white rabbit down the rabbit hole, getting addicted to pushing her boundaries.”
My heart thumps, thinking of Josh’s cock in another woman’s throat. Right here, in my part of town.
“Where did it end up with her? How far did she go?”
“You really want to know?”
I nod. “Yeah, I do.”
“She’d kneel in the filthy, mouldy shower room, and I’d piss in her face while she was fully clothed. She’d still be soaking wet when I forced my fist in her pussy, and she’d squeal the whole fucking place down. Incredible really, given that she’d been practically virginal for a decade.”
“Sounds quite something.”
“Yes, it was. In my experience, it’s not just us entertainers that go further and further down the naughty list. The clients go there, too, looking to tick off more and more boxes.” Josh takes hold of my hand. “I was happy for her when she got with a friend she’d known since high school. She’d always referred to him as a vanilla ice cream, but apparently not.” He laughs. “They got drunk together one night and she confessed her sins. He took her straight to the bathroom so she could demonstrate them. They’re still together, as far as I know.”
“Wow!”
“Yep, indeed. She was a lovely woman. She always made time for a decent glass of wine with me when we finished up. She had a brilliant, loud laugh, a bit like Tiff’s. She’d clutch her sides and double over whenever she talked about her evil queen of a mother-in-law and her nasty, tutting bullshit. She’d put up with a lot of it.” He laughs at the memory. “She finally gave her the middle finger when the divorce papers came through.”
He talks about his client so fondly, and with so much respect that I stare up at him in a weird kind of half reality, not quite sure what to make of it.
Does it turn me on, or squick me out? Or both? I’m not quite certain, so I file it as surreal for now, like so many things in my newly forming world.
I’m still staring up at Josh when a raucous yell thunders down the street.
Three idiot university-age guys are hanging around on bikes, clearly with nothing else to be doing, since they’re clearly not at university. Or at work.
One of them does a wheelie, then shouts in my direction. Shouts at me.
Gonna let us write SLUT on your tits? Give us a show! Come on!
What the holy fuck?
My cheeks burn up as one of them flings a load of coins down the street towards me. They bounce along the pavement, pinging all the way.
That enough for you to get your cunt out and fuck us against a window?
Oh shit. Of course.
I stop in my tracks as I realise. George Grove and Steve’s window were so close to home I should have been wary. I should have figured word would spread.
Just like my legs had.
I feel like such a fool as my cheeks burn up. I wonder if all three of these guys saw the show in its full glory. I remember the way I screamed at full volume… the way I blew a kiss to the crowd like a slutty showgirl…
I must have been out of my head to think it wouldn’t cross the pathetic little abyss between his place and mine.
“Shit. Don’t worry, we can come back another time,” I say to Josh, embarrassed as fuck as I tug at his hand, but he shakes his head.
“To escape those pathetic little pricks? Not a chance in hell. They can fuck right off, the sad little dipshits.”
I look up at the bulk of a man with his hand in mine, so steady as he stands tall. His eyes are filled with a steely rage I’ve never seen in him, his jaw gritted as he squeezes my hand, then keeps on walking. Faster.
“Josh, we can go. Seriously…”
“We don’t need to. They can piss right off.”
The assholes are still jeering, spinning on their bikes around the street by my place until we get closer, then they line up, facing us next to my pathetic excuse for a garden fence as they keep on yelling.