The Road to Pumpkin Spice Lane

Years ago, I wrote a bunch of stories about the merry prostitutes of the SouthSide Spa and Wellness Center. One of them, Dirty Lizzie Prossi, shows up in a number of them: if you like, she gets a few good references in my Dani And The Christmas Dildo. Feel free to read that too, if you wish, but of course this story stands on its own, completely.

Enjoy!

* * *

The first text arrived as I was fluffing the leading man, my phone chirping by my knee while I licked his scrotum. I groped for the phone, taking care to keep my tongue right between his balls, because I'd long known that he liked that. "Fuck," he sighed above me, rolling his eyes while he texted somebody.

"I know you love that, honey," I mumbled, letting a little throaty burr into my voice, because he liked that too. I knew Troy very, very well, even outside this gross little film set, and there was a reason I was his favorite fluffer. Now he reached an absent hand down and fondled my breast, but I knew he wasn't really paying much attention to me. I spoke up anyway, because Troy preferred his girls to have filthy mouths. "You love my lips on your sweaty nutsack." I kissed him there, loudly, while I cocked one eye down to my phone.

Fuck. Dante had texted me.

"So good." I felt a little buzzy pinch of pressure on my scalp as Troy pulled my hair a little. "Better not let me cum. They'll get mad."

"No worries, baby," I purred, letting my tongue creep slowly down into his crotch, toward his asshole. I switched directions suddenly, engulfing both balls, enjoying his moan. "You're in good hands," I added, gloating a little as I gave him a little stroke up top. His dick was a solid, trembling tower in my hand. I knew how to keep this man on edge. "Or rather, good fingers."

"The best," he rumbled. All around us the film set was busy, the director setting up for a big orgy scene. In my mind I yelled at myself: every time I agreed to be in a movie for Loading Dock Productions, it made me feel disgusting. I hated the fact that I was on camera getting nailed, even though I was always in the background. But the money was amazing, and I needed it. I scanned Dante's text, feeling a twinge in my heart: he needed me.

Goddammit. I was kneeling here with a pornstar's dick in my mouth, when I knew my obligations to Dante were a lot greater: he was not the kind of person you wanted to disappoint. But I had a busy day ahead, and I needed to focus. Troy tapped at my head. "Lower," he rasped, and I understood he wanted a rimjob. Apparently, me licking his taint had given him ideas.

Well. That was all? When you work at SouthSide Wellness, you get used to doing a lot of things dirtier than licking a guy's butthole. So? No big deal. I set my phone back down, crouched lower, and dived in, tongue-first. Dante would have to wait, unfortunately. And so would Troy, hard as a rock, until the director was happy with his lighting and his mics.

I hoped it wouldn't be long. But then I glanced straight up at where my hand crept along that monolithic cock of Troy's, and the pun occurred to me (wouldn't be long! But it already was! Ha ha!), and I chuckled into his anus. Ah, the glorious life of a woman on the edges of the sex industry!

We couldn't all be the leading lady.

Strip clubs had headliners, and they made a lot of money, but most of the girls there worked in much greater obscurity. And at my other job, SouthSide, there were first-call prostitutes and last-call prostitutes, and most of us were in the second category. And here, on porn shoots, for every featured performer like Annabelle Mottola, who could get a tax write-off for her anal bleaching plus the chance of union representation for saying lines?

There were five or six women like me.

I showed up as an ex-girlfriend, or as background flesh in orgy scenes, or just as an extra in street shots. If I was lucky I could get cast taking the leading man's cock during a threesome, but on the whole I was headed for the limbo into which sex workers nudging thirty usually went, at least until they could get cast as a mom in an incest or MILF shoot. And I wasn't there yet.

So? I also worked as a fluffer for an extra fifteen bucks an hour. In the old days I'd have made a lot more, but nowadays there were things like Viagra and only old-school producers like Benji Venture were still willing to pay anything at all for girls like me, who would voluntarily tongue-ream a stranger's shithole for slave wages.

Not that Troy Naylor was a stranger, really. But it was the principle of the thing.

"Okay!" I hadn't caught the director's name, but I hardly needed to. I'd been in four films, and all the crew had been interchangeable parts as far as I was concerned: mostly men, almost all of them way, way too jaded to be impressed at the profusion of tits and ass they watched all day. "Places! We're going to do Take One on the pool-hall orgy! Remember, be careful with the cue sticks! We're only simulating anal penetration! Ken?" He glared over at one of the extra guys. "That's for you. I don't want a repeat of yesterday."

"Got it," Ken sighed. He'd nearly put one of the girls in the hospital while sodomizing her with a cue stick. Fortunately, it hadn't been me.

"Okay. So. Everybody on your marks!"

I let Troy Naylor's butthole push my tongue out as he got up, his hand stroking that massive hog of a cock that got him the big money. "Thanks, Lizzie," he nodded down to me. "We'll do it again soon."

"No problem." I nudged my phone underneath the chair he'd been sprawled out on, then grabbed a Tic-Tac and chewed vigorously. All around me my coworkers were arranging themselves carefully, picking up the pairings and then twisting themselves into the positions we'd all rehearsed. My partner was a guy I didn't know who'd introduced himself as James. "Is that your real name?" I'd asked him.

"Yes. I get credited as Cheston Hurley." I'd nodded; most people in this business take on fake names. Even though "Troy Naylor" would have made a great porn name on its own, he billed himself as Danny B Fein. Annabelle called herself Annie Ripe. I didn't even know what my name was on this film; I tended to jump around. James and I would be in the background, him lying down on a pool table with me riding him reverse cowgirl, so I watched as he hopped up onto the green felt. He was a nice-enough looking guy, but he lacked the dickpower to get himself steady work in this biz.

He'd probably end up as a lighting tech.

The camera guys were getting their lenses all set, and already some of the other actors were in mid-coitus. Troy and Annabelle, who hated each others' guts despite the fact they looked great fucking on camera, weren't on speaking terms; they refused to make eye contact until the camera started rolling, his brown eyes looking vacantly away as he steered his meat into her snatch under the glare of the floodlights.

I sighed and slapped a goopy handful of lube up my cooch. James was already hard, his thumb and forefinger helpfully holding his erection for me to hop onto, and I felt it slither into me with the same old detachment I often felt when taking paid dick. I glanced around, noting the cameras, and figured out that all anyone would be able to see of us was a shot straight up his legs at my nude body, writhing sensuously with his balls squashed under my clit and his hands on my waist and ass.

Poor James (sorry... Cheston) would never even get his face in this movie. He hadn't been hired for his face: he'd been hired so that I'd have something to ride. Because this was porn, and Loading Dock's demographics suggested the customers wanted to see people like me, not people like him.

"That feel okay?" James asked from behind me. Nice guy. He'd even trimmed his nails, I'd noticed, so he wouldn't leave marks on my hips.

"Feels great, honey," I replied automatically. It didn't, really: it felt like just another penis in a lifetime of penises. But I'm polite, so I pulsed myself around him and let him feel me. "I like your dick."

"Oh! Thanks." He sounded surprised. "Okay if I cum?"

He must be a rookie. I stifled a laugh. "It's a porn film, baby. You're supposed to cum."

"No, I mean, like, inside..." Had he not read the contract? I had just stopped rolling my eyes when the director shouted Action! and I started to churn like James' cock was the whole reason I was alive.

He came, of course. They always cum when they're with me. I'd been in this game almost ten years, since I was nineteen; I knew what I was doing. More to the point, Annabelle and Troy finished up their parts, too, so I wouldn't be fluffing anymore after the lunch break.

Well. So much for my extra fifteen bucks.

* * *

I waited around impatiently to make sure I'd get paid, shifting my legs as I leaned against the prop Dodge Charger they'd towed in for the last major scene. But I wouldn't be there when they filmed it. "He'll get it up again," Annabelle grunted venomously, inhaling from her pen as if she'd bought stock in the vape company. "Fucking Troy. He always gets it up, and he always lasts forever. Half the time I'm in movies with him, I end up with a fucking UTI."

"Yeah," I said vaguely. James was still leaking out into my panties, and I needed to get out of there. I'd texted Dante, a little desperately, that I was almost on my way. "Just give me a little time," I'd begged him. "I'm bringing it to you as fast as I can!"

"You better be," he'd texted back, a little more ominously than I wanted. I gulped.

"At least you'll get the last scene shot tonight, if he does." I knew Annie well, from before she'd gotten into porn. We'd worked together for a few months at SouthSide, where she'd been famous for her double-penetration skills. I borrowed her vape pen and drew in a spicy cloud that left my head spinning. "I really need to get going..."

"Got a date?" We shared an eyeroll. Every girl in the business knows that you don't schedule a real date for the days you shoot.

"Nah. I've... got places to be," I waved vaguely, thinking of the delivery I had to make for Dante. "Little drop-off to make. Then Thanksgiving at my sister's."

"Fuck. Thanksgiving." She sighed. "That always sneaks up on me."

"Yeah. It's not til Thursday, but today worked better for my family. She lives out in West Adams. I booked a job on the way, though, and I'm supposed to be there by four. Out in Monroe."

"The college?" She eyed me a little doubtfully. "You're doing outcalls for students these days? You're one of the top girls at SouthSide. That's kind of a comedown, no offense..."

"No! Fuck no." My days of banging undergraduates in smelly dorms for a hundred bucks were long since over. "I'm subbing, actually, for Amanda? You remember her? She started working there right before you left."

"Curly hair? Lots of ass?"

"That's her. She had an easy gig booked, but her dog got sick. It's on my way, so I jumped in with both feet." I smiled. "A thousand bucks."

"Jesus. A thousand? That's a no-brainer." She studied me through the vapor. "Anal? Multiple guys? What do you do these days for a thousand?"

"Nope." I grinned and waggled my eyebrows. "Even easier. I'm there to serve drinks topless, and then? Bukkake before dinner." She barked a laugh. "It's a frat. Those guys are freaks."

"Bukkake." She shook her head and offered me another hit. "I hate those. I always end up with a rash, from all the scrubbing."

"Yeah, you've got to take a shower, like, immediately after." I shrugged. Amanda had made it sound like no big deal. She said she'd already fucked a few of the frat guys, and they were generally not awful. "Anywhere from five to ten guys. Easy money. I should be done by six, and then on my way."

"Not bad. That's good advertising, too." Both of us had been in the game long enough to know the score: you get paid a little for the bukkake, but the real money comes later, when the boys remember you and make an appointment at SouthSide. Or, hell, they just reach out and hire you under the table. Last time I'd done a frat party, I'd gotten three new regulars and a few more one-offs. Not that frat boys made ideal customers, of course: they tended to be flaky and they were often drunk. They also liked to be competitive with each other, meaning they sometimes liked it in public, and they liked it with a little too much spice.

I didn't mind taking a cock in public. But rough stuff wasn't always what I was in the mood for.

Still, their money was as good as anyone else's. Wear and tear was definitely something for Annabelle and I to worry about, though, especially at our age. College guys had lots of dick and lots of energy, and they could get it up a bunch of times. The trick was to get them to pay by the load, not by the hour.

"Anway," I sighed, scratching at my pussy, "as soon as Loading Dock pays me, I'm off."

"Awesome. Hey, it was great catching up with you, girl." We shared a self-conscious fist bump. "I'm going to go rest up. He's supposed to do me on the car hood."

I smiled thinly. "Classy."

"Classy as fuck."

* * *

"I swear I'll be there soon," I texted Dante. He was getting impatient, and it was never a good idea to get on his bad side. "Please don't get mad."

"You better," he texted back after a pause that seemed a little sinister. My heart sank a moment, hoping, praying this afternoon would work out like I needed it to. I had to get that shit to Dante, and it had to happen tonight. Failure was... well, maybe not disastrous. But bad. Really, really bad.

That's one of the occupational hazards a woman like me gets used to: we deal with powerful, pushy men. And we better deliver, or else. I ignored a twinge of uneasiness as I pulled into Fraternity Row.

The men of Sigma Omicron Chi welcomed me politely enough, and I was amazed to find that their house was not a pigsty. "Hi," I grinned when two tall young men answered the door. "I'm Hazel." I wasn't, but I wasn't about to tell a bunch of oversexed morons my name. "I'm here to serve drinks."

"Wow." The guy on the right was a little taller and a little more of an asshole, not even making an attempt to look at my face. He had a weird little twitch beside his nose, and his fingers drummed his thigh constantly. "You're fucking gorgeous."

"Thanks, honey." I arched my back a little more deeply, though with tits like mine it wasn't really necessary. I'd started sprouting those things at eighteen and they hadn't stopped until a few years ago. Men loved them. "Can I come in?"

"Of course." The shorter, quieter guy elbowed his friend out of the way. "You'll have to excuse my friend here. He's sort of a neanderthal. I'm Jeff, the pledge coordinator. Welcome to SigO."

"Pledge coordinator?" I laughed easily, my long experience teaching me that men liked a woman who wasn't afraid to jump right in. "So what's that mean, Jeff?" I laid my hand on his forearm, my thumb stroking his skin as I followed him into a sunken living room. "Like, the pledge of allegiance?"

His laugh wasn't as smooth as mine. "No, no. I manage all the new members. This is their party tonight, a dinner for them to celebrate that they're almost full brothers." He flicked his eyes down my body. "You're the entertainment."

"I sure am, darling." I let him lead me to a huge leather sectional and took a seat, back straight and knees together like I was at a cotillion in the sixties. I've learned that younger clients really love it when you act like a proper lady, even though they know damn well that you're not. I beamed up at the taller guy. "Why don't you sit next to me, honey?" I purred, patting the seat beside me.

"Fuck yeah," the other guy drawled, plunking his butt down way too close to me. I knew the type, a spoiled kid whose parents' money had gotten him plenty of pussy. He was already hard, I knew.

"What's your name?" I was playing up the prim role, batting my eyelashes and all that shit. I wondered whether these boys knew how old I was. I knew I could still pass for twenty-five, but these two looked like they weren't a day over twenty.

"Andrew Breckenridge, but everyone calls me Breck." I could smell the entitlement coming out of his pores. "I'm the chapter president."

"Well well!" I laid my hand on his thigh and made strong eye contact. "A president! I'm honored." I watched while a visible shudder passed through him, the jittery little fucker. I wondered whether he was high, and on what. "Are you the one paying me?" I asked, still sweet. It was important to get the financial stuff out of the way, before anyone ejaculated. "I need two-thirds now, the rest at the end of the party. Or I'll take full payment now, obviously," I laughed. I stroked his thigh as I said it, all absent-like, knowing how it would play on his mind.

"Sure. Take a check?"

"Cash is so much better, honey." I let my hand stroke higher. From what I'd been able to see, he hung to the right. Another inch and I'd be touching his dick. "Would you go get it, please? Then we can relax and enjoy ourselves." I was laying it on thick, a mock-southern drawl tinting my syllables, and I watched as Breck leapt up off the couch in his haste to do what I wanted.

Men can be very easy.

"So. New members, you said?" I smiled, turning back to Jeff. I caught his eyes in my cleavage that time, the little weasel. "I'll need assurance that they're all over eighteen, of course."

"Absolutely.

"And that everything is consensual?" I still wore an innocent smile, but he didn't. The kid was smarter than Breck. I wondered whether he had a girlfriend.

His eyes narrowed. "Honestly? When they see you? Everything will be more than consensual."

I giggled. "That's sweet." I winked. "I can't wait to get started, hon. I'm sorry I had to fill in tonight. Who'd you have here last year?" I knew damn sure it had been Amanda, but I didn't know what name she'd used and I didn't want to doxx her.

"Brandi."

"Awesome. Well. I'm sorry Brandi couldn't make it, by the way, but trust me: I'm better."

He blinked at that, smiling at last. "That's a pretty bold statement. She's been over here before." He licked his lips, transparently remembering his own dick in Amanda's hole. "Bunch of times. She's very well-liked here."

I held his gaze steady. "I love Brandi like a sister, but honestly? I'll make you forget all about her." I smiled warmly. "She told me this was a bukkake, hon?"

His eyes glittered. No girlfriend, then. He really wanted me. "Have you done one of those before?" I just held my smile and cocked my head until he realized what a stupid question that was. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." I wondered how many prostitutes he'd ever met. "You guys are paying for top-tier service, Jeff. I'm a professional. I know what I'm doing." I gave him a thigh-touch of his own. "You won't be disappointed, sugar. I promise."

"So... okay. The pledges are in the basement. We've been hazing them all day, and they're expecting more torture. You're going to, like, be their reward."

I clapped my hands. "That sounds like fun!"

He took a deep breath. "When we did this last year, with Brandi, I just told her when to move on to the next thing..."

"That won't be necessary, sweetie." I said it firmly, my gaze steady. I gave him a second or two of silence to remind him there was a new sheriff in town. "I'll handle everything. Trust me." And I would, too. This would be a walk in the park: a gaggle of nineteen, twenty year olds? I'd get them drunk and then I'd turn myself into their goddess, and it would be easy as hell. I'd suck all their cocks and I'd nibble all their balls and I'd let them put their hands wherever they wanted, until 6:00. Then a quick shower, and I'd hightail it to make my delivery to Dante by 7:00 before all hell broke loose. "All you have to do is relax and watch. And, if you want to join in?" I winked. "Feel free, sugar."

He was about to say something when Mr President bounced back into the room with an envelope. "Here we go!" Breck was already grating on me, and I'd just met him. I had to force a smile when I saw him bound toward the couch, but after I counted my money the smile wasn't as hard to find. The envelope found its quick way into my purse.

"Thank you. I'll need a place to change, and a shower for afterward."

"You can use my room," Breck blurted.

I made myself smile again. "Oh, I'm sure I can." I winked at them both. "Showtime, boys."

* * *

Budding actor and pool-table fuck partner James, and his eager semen, presented a small problem.

He'd blown an impressive load, and apparently it was thicker than La Brea tar, because I was still getting some seepage after an hour. Not much, but any amount was too much. I stood there nude in Breck's disgusting garbage dump of a bedroom and surveyed the clothes I'd brought.

A good professional on an outcall always brings along a few clothing options, especially when it's a group thing that's guaranteed to be messy. I'd packed my bag with the stuff I'd need for Dante, but also with an assortment of thongs in various colors and fabrics to go with the postage-stamp miniskirt I planned to serve drinks in. I'd also hauled a couple of bustiers, mostly out of habit: the waitressing part of the gig was supposed to be topless, but you never did know whether the client would change his mind. I looked amazing in a bustier.

"You could just do the whole thing naked," Breck drawled from behind me. He'd elected himself as my audience while I changed, and since it was his room and I'd already been paid, I didn't make a fuss about it. I'd noticed the little wrap of meth on his dresser, but I'd ignored it along with the two old condoms he'd left on the floor by the bed.

"Oh, I know," I giggled, but it was a fake giggle. Jeff had suggested I just wear the mini and nothing underneath, but the problem was, again, James. The last thing a professional prostitute should tolerate is another man's sperm leaking out while on a call. "I really do want to wear a thong, though. Something that contrasts with the skirt? For visual interest?" I was making all this up, obviously; I didn't give a shit about visual interest. I just didn't want to leak. "How's this, hon: I'll let you pick the color." I went a step further. "And you can keep it when I'm done."

"Oh, wow." He'd sprawled in a chair that needed disinfecting, and now sat there openly masturbating through his jeans. He stared at my body as if he couldn't get enough; I'd had to politely but firmly tell him to put his phone away, though I strongly suspected he had a hidden camera filming me somewhere. He was that kind of guy. "Okay. How about pink?"

"Pink it is," I hummed, selecting the shade I liked least; I teased him, twirling a few times before I stepped into the stringy little thing, giving him a show. I hoped he wouldn't be downstairs to watch me work, but I was resigned to it. A guy like him wouldn't miss blowing his load on me. Probably aim for my hair too, the asshole. I settled the straps over my hips, finally getting a little coverage from his disturbing little eyes. "Then the skirt, and I'm ready for business."

"Jeff and I are tending bar," he leered, staring openly at my titties, "so we'll be there to make sure none of the pledges gets out of hand."

"Great." It wasn't the pledges I was worried about. I velcroed my skirt in place, then fastened the saucy little buckle it had on the side. I fluffed my hair for a moment in his mirror, trying to ignore the stains on the glass. "Done. Do I look sexy, baby?"

"Jesus," he chuckled, his hard-on obvious and crude, "if you looked any sexier, I'd have knocked you up already." I gave him a thin smile, almost sure I'd heard him wrong; there was no way anyone could be quite that vulgar. He got to his feet and made a show of adjusting himself. "Right this way," he nodded, and when he put his hand on my back to guide me down the stairs, I felt like I'd need to be deloused.

It occurred to me to wonder where the rest of the frat was hiding itself as he escorted me through the kitchen. Five or ten new members meant there had to be at least thirty guys living here; where were they? Was everyone going to be crammed in downstairs to watch me put on my show?

Fuck. Was I going to have to satisfy a few dozen college men?

The thousand dollars started to make a little more sense in that context, and by the time we'd started down a nasty set of service stairs, the rising rush of noise from the basement had convinced me I was probably right: I was in for more of a mess than I'd expected. I made a mental note to find a way to get revenge on Amanda for not warning me, but by that time I'd reached the bottom of the stairs and my heels were on the gritty basement floor and I was already grinning, tits out and strutting confidently into the room.

Showtime, indeed.

The smell struck me first, a wave of inadequately applied deodorant swimming above the faint moldy odor of basements everywhere. There was more, too, and I was enough of a whore to recognize what I couldn't consciously detect: pheromones, rising from these men in powerful profusion, buzzing in my brain and horning me up despite myself. I whirled in the middle of a pulsing crowd of excited men (no, customers) and listened as Jeff hopped onto a low-quality sound system. "My brothers, I present to you our waitress for the evening, Hazel!"

It sounded dumb in Jeff's affected DJ voice. If I'd have known I'd be announced like that, I'd have picked a name that sounded a little less like someone's aunt. But the boys around me could not have cared less, a whooping mass of male hormones, several with their shirts off. Hands cupped packages in all directions; already, as I marched over to where Jeff stood at the bar with his eyes shining, I felt fingers on my body, my tits, my ass.

I could have had any dick in that basement, at that moment. And if I wasn't careful, I'd wind up with more than I wanted.

Jeff again did a fine job of keeping his gaze on my face, which I gave him some credit for as I joined him behind the bar and cozied up to him. I reached for his arm and curled it around my waist, pointedly ignoring Breck right next to him. "Get your phone out, Jeff," I whispered into his ear. Perplexed, he stared back for a moment before dragging out a phone and holding out to me doubtfully. "Good boy. Now record me making this announcement," I told him, giving him a lingering kiss on his cheek. "Ground rules."

"Okay." He backed up a little and held up his phone; I twisted around to look at the screen to make sure he was filming before I brought his mic to my lips and took charge.

"Hey there, men of SigO!" I hollered. "How y'all doing on this fine November night?" A chorus of cheers washed over me. Off to the side I saw seven men in blindfolds, all of them wearing nothing but boxers, their bodies covered with graffiti written in Sharpie. "Tonight you guys are going to welcome a bunch of new pledges, and it's my honor to welcome them with you! Let's hear some noise for the pledges!" More whoops, more hands jacking more dicks. The boys in the blindfolds stood there nervously.

I cleared my throat once the cheering died down, glancing over to make sure Jeff was still filming. I'd mentioned the month to give me some cover, and now I gave myself the rest. "So, here's the rules! I'll serve you drinks. You can take pictures, but no video. You can look, and you can touch, but no penetration. If I say stop, you stop. If I don't say stop, don't stop!" I always said that. It made the boys crazy. "I'm here until six, so until then?" I gave an exaggerated wink. "I'm all yours! But the pledges get first dibs!" I'd expected some boos, but whatever. My plan was to spend most of my time jerking off the pledges and stretch things out enough that I'd run out of time before every other penis in this basement could unload on my face.

Might even work.

I traded Jeff's mic for his phone, and he watched me closely as I saved the video he'd just made. I tapped at his screen, sending copies to my own phone and to Heather and Rocco over at SouthSide, just in case I ended up dead in a dumpster someplace. I made sure Jeff saw me send it, making eye contact before I handed his phone back. "You understand what I just did, right?"

"Sure." He even seemed to be telling the truth. I knew his dumb friend Breck would not have been able to figure it out.

"Good. If any of these boys gets out of line, I'll come see you." I grinned fiercely at him, sending my hand out to grab his dick and squeeze. He was hard, of course, and felt like about six inches. "If this goes well? Ten percent off your first visit to SouthSide Chiropractic and Wellness." I jerked him smoothly, my wrist like liquid. "Bring a friend. Or? Don't. I'll give you a personal massage. Offer's good for a whole year. Okay?"

His eyes glazed a little, and once again I accepted the fundamental truth of my profession: that even the smartest man becomes a fool once you get your hand on his cock. It's how we make so much money, how we've always made money. History is packed with wise men who make bad decisions because women are willing to lay them. My route to a better life was the same as millions of my sisters, dating back thousands of years: learn to fuck correctly, crank your moral compass down near zero, and the world is your oyster.

Or, at least, your geoduck.

Time to go to work. I took a tray off the bar, let Breck load it with glasses, and whirled off into the moldy forest of hands and cocks, there to seek my fortune among the brothers of Sigma Omicron Chi. Well... not quite. I already had my fortune, secure in my purse up in Breck's room. Now it was time to pay the price, and so I put on a sexy smile and I arched my back and I paid.

* * *

It took half an hour for the new pledges to get their blindfolds removed, after all the brothers had lined up and swatted them with big heavy paddles; I watched with some curiosity, since I had a professional interest in spankings, but mostly I just kept hauling booze and getting palmed. One guy tried to get out of line, a dude with an oily complexion whose middle finger got a little too grope-y as he cupped my cunt, but Jeff showed that he was a useful man: I only had to glance at him to get him over to help me, and he sent the guy off with a cuff to the back of the head. I rewarded Jeff with a hand down his pants, then gave him some tongue before I went back out there.

I made sure I was right in front of the pledges when their mentors whipped the blindfolds off. I wanted them to get a treat.

Jeff was back on the mic by that time, reminding the crowd that events like this were a big part of what made SigO one of the closest frats on the campus. "Just as all of us have gone through the Initiation Ejaculation before, our new brothers are going to go through it tonight!" Cheers, increasingly frenzied, as the pledges looked doubtfully at me. "Everybody ready?"

"I'm ready!" I shouted, taking my cue. The festivities were moving along, but I was eager to get done with the gig and hit the road. I knew nothing about anything as dorky as an Initiation Ejaculation ritual, but whatever floated their boat was what I was getting paid to do. And it wasn't like this was my first time under a cum fountain. I knew what I was doing. I picked the first pledge in line, who stood there in tighty whities with dicks drawn in magic marker all over his chest, and marched straight up to him. "Hi," I said brightly, pressing my tits up against his graffiti. His eyes bulged and so did his meat, poking the front of my miniskirt. "I'm Hazel. Welcome to SigO." I figured I should give him a kiss, so I went right ahead and did it. The guy was tentative like a virgin, and I wondered whether he was one. I threw my tongue into his mouth, tasting vodka, and cupped his balls before I moved on to the next guy and repeated the process.

I was on the fourth pledge before he figured out what role he was supposed to play. Slow-ass motherfuckers.

"Welcome to SigO. I'm Hazel," I murmured into that guy's ear, but he was already burrowing under my skirt and grabbing my buttcheeks to the wild hooting of everyone else in the basement. "Ooh! An eager one," I cooed to him, sticking my tongue into his ear. "Getting excited, big boy?"

"Fuck yeah." His eyes were as glassy as most of the rest of the crowd's, but his dick was considerably harder than the other three had been. "You're gorgeous."

"Thanks, bud." I went with the energy, running my hands down his back and shoving his boxers straight to the floor. They hung up on his dick, but this was the kind of problem I'd dealt with many, many times before. The volume in that room rose a good twenty decibels when I got him naked, the place feeling a little like the audience at a Roman gladiator thing; these guys were at their peak, and I was about to put them over. I leaned up on tiptoes and gave my new friend a really, really juicy kiss, jacking his dick at the same time. "Want to cum on my tits?" I asked in his ear. I laughed when he twitched in my hand. "You won't have to wait long, stud," I purred, moving on to Pledge Number Five. "Hi. I'm Hazel."

The last guy was the sharpest, or maybe just the least drunk: he knew the score, and he was ready for me when I finally got Pledge Number Six to let go of my boobs. "I'm Hazel. Welcome to SigO," I grinned at the last guy, but he'd already pulled out a thick, straight penis even before I got up to him. "Well! What have we here?" I laughed. My hands knew what to do, snaking low to play with him; before I'd even gotten within six inches of this guy, his balls were in one palm with my fingers twirling his pubes.

He was heavy. Massy, like a paperweight.

"I've got a fat dick for your whore mouth," he snapped, a little cruelly, but it wasn't like I could say much; he was exactly right. He did have a fat dick, I was in fact a whore, and my mouth was most definitely destined for his cock. The cheering grew rhythmic, a rolling wave of stomps and claps, and I decided the time had come to move things along.

This was what I was good at. It was what I knew how to do.

Quickly I crouched, conscious of the grit on the floor and my bare knees, bringing my face down to the fleshy meat I was gripping. He really was nicely hung, the kind of guy who'd be shattering pussies all over campus; it was no mystery to me why he'd been the one to present himself to me. I knew my looks could be intimidating, and he'd just seen me rub up on six of his best friends, and I'd been throwing off my usual vibes: that I was the hottest little bitch these people would ever see, let alone touch. I'd been an unattainable sexual phantom as I'd approached him.

And yet? He'd pulled it out and handed it to me.

That's what the world calls big-dick energy, but my coworkers and I just called it a fun, confident man to play with. There are lots of times when this job is a drag, but guys like this made it a pleasure. I didn't wait, my saliva already sloshing on my tongue, leaning forward and sucking that big cock straight into my mouth.

No, my whore mouth. That's what he wanted, and that's what I'd been paid to give him.

I was raring to go, the sexual tension in that little basement stinging me, giving me the energy I needed to suck down seven cocks and come back for more. This guy would be the lucky recipient of my freshest efforts, and he stood there with one hand on his hip and the other on my head and grinned down at me.

My throat bloomed up, swallowing easily, because that's why people pay for women like me: no matter how big the cock, I can take it deep without crying or gagging. So I did, feeling the solid heft of his plummy head sliding past my tonsils while my hand felt his balls shake on my palm. My other hand reached out blindly to my left, grasping, willing one of the other pledges to get the message and lay his cock across my magical fingers.

It happened. I didn't even know whose it was, because that's how bukkake works, but it happened. A hot, eager shaft slapped down onto my hand and I started pulling immediately, like a wind-up toy whose motor is overloaded, jerking that dick for all I was worth.

And? With that? The dam burst. No more shyness, no more inferiority from these pledges. Jeff was ridiculing them on the mic, the rest of their big brothers yelling at them, urging them to get a piece of me, and seeing me swallow that beautiful big cock was the starting gun they needed to hear. They crowded around me before I had a chance to bob more than twice on that first cock, before I'd even pulled on his low-hanging balls.

I already had my game face on, but as the hard-ons surrounded me I moved smoothly into that weird limbo I'd always associated with paid sex... where I wasn't really there, as a person. As Lizzie. I was just a woman's body, doing what my customers thought a woman's body was supposed to do, with Lizzie off to the side watching.

My other hand flapped around, brushed a thigh, followed the skin around to nab its cock. I arched my body, forcing myself down the dick in my mouth until his pubes tickled my nose, and then I shook my head like a dog shedding water. "Fuck," I heard from high above me, my customer amazed at what I was doing, but by then my hands were each jerking a shaft of their own and some other pledge was resting his balls on my shoulder, his head nudging at the side of my nose with his precum already glazing my skin.

Really, it's amazing what a boy in heat will do. Like my nose could do anything for him!

I let myself choke a bit, knowing that first guy would be feeling the pulses in my throat; vaguely, in a detached way, it occurred to me that Jeff knew my contact info and could get this man's penis to SouthSide for a little go-round for pay, later. If he liked me, and so far he did, I'd have myself a nice little sugar pit, a fun cock to ride on my own turf. I slid my head back, mindful that I had a job to do, and left his thick erection bobbing wet and shiny in the heavy air.

Time to get serious. Already naked thighs and naked cocks were buffeting my body from all sides, and I needed a better stance. I tore at the little buckle at my waist, the velcro ripping free, and then my skirt was on the ground before me. I smoothed it quickly and then landed my knees on it, settling in, planting myself. The balls at my shoulder needed attention, and he was thrusting there persistently, so I turned my head and sucked him. The corner of my eye showed me more balls, more precum glistening from more heads, and I reached blind hands out to seize whatever I could.

Directly in front of me stood the man I'd deep-throated, Number Seven. He glared down at me with his hand a blur over his spitty cock. The room seemed to shake, the fraternity brothers making enough noise to make the walls quake. Someone moved in behind me and knelt, thrusting wildly with his dick between the cheeks of my ass. And above it all, I was aware of Jeff keeping a running commentary.

"There's Kyle, reaching in to get a piece... that's it, Kyle! Twist those nipples! And I've got Grant there, getting his dick sucked, and man she looks good, doesn't she?" A roar of approval made me feel proud that my body was doing such an amazing job, my hands and mouth working furiously. I was in a groove, with no real idea how much time was passing, because the grim reality was that I wouldn't be done until I was wearing seven loads from these guys. It didn't matter how long it took.

The Lizzie that needed to hit the road and make my delivery to Dante was somewhere else.

"Remember, pledges, you can't get initiated until you nut all over Hazel! So let's get it going, men!" I could only agree, switching off hands and mouth as smoothly as I could. Behind me the guy on my ass was humping me like a monkey, his fingers reaching fully around to grapple my tits: each palm had a big meaty handful, and now he was panting in my ear and I felt he was about to pop. "Looks like Ackerman back there is getting into that ass... that thing's not inside her, is it?"

I spat out the cock in my mouth. "Hell no!" I shouted, laughing like a maniac. The cheers had been deafening, but now they went mindless, feral. "More!" I demanded, ducking between a random pair of thighs to suck on my second or third pair of balls that day.

"Get it, Ackerman!" The crowd chanted, the hands on my titties tightened, and I heard a choking grunt in my ear; I grinned around that scrotum, because I'd heard dozens of men cum, and I knew that grunt. A hot splashy line traced its way up my spine, my butt just too much for Ackerman.

Whoever he was.

A loud wave of applause swept the crowd as Jeff shouted into the mic, but I only had brainpower for the six loads I still needed to take. The guy whose balls my tongue prodded was masturbating furiously right above me, his eyes huge up there, and I felt pretty sure he'd be next. In my experience, bukkake is a lot like vomiting: when the first person goes, the rest tend to fall like dominoes.

The crowd had organized itself around a chant now, a wild scary rhythm: Paint that bitch! Paint that bitch! Paint that bitch! they cried, clapping and stomping. I felt a sudden hard push, a hand on my forehead holding me steady, the guy I thought of as Scrotum Boy slowing his hand over his shaft, pointing his dick at my face with a cold gleam in his fevered gaze, and I knew his load was on its way before Jeff could start freaking out on the mic.

I opened my mouth hopefully, but no. This guy wanted my eye.

The volume was impressive, the force less so; his cum was pretty watery, and it slashed across my face in four or five hard, dripping lines. Two down, five to go. I blinked away the stinging white muck, seeing a vacant cock off to the side with my blurry eyes, and I lunged for it with my mouth wide. Focus, I told myself, my tongue working in its harsh, even rhythm over the ridges and veins of yet another organ. I was just getting into tempo when the noise in the room went dull, as though I'd just put on headphones.

Oh. No. It was a load straight into my left ear. Three down.

Hands clawed at my thong suddenly, pushing it down, and I figured that was no big deal; nudity made cleanup easier, and I was giving the thong away to that odious reptile Breck anyway. The clapping from the crowd seemed louder now, and I realized slowly it was because someone was spanking my ass; I bent a little to let everyone see, and when I looked up I saw another hand skating up and down another slick cock, another pair of bouncing balls, another pair of wide eager eyes...

Neck and tits this time, a thick splatter of really impressive proportions. The third rope went into my mouth, tasting hot and a little sweet. Three more loads, then I could take a break. Or, hopefully, time would be up.

No! I told myself sternly. It doesn't matter how long it takes! Focus, bitch! I blinked, a cramped hand reaching up to swipe away sweat and semen, summoning my professional pride and straightening my back. I could feel thick warmth dripping off my chin and my nipples, little rivers snaking down my spine and my belly. Another guy was pushing his head past my lips now, and another pledge (daring, this one) was actually working his shaft between my thighs, the rich velvet head plucking along my slit in a highly risky way... if I bent over, even the slightest bit, he'd slip his dick right into my coochie.

Bold. And risky. I liked it.

I focused on the two guys in my mouth and between my thighs, feeling their rhythm and letting my body move with it, my knees going numb now. My other hand was packed with cock, and I figured it was probably that last guy, the one who'd pulled his own meat out when I'd introduced myself. I heard Jeff on the mic again: "Drew, living dangerously down there near her pussy... don't fuck her, Drew!"

Paint that bitch! Paint that bitch!

The man in my mouth was losing it, rabbit-fucking my face, and I knew what that kind of speed meant. I curled my tongue up, spearing the tip of it right underneath the bottom of his cockhead, knowing he wouldn't be able to last with that kind of stimulation. I even had time to make eye contact, wanting to finish this guy off so I could enjoy the novelty of that one guy behind me, the mysterious Drew, using my thighs and cunt to get himself off. And maybe, just maybe, start to get me off, too.

Without much warning, the guy in my mouth lost it. The first rope went straight down my throat, and a lesser woman probably would have coughed him out; I am not a lesser woman, though, and I kept eye contact as his dick did its dance on top of my tongue, my mouth filling with thick starchy goo. He pulled out at last, panting hard, and I opened my mouth and let all his hefty load go gushing onto my boobs along with strings of my spit.

Five down. And Drew, I could tell, was not going to spend more than another minute or so in the land of the un-cummed. I evaluated what was going on between my legs as I cleared my stinging eyes again, feeling his cockhead knocking at my door, and I was about to twist around and tell him to knock it off when I felt his fingers tighten on my hips the way James' had, in what seemed like days ago, just that morning on the pool table...

Drew left my thighs and belly covered with a branching web of spunk, though most of it landed on my miniskirt. Too bad, but the poor mini was probably trashed anyway. I threw my head back and laughed loudly, delirious, my skin coated from forehead to thighs, knowing I was down to my last man.

Who was, of course, my first man.

The mic roared. "So all that's left is Big Rick. Get in there, Ricky!" I glared up at him, challenging, judging, reminding him that I'd already deep-throated him once, and I could do it again.

I heard my voice croak out, coming from somewhere beyond thought, beyond instinct. It said what my body wanted it to say. "Get over here and fuck my face, you bastard!" I snarled, wild, my whole body tingling. He needed to hurry; Dante wasn't going to wait all night, and I knew that the cum would be drying all over me already. That shit's a bitch to get off if it's really caked on. I reached out like a cat stalking her prey, my hand latching onto his dick with lightning speed. "Come on. Let's do this."

Paint that bitch! Paint that bitch! The guy really was thick, a top twenty-five percenter for sure, but I was a pro and he'd be no match for me. He squared up, hands behind his head, legs parted, showing off for his new brothers. I understood what was happening here, of course: Big Rick was thinking he'd show the whole frat that he could outlast any whore in town. He was looking to build his sexual reputation, knowing it would get around campus that even a pro couldn't make him cum until he was goddamn good and ready.

Well. He had another think coming. I knew all the tricks, and him spreading his feet had given me an easy opening.

I feinted at first, drawing him in, letting him think he had me on the ropes: I let a little gargly choking noise come out of me and then clawed frantically at his balls, like I was in trouble, and he raised his arms Rocky Balboa style... but then I went on offense. My jaw ached already, but I was focused. I jammed my head back down to his pubes, my throat working his head, and just as I felt his confused hands try to weave themselves into my sperm-streaked hair, I attacked.

Quick as a snake, my hand released his ballsack and darted back through his thighs. He was a big guy, powerfully built, but I'd been with men of all shapes and sizes and I had a good sense of where his asshole would be. My finger drove in straight as an arrow, plunging right up into his hole to my second knuckle.

Prostate massage. Gets 'em every time.

He shivered over the length of his whole body, a sharp gasp rewarding me from above; I was focused enough that I could hear it even over the thumping crowd. I shoved further, digging into his dry, tight hole, fluttering my fingernail to match the rhythm of my throat squeezing his head.

Done. No problem. Big Rick gripped my hair spasmodically, his knees weakening in front of me, that girthy dick of his getting even more rigid as he started to lose it. Guys had told me it could be uncomfortable to cum that way, but I didn't care. Time was passing, and I had places to be. I knew what to do, spitting out Rick's dick and wrenching my head back against the pressure of his grasping hands; he was about to rip out a brutal load, and he clearly wanted me to swallow, but I'd been paid for bukkake so he'd damn well shower my face.

Paint that bitch! Paint that bitch! The guys crowded behind him were elbowing each other, pointing, laughing, seeing what I was doing back there in his shitter. I held him tightly, impaled on my finger from behind and gripped by my hand on his dick up front, grinning up at him as he shook his head in disbelief. I gave him a saucy wink, knowing I'd won, as with one final shove of my finger I jerked that fat dong once, lazily, almost contemptuously. "Go ahead, big boy," I sassed him, my grin spreading across my sperm-caked face.

He surrendered with an epic collapse, his knees bending, almost slumping to the ground with the force of his orgasm. His load roared out like a bullet train, fire-hosing my nose and lips, then streaking up toward my eyes and down toward my collarbones, five strong thick spews that left my last pledge trembling in bliss.

The basement erupted as I dropped his cock like a hot potato, leaving Rick to stagger back into the crowd. I rose up off my trashed miniskirt like Venus on her half-shell, proud, nude, and covered in cum. Fuck yeah, I told myself, raising a victorious fist toward the ceiling. It's always nice to do your job well, and I let my hips sway as I strutted back over to the bar where Jeff and Breck stared at me the way a pilgrim stares at an altar.

"Hi, hon," I nodded at Breck. He had a glass of something in his hand and I nabbed it, pouring the booze straight back, not even coughing as the tequila made its way down my strained throat. I slapped the glass back onto the bar. "Take me to the shower, huh?"

It didn't feel like six at night, and I was pretty sure I was supposed to take a few more loads. But I felt like a shower, and the way Breck was staring at me I knew he wouldn't whine if I skipped out early. Especially if I let him watch me shower, which I figured I'd agree to. We left the basement to the shaking tremble of thirty or forty stomping, rabid males, as Jeff urged them to "give it up for Hazel! And welcome to our new brothers!"

Breck didn't say much as he led me up the stairs. I'd encountered this kind of situation before, a lot of guys acting all cool and manly before they saw what I could do, and then clamming up when they realized they'd be no match for me sexually. I passed nude and dripping into his bathroom, giving him a smile through my mask. "Wanna join me, sweetie?"

"No thanks," he said a little quietly, and I wasn't shocked. Guys sometimes get weird about other guys' cum, I'd noticed. "The towel's not that clean," he apologized.

"No problem." It was a problem, but I was too much of a pro to let him know. This was a frat house, though, so my standards were low. I was aware of what I'd find in his shower: a filthy floor and a bar of cheap soap with pubes on it. Better than a full-body semen mask, though. "If I don't see you? I appreciate the job. I'll grab my bag and head out as soon as I'm out of the shower."

"Cool, cool." He seemed in a hurry to get back downstairs. "I'll, uh, talk to you later, then." I doubted that, but as long as his shower worked, I didn't really care. I plunged underneath the hot water as quickly as I could, beginning the laborious process of sperm removal.

I was still scrubbing when the police showed up.

* * *

Ironically, things probably would have gone a lot more smoothly if they'd gone ahead and arrested me. But as soon as I saw the name of the investigating officer on the paperwork at the police station, I knew an arrest for me was not in the cards. "Sergeant LaFratta's in charge of this bullshit?" I snarled at the worker-bee who'd given me the paperwork. I was in no mood to be fucked with. My shower had been interrupted, the clock was ticking, and Dante was not a patient fellow.

"Yeah." The badged meathead's smile had that studied nonchalance they taught at the police academy. I felt a certain strange affinity for cops, who also worked with sleazebags and had to put on an act all the time. "Want a lawyer?"

"No, dickface. I want Sergeant LaFratta." Affinity or not, they were still my enemy. "Pretty please. With sugar on top." At the time, I'd just wanted to get the fuck out of there and keep up my journey to make my delivery to Dante, who was probably blowing up the phone the cops had confiscated from me. I knew I could get LaFratta to cut me loose, and there was even a chance he'd let me go with my bag... but maybe not. The paperwork said this was about drugs, not vice, so I was kind of in uncharted territory here.

"He's a very busy man, sweetheart." The drone was really pushing my buttons. "I'll get you a coffee while you wait."

"No. You'll march on over to wherever Sergeant LaFratta is hiding and you'll tell him Liz Prossi from SouthSide wants to see him. If he pretends not to know who I am, just mention the word 'pegging' and tell him his friend Dani was asking about him. He'll come see me right away," I spat out.

"Dani?" The drone raised an eyebrow. He was a new guy, probably from the last recruit class. I knew some girls from SouthSide would come and find him eventually. There's a reason prostitutes fuck cops, and LaFratta was my reason tonight. "'Pegging?'"

He'd find out for himself, soon enough. "Yep. And I want to see him right away, so go fetch." My manager kept an eye on the local paper, and whenever they reported police promotions, we went to work. Any cop who made detective or sergeant got a visit from us, and usually some free entertainment. Which we filmed, obviously. LaFratta's footage had been memorable. "Please."

The drone looked troubled, clearly not used to such confidence from a whore he'd just found in a drug sting, sitting in a police interrogation room in nothing but the bathrobe and underwear they'd let me put on against the chilly November evening. "When I get around to it," he'd smiled, still nonchalant, but it hadn't been more than two minutes before he decided it was time to get around to it.

My tax dollars at work, clearly.

LaFratta poked his head in, all snarly. Bad Cop, clearly. "As soon as I saw your name on the report, I knew I'd have to come have a chat with you." He closed the door and drew the curtain over the one-way mirror, which I knew was mildly against policy. "You're in a world of shit, Liz."

"Am I?"

"You were busted in the shower of a frathouse bedroom full of methamphetamine, with a thousand dollars in your bag. So yeah, I'd say you're in a world of shit." His eyes glittered. "Lots of evidence of sexual activity in the basement of that house, too. What were you doing there?"

"Serving drinks."

"And what were you doing after that, Liz?"

"Calling a lawyer." I smiled slowly, even a little cruelly. "If I have to."

He sighed and sat down heavily. I remembered him well. We'd known we'd have no real problem getting to him, because for years there'd been rumors about him doing things like stealing evidence and fucking students when he'd been a school resource officer, so he was obviously open to corruption. We'd offered him a free massage and then I'd held his head in my snatch while my protege Dani had gone to work on his ass, something he'd been unexpectedly into. We'd let him finish in my cooze, and the whole thing was on video. "You're not under arrest," he admitted heavily.

"Great. Then I'll be leaving now." I glanced at the clock. "I've got to get to my sister's for Thanksgiving."

"But those guys at the frat? They're definitely under arrest. And when they start talking about what you were doing there?" He shrugged. "Like I said, world of shit."

"Good thing I have a friend on the police force to stop them from pinning everything on me, then. Right?" I was starting to feel nervous, though. I knew LaFratta, but I didn't know Breck and his band of merry assholes. And there were limits to what LaFratta could do for me.

He shook his head a little gruffly. "Might not be up to me."

"I've got a little sextape on Dani's phone that says otherwise."

He flapped a dismissive hand. "Hearsay. They can do anything with AI these days."

"But you want to help me out, anyway. Don't you?"

"If I was looking to jam you up, you'd be in cuffs already." He leaned over the table. "My boss is going to start asking why you're not, pretty soon."

"Good thing we've got him on tape too, then, isn't it?" It was a blatant lie; I didn't even know who his boss was. I chewed moodily on my lower lip. "So. I'll just take my bag and get going."

He smiled a little hollowly. "Too late. That bag is evidence in a drug case."

"Look, keep the bag. Whatever. But there's something in there I need, and you should let me take it. I won't even touch the eight hundred dollars inside," I offered, and I saw from his raised eyebrows that his math skills had not deserted him. He could keep the two. It'd be a stiff price, but it was a whole lot better than disappointing Dante. I softened my voice. "Please."

His head-shake made my heart lurch. "Nothing I can do. Not tonight, anyway. Call me tomorrow. Next day. I dunno."

"I need it tonight."

"Tough shit." He shrugged. "Life's full of problems, Prossi, and everyone's got their share. I'll go see about cutting you loose," he added, pushing his chair noisily back. "Just wait here. Want some coffee?"

"Fuck off." I could use a breath mint, but I wasn't about to show this asshole any weakness. He rolled his eyes as he left, the door snicking quietly behind him. This was a shitty can of worms I'd opened, and I knew it well, but I also knew I wasn't going to spend the night in jail. If I could only get Dante's shit out of my bag...

Regardless, I realized with a sinking sensation in my belly, LaFratta didn't like me nearly enough to get me out the door as quick as he could. I was supposed to be at my sister's house by seven, and it was already six-thirty. My pegged sarge would drag his feet, I knew; I'd be lucky to get over there by ten. And without Dante's delivery, too, waiting in my bag in the evidence locker.

Fuck. Dante was probably beside himself. I cringed when I pictured the shit he'd say to me, and he'd be right. I'd said I'd make the drop, and I hate it when someone makes a liar out of me. Especially with a guy like Dante.

A knock at the door, which was enough to make me perk up and take notice. This was a police interview room. Only lawyers knocked, and I hadn't asked for one. Instinct told me to sit up straight and let the bathrobe yawn open just a little; in a cop shop, the odds were that the new arrival was a male, and a brutal male at that. Showing a little boob was usually wise, with cops.

Not this time though, apparently. The face that peered around the edge of the door was sweet, cute, perky, eyes devious in a frame of auburn hair. It was a face I knew, and I couldn't stop a cynical smirk from twisting my lips as I slumped into the chair. "Well. Shit. To what do I owe such a friendly visit, Sophia?"

Her name wasn't Sophia. I knew it wasn't, but I didn't know her real name. She was famous among the whore population all over the Bay: everyone knew her, which was why she couldn't do vice anymore. Too bad, too; she'd made an outstanding prostitute. She looked and acted the part, and it was barely acting. She just liked sex, a lot. The rumor was that she'd been deep undercover at Kurvy's and had barely escaped alive. She winked at me. "Hey there, Dirty Lizzie. How's it hanging?"

"Your husband was hanging fine, until he met me. Now he's not hanging at all, since I've got him hard all the time." You always go on offense with the police. "Did he tell you I let him have my asshole, Soph?"

"Like I care," she sneered, taking LaFratta's old seat. "We've been split up for a couple of years now. You know how it is. I'm so good, he couldn't keep up." She smiled at my cleavage. "Or maybe you don't know how it is. You're, what, twenty-seven now? On the downslope, Lizzie. Soon you'll be a loose fucking hag." She cupped her pussy crudely. "Unlike me."

I didn't move. I'd barely been here an hour, and police paper moved slowly. That meant she'd seen my name on the contact sheet and rushed right over. Must be important. She hadn't shown up in this room just to mock me, and that meant I had cards to play. Now I just had to figure out what they were. I glared over at her, in no mood for her bullshit. "First things first. What the fuck is your name?"

She bristled, but shrugged anyway. "Julie."

"Julie. That's a bitch-ass name." I really did want a cup of coffee, but I'd be damned if I asked for one from this idiot. Time was wasting. "What do you want from me? Or are you just here to see what a real woman looks like?"

Her eyes didn't smile. "Do you remember the time I busted you? Outside Webster's Roadhouse? Caught you giving head to some drug dealer."

"Jimmy Navarena."

"Exactly. He's a snitch now," she smirked, "and not a very good one. Anyway. You remember my partner when I made the arrest?"

I didn't, really. I remembered Jimmy because he'd had a wonderful way of using his tongue, and because he'd always been nice to me. This wench's partner, on the other hand, had been an asshole. "Tall. Looks like he's in a cigarette ad. Baseball name?"

"Aaron DiMaggio."

"Yeah. Fuck him. He was a rude little creep." I raised a slow eyebrow. "You hitting that shit?"

"I let him have a piece, occasionally." She sent her eyes to the side, checking the curtain and the recording system. "He's got goals. He wants my ass."

"Your shapeless, flat ass?" I wasn't really trying to push her, but I still didn't know what I had that she wanted. "It'd be like fucking a guy."

She shrugged. "I was thinking I'd offer him yours, Lizzie."

"Go suck a dog, bitch."

She didn't smile. "Fuckin' LaFratta told me he's cutting you loose, but if I wanted to I could slow-walk that shit until the sun comes up." She was right, and I knew it. "Or? I could get you out of here in half an hour, free and clear."

I took a deep breath. I was afraid that if I didn't, I'd sound too eager. You didn't want to give anything away to the cops. "Half an hour?" She nodded, just once. "And all I have to do is let your little boytoy have my shitter? No thank you. I'll wait."

"Nah. I said I'd offer yours. I didn't say he'd get yours."

I glared at her for a long moment. No way could I ever trust this chick, but what she was saying didn't sound like anything legit. That meant it could get her into trouble, which meant I'd have something to hold over her. My mind raced, but I had other things to think about. "I also want something out of my bag. Your little brothers in blue are holding a bunch of shit of mine, but I need something out of there. Tonight."

"Is it drugs? Cash?" I shook my head. "No problem, then."

I checked the clock again, my mind racing. "What's the deal? Why do you want my asshole?"

"I don't, you conceited lot lizard. I want my partner to learn a lesson." She smirked. "Your asshole is going to teach him one."

"I don't follow."

"No, I don't suppose you do. You're not as smart as you look." I soaked up the insult because she didn't really mean it. She was just making small talk. This was how the game was played. She'd tell me. She just wanted to put me in my place first. "I need his pants off. Then I need him fucking. You're going to handle both of those things for me."

I shook my head. "That's it?"

"That's it."

I narrowed my eyes. "What's the catch?"

"The catch is that he's going to think you're me." She watched with a glint in her eye as the sun rose in my tired, suspicious mind. A smile sprouted out of my lips without my even wanting it there. "Yep. Now you get it, you dumb whore."

"Slut," I hissed in reply, but actually my mind was racing. I could get more out of this, I understood at once. This was penetration, and that was worth a lot. Julie, who I'd once known as Sophia, knew that firsthand. I did the math, quickly, trying to figure out what I had to gain. "How's he hung?"

"Six inches or so? Not too thick." I was sure she was lying, but I was also sure that this guy probably wasn't some kind of donkey. Which was good. I had no desire for a UTI.

I raised both eyebrows. "I'll do it. But I also want a ride, afterward. My car's all the way back at the University, but I need to get up to Sugar Hill as fast as I can. Like. Lights-and-sirens fast."

She was jotting down notes. "Where?"

"Pumpkin Spice Lane. Just drop me off somewhere on the street and forget about me."

"Easy enough." She studied her notes, then lifted wary eyes to me. "Describe this thing you need from inside your bag. I'll sneak into the evidence locker and grab it."

"No. I'll get it."

"No. You won't. You want the package? That's the deal. I've got a reputation to uphold around here. I can't be letting streetwalkers into the evidence room." She watched me absorb the slur, knowing how I'd take it. I forced myself to keep my face neutral, even though I hadn't walked the streets in many years. In my game, you work your way up. And slinging cunt on street corners or truck stops is the lowest layer on the pyramid.

I nodded slowly. "Fine." I gave her a description of Dante's package. "Don't fuck it up. That shit's valuable."

"I don't give a rat's ass," she replied evenly, giving her hair a contemptuous auburn flip. "You'll get your little toy. And when we're done, I'll toss you in the back of a cruiser and get your diseased ass up to Pumpkin Spice Lane. We have a deal, Dirty Lizzie?"

I cocked my head, but I wouldn't think about it too long. Of course we had a deal. The clock was ticking, and she knew it. "What's your plan, pig?"

* * *

Her plan was a shitty one, as it turned out, and I had a hard time believing it would work. But she had me over a barrel, and it was already almost seven, and I was more impatient than I could remember being. She smuggled me into the janitorial closet while LaFratta was still pretending to expedite my paperwork. "You fuck him in a broom closet?" I groused as we snuck inside. "I have no idea how you ever convinced those mobbed-up pricks at Kurvy's that you were a pro."

"Magic, bitch." She settled into the corner behind a shelf and dug out her phone. "We ready? I'm going to text him and get his ass in here. When he comes in, the light will be off and all he'll see is your bare ass pointing at him, with my clothes down around your knees."

"That's the worst part of all this," I muttered, "is that you're making me wear your stupid granny panties."

"You got your package and you'll get your ride. So. Shut the fuck up." She tapped out a text. "DiMaggio will already be hard, because he's always hard. He'll come in and shut the door. My face is right down here next to yours, so when I talk to him, he'll think it's my ass he's tapping."

"This is the dumbest fucking shit I've ever been a part of. You realize that, right?"

"You've been arrested eleven times, Lizzie. You've been a part of a lot of dumb shit." This was, I supposed, fair enough. So I dropped Julie's pants and leaned over the sink. "I'll say some breathy sex shit; all you have to do is just stand there and take whatever he dishes out. Until I get him to try your butt." She giggled, ecstatic about her own plan. "And then I turn the light on and he looks like a fucking idiot. Every cop in this station will know what a dumbass he is."

I shook my head. "How will you know he's knocking on my backdoor?" I asked, all hushed. DiMaggio was already on his way. "What's the signal?"

"Oh." She hadn't thought about that. "Well. By that time, it won't matter because I'll put the light on right away. So you can talk. Just say 'he's putting it in my ass' or something." She patted my shoulder, her face close enough that I could smell coffee. "And if things get fast and it goes in, just a little bit? I'll give you some of the meth we found at the frat house."

I was not into drugs, but... hell. Resale. "Fair."

"Cool. Just relax." She giggled in the dark, the two of us waiting for her little asshole of a partner to come fuck me. "This is awesome!"

"This is stupid."

"Shut the fuck up. He's coming." I bent deep, arching my back with my head drooping over the far side of the sink. All he'd see was ass, and my cuntlips in between my thighs, and with any luck that would be all he'd need. I mean, he was a man; it probably would be all he'd need, I reflected. After all, I'd done this before; how many times, as a streetwalker or a massage girl, or on outcalls with nervous groomsmen, or while bent over a counter at a crackhouse... how many times had I waited like this, open and ready, a rented vagina for the hard cock of a strange man?

Hundreds. A thousand. I relaxed, my forehead resting on the soap dish, listening in the dark for the sudden crash of the janitors' closet door. I knew it would come. And then I'd hear the brash voice of the man, bold like every man with an erection and then he'd whap my ass just to hear the smack, kicking the door shut behind him. Another touch of my butt, smoother, a caress, and then that other touch down below, the warm concentrated velvety touch of a streamlined, mushroom-shaped tip.

I'd tilt my hips just the right way to open myself up. Just so. And then we'd be off to the races. It occurred to me to wonder whether this cop normally gloved up, and I was just about to risk asking the crouching caffeinated woman beside me when it happened: the snap of a doorknob. The slash of hallway light winking into the little closet, only to be snuffed out right away as Detective DiMaggio sneaked in to fuck his woman. "All horned up, are ya?" His voice fit my image perfectly, cop-bold and literally cocksure, way above me. Already I heard the clink of his belt buckle.

Showtime. Julie spoke up, close enough that I felt the warmth of her breath against my cheek. We were almost touching, like you would if you were awaiting a kiss. Teasing, in a weird way. Her voice was a husky grunt for him, but I could almost pretend it was for me. "I've been waiting all night with a wet cunt, Aaron. Come put it in me."

"Yeah," he snickered, the rustle of clothing filling the little closet, "I bet you have." I kept still when I felt his hand on my butt, curving abruptly around to slide straight between my thighs. This man wasn't messing around. I twitched involuntarily when two confident fingers penetrated my pussy, his thumb worming up through my buttcrack seeking a hole to slip into. Despite myself, I gasped.

This was fast. I'd been expecting a little foreplay, a way to get my mind into the game. But this cop had other ideas. I shuddered a little when he started working those fingers, and Julie picked up on it. "Fuck, baby," she whined. My eyes flew open in the dark, hand white-knuckling on the rim of the sink when he chiseled his thumb into my butthole. Deep.

"Like a fucking bowling ball," he chuckled. I gritted my teeth as he manhandled me, his fingers reaming both holes. "You like that?"

Julie had no idea what he was doing to me. "Fuck, baby. Feels so fucking good," she cooed, and I just had to stay quiet as he played back there. It gave me a small sense of satisfaction to know he'd try this shit on her, too, sometime later. But you said it felt good! he'd whine when she protested, but after a few more seconds of that, things started happening down there.

Unwelcome things.

Because the truth was, this man was great with his hands. He flicked his middle finger downward, quick and fluttery, strumming against the backside of my clit in a way that made me suspicious about why Julie wasn't fucking this guy 24/7. His thumb in my ass had gone from surprising and unwelcome to daring and exciting, and I shook my head in frustration as my body started to heat up. No experienced pro likes to feel herself lose control, and this situation in particular was a place where I needed to keep my wits about me.

Or I might find myself getting buttfucked by the police, and not even metaphorically.

But his fingers kept on teasing, and my vag kept on leaking, and Julie's breath beside my face kept on urging him to keep it up... "Just like that, baby," she gasped, putting a little catch in her voice just where it belonged. Dear lord, this woman would have made an excellent whore. I rolled my eyes sideways in the pitch dark, sending out ESP waves as fast as I stupidly could, willing her to shut her piehole.

Because I'd bargained for a cock nudging at my sphincter, a quick police prank before I could be on my way to make my drop to Dante. I hadn't bargained for an orgasm in a janitor's closet at a cop shop. But it was on its way, and I was more than experienced enough to know it; a day of fluffing and bukkake, it seemed, had had an effect on even my jaded genitals, and Detective DiMaggio's skilled fingers were waking them right up.

I caught a gleam beside me, Julie's eyes flickering toward my face, and realized with a humiliated stir in my gut that I must have moaned. DiMaggio's laugh was what you'd hear from a thief making a successful score. "You like that, huh? My thumb in your ass?"

Julie thought quickly, and unwelcomely. "Be better if it was your fat cock, baby," she whined. No! my brain yelped at her, but it seemed my new favorite cop had about the same idea about the same time.

"Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing," he snickered. I felt a cool emptiness as he yanked his fingers out, then a contemptuous smear when he drew his hand across my bare ass, wiping me from his fingertips. A dull, rounded warmth lingered at my crotch: clearly, he was already dragging his cockhead along my flesh. "Might need to get my dick wet first though, huh?" I felt an experimental prod at my taint, then another. "Your legs must be spread more than usual. Get that pussy up here, Jules," he snarled.

Fuck. Detective Lindberg must have longer legs than me. "Fuck yeah," she burred as I arched a little more, getting my slit further out. "Put it in there, stud."

"Fucking slut," he muttered, and there he was: trawling, running his eager dick between my fat lips, getting himself all horned up. And me too, the asshole. I hated this kind of tease unless I was getting paid to put up with it, his head painting my labia slowly. Greedily. "You're so wet."

Julie didn't have anything she thought she could say to that, the glimmer of her eyes still on me as her partner took hold of my hips and got ready to plow. Six inches or so, she'd said. Not too thick. I'd assumed she was lying, and I was about to find out firsthand. There was a moment of fat, heavy silence in the dark, that peaking moment before your roller coaster shoots down the hill, a second or two of weird anticipation.

And then his fingers clawed and his hips moved and he took me.

I felt him slide in the way the good ones often do, strong and sure and with just that perfect level of force so you know you're going to get the right kind of dicking. Julie had, indeed, been lying: this guy was girthy as hell, his cock a solid thick weight taking up every inch of my vag as though it belonged there. I'd fucked a bunch of cops, and most of them had that same alpha-male confidence this guy did. And underlying the gliding speed with which he pushed in was the nagging awareness that he couldn't have gotten it in there so easily if I wasn't wet as fuck.

His voice gloated out of the dark. "Nice," he muttered; I heard a wet noise from way up there, where his mouth was licking something, and then without any warning at all he shoved a salivated thumb right back up my butt. He laughed when I flinched away. "I love it when it squeezes me like that."

Julie must have thought he was talking about my pussy, and to be fair, he could have just as easily been. She spackled some generic verbal filler over the uncertainty. "Fuck me, baby," she pewled.

"You know I will," he promised, backing out, and then with a slap of thighs he sent it straight back into me. I groaned despite myself, feeling my whole body shudder. "I love how you take that dick," he sneered. He jammed back in twice more, fast and vicious, and in those harsh shoves I could sense how their relationship worked: two coworkers, both assholes in a profession that called for assholes, who constantly felt the need to compete with each other.

They probably hated each others' guts... but Julie Lindbergh can't have hated his cock. That thing felt great. And she had to have a decent pussy, I reflected dully as my thighs bumped the sink in rhythm to those long, deep-dick thrusts. I knew mine was great, and this guy was obviously fooled by Julie's little prank. He thought he was fucking his partner.

So? He got into it. "I love how you fought against fucking me for all those years, Lindbergh," he sneered, his legs clapping loudly against mine. His dick was a hot bar inside me, sawing over my clit like a violin bow over that loud, shrill string, hitting me just right. "Not fighting now, are you?"

"No, baby," Julie sighed, her voice perfect. I could see the gleam of her eyes in the dark, watching me closely as I shook like a marionette to the punishing force of his thighs. "You're so fucking good."

"Yeah. I know." He was, too, a first-class lay, driving into me with fury, his thumb plunging into my asshole in time with my thrusts. He had that frat-boy drawl to his voice, a sort of sexual certainty he was backing up every time his balls swung against my clit. "You dream about this cock in your ass," he gloated. He's got goals, she'd told me. He wants my ass. I felt more energy from his thumb, then the rough gargle of a man hawking up a healthy load of saliva. "I'm going to take it right now, you dumb bitch."

Goals.

"I'm finally going to plunder your fucking shithole," he went on, low and venomous, still wedging that dick into me with a strong, fearless rhythm. It almost made me want to give in to him, let myself go, allow him to feel my vagina flutter around him in orgasm, but no. I needed to pay attention. I couldn't lose it.

But Jesus, I wanted to. The day had been a blowtorch aimed at my libido, and it would feel so viciously good to let my hole have its fun. "You'll be walking bowlegged for a week when I'm through with you," he promised. Yep. I couldn't lower my guard.

"I just might let you," Julie gasped beside me. "Fuck, you make me feel so good."

I'd have bruises on my thighs from the edge of the sink, I knew, and I didn't even care; that's how good the sex was. He was an animal, and I like it when men get like that. The little closet stank of sweat and cunt, our legs beating out a fast drumbeat of clashing flesh, and as he slid in and out I once again felt it, that pull, the seductive temptation to let him give me an orgasm...

"Shit," Julie whispered next to me, sounding all breathy, "I'm going to cum, you fucking asshole." Vaguely I realized she was trying to keep the show on the road here, to keep things moving, but my willpower wavered as soon as I processed what she was saying... it sounded like permission... he'd be expecting me to go spastic, to start milking his dick...

And then he'd gloat some more because he'd made his woman get there. The confidence would peak. He'd pull out, raise it up higher, and start to smack it into my anus. And then I could end this stupid farce and get to Dante.

And it could all start with an orgasm from me.

So maybe I was persuading myself. So what. I deserved a little pleasure out of this sordid, fucked-up day, so I started to clench around him and get myself there. He jammed once or twice more, sharp and cruel, his nails digging into my hips, and that's all it really took.

Well. That, plus a day of fluffing and cum-showers. And a nice, strong dick splitting me open. And this disgusting little closet, all naughty and secret... I felt my jaw drop, the pleasure smashing into me even harder than his dick, a sudden deep wave of warmth tingling all through my battered body and my tired brain.

I don't know whether Julie sensed it, or whether I grunted or something, or whether she was just acting out her role, but she squeaked on cue and faked a honey of an orgasm while my body surrendered itself to his glorious dick. He was still railing me when I lowered my head and gripped the cheap sink and accepted the wave, letting it toss me and move me and sweep me away, and then back after it had had its way with me.

A thousand times I've had orgasms. It's always different. And it's always perfect.

This one hummed through me in a molten gush, tensing me and then slackening me, leaving me panting with the shaky tempo of Julie Lindbergh's squeaks, and the whole time that beast behind me just kept plowing, using me, chuckling now as he finally slowed. "You're such an easy slut." The contempt hit me just as his spit did, a warm spatter right near his thumb, and he wasted no time scooping it into my butthole. "This ass is mine. Finally."

"Fuck," Julie bleated, and I could hear the excitement in her voice even through the soupy post-orgasmic fog I struggled through, the sensation of the detective prepping me for anal feeling weird and distant, much less intimate than the orgasm I'd let him give me.

"Ready or not," he grunted, his voice thick with lust. The hot velvet bar in my cunt withdrew, no doubt shiny with my juices, then the head dragged straight up my taint to meet his thumb. "Been waiting for this for a while, Lindbergh, you stuck-up bitch."

"Quit talking and put it in me, motherfucker," she snarled back, and there was no mistaking the loathing in her voice. He just giggled and began to prod, searching my anus in the dark, until he found it with a little snicker of triumph. I could feel it clearly, the dark little nubbin of his cockhead prying me open, invading me, popping past my sphincter as he breathed deep and pervy above me.

I stirred. "Now." It was almost a sigh, very nearly disappointed, the excellence of my orgasm giving me a sense of loss because of the nasty little trick I'd let Lindbergh drag me into, but it was too late for regrets. At some level, DiMaggio deserved to cum, deserved my ass, but that just wasn't in the cards. I stayed where I was, bent deep over the janitor's sink, my body slack and wasted while Julie sprang her trap.

Her phone was already recording as she leapt up from beside me, reaching high for the ball-chain dangling from the light bulb on the ceiling; this was obviously a move she'd done before, a closet she knew well, no doubt from sordid little fumbles in there with various other cops. The light was an unwelcome explosion against my eyelids, for I'd already closed them: my ears told me what was going on, clear enough. "Motherfucker!" she laughed, her voice shrill.

"What the fuck!" He said it as the pressure against my anus ceased abruptly, his dick popping out like a champagne cork. "Who... what?" I sighed, still tingling a bit, then opened my eyes and twisted my head around to look over my shoulder and watch the show.

Detective Lindbergh crouched by my butt, nearly quivering with excitement as she held her phone camera squarely on Detective DiMaggio. He stood there like an idiot, his face as shocked as if he'd just seen someone murder his pet cat, staring straight at Lindbergh's phone while his glimmering hard-on pulsed and trembled out away from his body like a cannon seeking a target.

Then Julie laughed. And the cannon never did find where it needed to shoot.

His cum roped out in four strong, futile spurts, thick and white, arcing gracefully through the air for the unblinking eye of the camera while Lindbergh jeered. "Nice load, jerk," she cackled as his semen found nothing but the floor, the poor man far, far too shocked to actually enjoy the twitchy shudders of his own overexcited penis.

I watched, strangely disinterested, as his slow and hateful eyes slipped from me, to Julie, then back a few times. "You're shitting me."

"Detective Aaron DiMaggio," his partner giggled, for the narrative purpose of her phone footage, "ass-banging whores in the broom closet. And not even managing to cum where it belongs."

"Should have known." His voice was heavy, malevolent, and I could hear retribution in it. He'd take this out on Lindbergh, somehow, and I wondered whether she could hear it too. It would be harsh. He glared at her, policeman-bitter, with one final pearl of cum wobbling at his cockhead for the glee of Julie's phone. "She felt about twenty times better than your sorry snatch, Lindbergh," he spat. "Too good."

Julie couldn't stop laughing. "Fuck off, DiMaggio. The day you get my asshole is the day I've got no other options." She flicked the phone toward me then: in the footage, I look back with a vaguely sour expression. "Take hers instead, but you're paying for it one way or another."

"Fuck you, Lindbergh," he grated, his voice low and ominous as he pulled his pants up over that lovely big dick of his. "This isn't over."

"Yeah, but your orgasm is, you fucking asshole!" she grinned after him as he stomped from the stinky closet, leaving just she and I to relax a little. Her gaze toward me was a lot cooler than how she'd studied her partner. "Thanks."

"Whatever." I still felt tingly. My feelings were complicated, but mostly I was just pissed at this woman for messing with such a fantastic lover. Did she not realize what she had? DiMaggio was a master. I straightened, my hips protesting after a long day and lots of action, and plucked my pants up my leg. "There. I did your stupid sex prank. Now it's time for you to hold up your end, detective. And I'm in a hurry."

"Yeah, yeah. Hold your shit together." She watched me dress, her eyes shrewd. "I'll be holding this over his head for the next two or three years. Let me enjoy this, whore."

"Enjoy it on your own time," I snapped. "I want my package, and I want it now. So. Go fetch."

His voice had meant bad things for her, I knew, but no worse than her glare meant for me. A police detective made a bad enemy for women in my profession, but I was in a rush. And Dante was waiting. So Lindbergh and her touchy temper could be tomorrow's problem.

The clock was ticking onward, tonight.

* * *

She'd held it out to me, then snatched it teasingly out of reach as I went for it, but I hadn't been in the mood for any of that kind of bullshit. Not after the day I'd had. "Give me the fucking package before I beat the shit out of you, cop or no cop."

She'd laughed, but her eyes had glittered dangerously as I'd ripped it from her hands. "Tread lightly, streetwalker," she'd muttered.

I'd looked with disgust down at the wrapping I'd taped so carefully, now all mussed and torn. "Jesus. You opened it?"

"I'm a detective. Searching things is what I do." She'd leaned casually against her desk. "That? You have to make a rush delivery of that?" She'd laughed again, and this time she'd meant it. "I can't believe you gave up your diseased cunt to my sleazy partner to get your hands on that thing. Not to mention about an inch of your ass..."

"Fuck off." Already I was thinking maybe I'd look up Detective DiMaggio's number and make him an offer that might be fun for both of us. I figured he deserved a proper shot at me, and besides? I could charge extra for roleplay.

But that was for later. I'd stormed from the room toward her promised police cruiser, and now as we pulled onto Pumpkin Spice Lane, I was still stewing. The cop-drone behind the wheel was some rookie, clearly intimidated by Detective Lindbergh and just as clearly aware of what I did for a living. I caught him several times looking sideways at my tits, and I even thought about asking him to pull over so I could get into the backseat instead.

Wild world. Porn films, bukkakes, getting near-buttfucked in a broom closet, and now enjoying a voluntary trip in the backseat of a police cruiser. I chuckled at myself, checking the time: all this, and I was only going to be about forty minutes late. And that was good, because Dante was famously impatient. I watched the houses go by and smiled at the drone. "You can let me off right here, sweetie."

"Okay." He seemed to have been told to be on his best behavior, or maybe he was just tired, or rookie-nervous, or both. Either way, he was keeping his thoughts to himself, keeping a near-total silence as we drove... all except for those eyes of his. And I could hardly blame him for that. He eased into the curb a few doors up from my destination; I didn't want anyone I knew to see me coming out of a cop car. "Have a pleasant evening, ma'am," he said quietly.

"No problem, sugar." I wondered what he would do if I leaned over and sucked his dick. "Happy Thanksgiving, in a couple of days."

"Uh, thanks." I felt his eyes on my butt as I scooted out and started a brisk walk up the sidewalk through the cold. My excuses for Dante would have to be good; he was not a patient fellow, but as I knocked on his front door I found myself without any words. Because sometimes, with guys like him, honesty is the best policy.

The door swung open and I looked down at him, staring solemnly up at me. "Hi, kiddo. Sorry Auntie Lizzie is late."

He nodded, his eyes stern. "Did you bring me my present?" he demanded.

"Of course, honey." I pulled the package out of my purse and handed it to him with my best smile. He'd been asking for a toy spaceship, the one they use in that Attack Horse Mecha Invader anime, and I'd had to order this one all the way from fucking Thailand. I beamed as he ripped away the shitty wrapping Lindbergh had left me with. "Your mom wanted me to wait and give you this for Christmas, but this can be our little secret."

"I'll never tell anyone," he promised solemnly. I was just gathering him into my arms when I saw a shadow fall over us. "Mom! Auntie Liz is here!"

"Hey, sis." Abigail smiled down at me, but her eyes asked a number of questions. "Glad you could make it. You're in time for dessert."

"I can't wait." I stepped into a house that smelled like turkey and pumpkin pie, and sounded like my family. I held Dante's little hand as the door closed behind me. "You have no idea what kind of day I had."

She raised a slow eyebrow. She knew some of what I did for a living, but not all of it. "Well. Come inside and take a load off."

I nearly laughed. I'd taken several loads already that day, but now wasn't the time. Now was for laughter and food and some wine, and a nephew happy with a spaceship I'd fucked for.

And when I saw his smile, it was all worth it.

* * *

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