Roam Wild Page 2

  I say, “We’ve done it.”

  Chapter Four Together

  When I enter the Red Room where the whores of Seattle Young gather before the night’s first shift, Denise is waiting. Her face is painted in blue diamonds to match her ultra short silvery blue dress. I’m in my usual slinky, high slit and low cut black dress and black-winged face paint. Fantastically long false eyelashes add to my feathery look. We hug under the red-lit chandelier, Laurie and Denise transformed to Raven and Desiree.

  I ask, “Bid ourselves together?”

  Denise says, “Two for the price of three.”

  Toussaint has a way of showing up at your elbow when you didn’t know he was near. “Oh, excellent,” he says. He heard our agreement to partner. He asks Denise, “Desiree, the boutique is doing well?”

  She says, “Business is fantastic. But I want money to upgrade the fall line without dipping into my portfolio.”

  He says, “You’re looking fine.”

  She tells him, “I’m ready.”

  The last women hurry into the red room, straightening their costumes and joining the line at the head of the spiral stairs. He says, “Good,” and gives us a nod. “The two of you go to the front.”

  He used his chat to check Denise out, making sure her body looked good enough and she needed the income. We’re worth big money if we’re in top form and motivated.

  The familiar 1940’s piano music rises through the stairwell. Denise takes my hand. We lead the parade down the glass spiral staircase. I touch the brass rail to control the way I wobble in my super-high heels. Do it right, and the hotshots waiting to buy a fuck find your walk irresistible.

  Butterflies fill my stomach. Night to night the routine in the Torch Lounge changes little, but the faces of the hotshots are always different. Cocks not so much. One is like another, when they’re inside me.

  This evening’s customers gather at the bottom of the stairs, applauding and whistling. The wildness starts fast. Hands run over my body. Denise and I make our way to the glossy red old car in the center of the dance floor. A pinch on my ass makes me look over my shoulder and purse my lips in a cross between a pout and a pucker. The expression lights fire in the hotshots’ eyes.

  I’ve never shared the fender of the antique convertible with another woman. Denise and I press our butt cheeks together to fit atop the long, polished steel curve. We keep our smiles wide, and wriggle our asses.

  To come within caressing distance of us takes a serious down payment. Five men and a woman buy their way into the circle. Less expensive whores hurry to fill the arms of the other hotshots.

  A hand slides up the inside of my leg and finds my cunt barely covered by my thong. Another reaches through the side slit of my dress and plays with the thin bikini top hanging loosely over my nipple. The hand on my boob is the woman’s. I say, “Naughty, naughty” to no one in particular, arch my back, and slither my hips.

  Denise draws more touches than I do. She’s showing me she’s still the champ. They’ve worked her dress off her shoulders. She’s topless. Hands glide over her splendid breasts.

  For five of the six hotshots, the groping is all of us they’ll get. Second-string whores are waiting to console them when they drop out of the bidding. The hands turn bolder. Two men reach down the low back of my dress and squeeze my ass. One of my nipples is getting rubbed by a long-nailed fingertip. A thick middle finger slides under my thong.

  The desires building in their heads press at me like a hot wind. In the Torch Lounge, my ability to divine the sexual thoughts of people who look at me becomes overloaded. All the hotshots have wild sex on their mind, and they’re keyed to want it badly.

  Sometimes I pick up a clear read on what positions a certain bidder plans to try, but more often the specific thoughts are lost in a storm of males and females thinking with their cocks and cunts.

  Toussaint steps in with his iPad ready. He says, “If you will finish, please, we will proceed to the auction.”

  The hands leave me. Toussaint says, “Tonight is a rare event at Seattle Young. We offer you a three-way with Raven and Desiree, our two most popular ladies.” He passes the iPad to the female bidder. Her eyes are hard. If she gets me in the glass room, she won’t be easy.

  Take it, baby. Run your tongue where you please. Bend me like a rubber doll. Fill my face with your cunt.

  She taps the pad, sees the challenge in my glance, and taps it again on a higher number.

  Toussaint glances at the iPad and hands it to one of the men. The woman looks disappointed. She entered a bid she thought preemptive. The man holding the pad looks at her entry, screws up his face, and touches a higher number. The woman shrugs and leaves the circle. Another whore kisses her and leads her to the glass rooms.

  Three of the men give up when they see the new bid. Eager women are quick to engage them. Toussaint hands the iPad to the one hotshot in the running for Denise and me who hasn’t entered a bid. His white dress shirt and expensive-looking denims cover a slim body. I make a mental note to kick off my shoes if he wins. My heels make me taller than him.

  He looks at the bid on the screen, raises an eyebrow, and inspects me. I shift my shoulders, which causes my dress to fall away from my exposed breast. His stare works slowly down and over me, intense as a touch. He doesn’t look at Denise.

  I can’t tell what’s on his mind. Maybe it’s because I’m in the center of a typhoon of lust, but I’m not catching any hint of his desires. I’d swear he’s not thinking about sex, if such a thing is possible.

  The other bidder still in the running, a big blond with square shoulders and a round gut, leans over Denise. He glares at the guy holding the iPad. If he wins the bidding, I’ll be bent over with my ass in the air for most of the hour. He has more elaborate plans for Denise, but I can’t read them clearly.

  His scowl doesn’t have any effect. Neither does Toussaint’s discrete fidgeting, nor the frenzied embraces and giddy laughter of the whores and hotshots paring off all around us. The man holding the iPad studies me. I’m a burning, breathing statue. He’s a cool connoisseur.

  Recognition hits me. He’s been here before. Two nights ago, he came in second in the bidding for me. He wore a three-day beard and a cashmere blazer. Tonight he’s showing a different look, clean shaven and jacketless. The eyes are what I remember.

  While I fucked the obese guy who liked to chew my toes, I looked across the glass rooms and found this hotshot watching me while he put my friend Sienna through her paces. She was rolled in a ball, her knees next to her ears, and her ass pointing at the ceiling.

  He was astride her, his knees bent and his cock lowered in one of her openings. I couldn’t tell which. The way I hugged and licked my hotshot’s belly seemed to amuse him. I’m getting the same look from him now.

  Yeah, well fuck you.

  My face betrays my thoughts. He winks. I pull my shoulders back and smile. It’s my way of telling him I’m exclusive merchandise.

  I don’t recall seeing this guy’s cock. It was inside Sienna’s cunt, ass, or mouth whenever I checked him out through the glass walls. He was fit looking, I think. Possibly he showed off a chest covered with curly hair.

  The other bidder growls, “Well?”

  The guy holding the iPad keeps staring at me. I wonder who he might be. The richest and most powerful people are lucky to be allowed inside Seattle Young twice in six months, yet he shows up twice in a week. He nods at me and tells the other bidder, “I’ll take this one if you want the other.”

  Toussaint says, “I am sorry, gentlemen, but the bid tonight was for the two together. I cannot permit you to change the terms. It’s both, or none.”

  Mr. Special taps the iPad and hands it over. The other man taps a higher number, and hands it back. The iPad is exchanged three more times. Toussaint, who never shows excitement, can’t help licking his lips.

  The iPad is back in the hands of the man leaning over Denise. He looks at the bid, hesitates, grimaces, and hands the pad
to Toussaint without tapping a higher number. He turns away. A woman comes to his side. At a nod from Toussaint, another joins her. He’s earned his own twosome, but not with the stars of the show.

  I stand beside the winner, and press my bare boob against his arm, and take off my shoes to lower my height to his. He says, “Put them back on.” I do. Now I’m looking down at him. Denise hugs his other arm. His hands take possession of our asses.

  I say, “I’m glad you won this time.” I’m lying. I don’t care who I fuck.

  He says, “I’m not here to talk.”

  Even this close to him, and with the glass rooms in our immediate future, I swear he’s not thinking about sex.

  Chapter Five Please, Please

  The wildness flies inside me, a bird in a cage. Denise and I lead our hotshot to the glass rooms through a passage dimly lit by a flashing display of purple neon tubes overhead. One set grows in the shape of an erection, the other spreads like a cunt.

  The hotshot’s hand works my ass. His other does the same to Denise. If sex isn’t on his mind, he’s good at going through the motions. I reach for his crotch. Denise is holding it. Damn. I want to feel him. I push my fingers below her fist and find the hard base.

  He pulls me to him. His lips part mine. My tongue races to meet his. Denise’s cheek brushes my face. She licks his ear and nibbles his neck. One of his hands takes my bared breast. The other slides down the deep vee of my neckline and dips under my thong.

  I cling to him and work on the kiss. Denise rubs her crotch against his ass and unbuttons his shirt. We haven’t gotten beyond the passageway.

  The hotshot pushes me against the wall and lifts me. I wrap my legs around his hips. I feel Denise unzipping his pants. It won’t be the first time I’ve fucked before I make it to the glass rooms.

  Toussaint will mention this critically. The desired flow of events is to do the fucking where the hidden video cameras operate. But Toussaint’s not the one pulling in the money. What happens is driven by the needs of fired-up bodies.

  I’m thinking this while I squirm, twine, and French. Denise’s hands guide his cock. I can be sure she slipped a condom on.

  Is this cock harder, longer, thicker, or quicker than all the others? No, but it’s the weapon of a dangerous man, one who wants more than what we sell here. The grunt I give him is real. He carries me in mid fuck to the glass rooms. Denise’s hug steadies us. Her fingers play with his cock and my cunt.

  In a knot we squeeze through the glass doorway hung with two engraved glass nameplates, Raven and Desiree. The hotshot lifts me off his cock and drops me onto the bed. I’m still bouncing on the mattress when he fucks Desiree from behind. She’s standing spread-legged, grabbing her ankles. She looks up at me and grins.

  I see my face in the ceiling mirror, my open mouth, my eyes nearly closed, showing the strain of my need. It’s not entirely an act. The glass rooms will do this to you.

  All around us the sex goes crazy. Whores’ bodies spread to accept whatever the hotshots want to do to them. Three rooms over, the female hotshot locks Skyla’s head between her knees.

  I kneel on the bed and run my hands over our hotshot’s humping ass. It’s my turn to reach between his legs and feel his sliding connection to Denise. He takes his cock out of her and puts it in front of my face.

  Hotshots enjoy having me on my knees, kissing, licking, and handling their erections. This guy runs his cock through my hair and reaches down to fondle with my tits. I take his knob in my mouth and play my tongue around his rim. His hips sway. I look up. His eyes are open. He’s giving me a tight smile.

  Denise hugs him from behind, runs her leg up his hip, plays her hands over his chest, and kisses his neck. His eyes stay locked to mine. I’m stirred. What for? He’s another body with a cock attached.

  I went to work at Seattle Young to break free from what might happen if the right man looked in my eyes. Every hotshot I serve is unfaithful to someone—a wife, a lover, a sweet person they might’ve met if they’d spent their night somewhere else. I’ll take their infidelity. I’ll fuck it crazy.

  I close my eyes, bear down on the work of my lips and tongue, run fingertips over the base of his cock, and tickle his balls. My mouth fills with cum. His cock slips away. I look up, find his eyes waiting, and swallow.

  He lifts me. I stand on the bed. His face is level with my cunt. This is when they eat you, before they spurt any cum in you. He’s good at it. My hips work against him with more than their usual display of urgency.

  Denise slides between us. Her body presses his. The way she kisses him draws one of his hands from my ass to the back of her head. He presses her face to his crotch. She gets busy sucking.

  Standing on the bed lets me see all of the glass rooms. In the one closest, the guy who came in second in the bidding for us is on his back with Aspen riding his face and Elle riding his cock.

  The female hotshot has strapped on a dildo and rammed it up Sienna’s ass. Sienna is putting on a great act, biting a pillow to muffle her screeches, pounding the mattress with her fists, and kicking her feet while her back and legs hold her ass rigid to accept the shoving penetrations.

  All the hotshots are past their first fucks and looking around to see what the others are doing, getting ideas. The whores are working hard to revive erections, mostly using their mouths.

  Denise finishes the job on our guy. His cock slides from her mouth, hard and ready. She holds it in both hands and smiles up at him. We draw him onto the bed. He says, “Doggie.”

  We take the position, side by side on our hands and knees. He’s behind us. He rubs my cunt. I squirm and moan. Denise does a more convincing act. He’s fingering us both. She shoots me a glance. We’re in a contest to see who gets the cock. I buck hard against the probing finger and beg, “Please, please.”

  It works. I brace my arms and legs and wonder which route the cock will take. It chooses my cunt. I gasp dramatically, bend my back, and hump against it. Denise crawls behind the kneeling hotshot and drapes her legs over his shoulders with her cunt filling his face. This isn’t an easy position to hold, though it works okay with him able to keep his balance by resting his hands on my ass.

  The guy in the next room sees this action. His girls scramble to copy us.

  Our hotshot’s cock leaves my cunt. I brace my knees and relax my ass for what’s coming. The cock goes where I expect. It’s my turn to bite back a scream while I pound the pillow and kick. It’s the reaction he’ll expect to a butt fuck, since he saw Sienna giving up the same fake agony.

  Denise will know she can sit on the guy’s shoulders for a short time before his spine gets tired. She climbs off him and sits on my back. This gives him her tits to suck and her cunt to finger while his cock probes my ass. He reaches around and rubs a finger over my clit.

  The whores next door try to follow our act. When one sits on the other’s back, they both collapse. The hotshot laughs and gives orders. They lie on their backs and spread their legs. He goes at them, a few strokes in one cunt, a few strokes in the other, while he sucks four tits in a row.

  Our hotshot’s cock leaves my ass. He tells me, “Don’t move.” Denise flops down on her back beside me. His cock goes in her. She hugs him with her arms and legs and kisses hard.

  I stay on my hands and knees. I’m breathing hard and sweating. With him all over Denise, my mind escapes the present. I think of the morning in court, the snotty little street hooker who showed up for trial with half her ass bare. Did she turn enough tricks to buy dinner and a safe place for the night, or did the pimp take all the money and send her back to the alleys?

  A sharp slap on my ass tells me the hotshot said something I didn’t hear. To make up for it, I say, “Command me.”

  “On your back.”

  I flop and spread.

  “Knees up.”

  I fold my legs. He grasps my ankles and settles them on his shoulders. This is standard enough. He pushes my legs forward. Okay, I’m flexible. He keeps shoving unt
il my knees are above my face.

  It’s a position no one’s ever put me in. I’ve seen it done once, on my first night in the glass rooms. I smile to show him I understand, and roll my body in a ball. My knees are on the pillow. The reflection of my upturned ass smiles at me from the mirrored ceiling.

  The hotshot bestrides me. His short legs let him poke his cock at my exposed openings by bending his knees. Which hole will he choose? At this angle, my ass might handle it better.

  He brushes his knob over my ass and drives it in my cunt.

  Ya-ga-ga. I’ve never been fucked from precisely this angle. He’s ringing my bell for real. My body wants to arch and spread, but my balled-up position holds my reactions tightly inside. My orgasm rings down through me hard.

  When my eyes can focus again, I see the hotshot above me, his cock still in my well. He looks amused. I try to muster an inner fuck you, but my cunt is still fluttering its thank you, thank you, thank you.

  The lights flicker off and on. This hour in the glass rooms is ending.

  Denise gets herself back in the act by standing behind our hotshot and playing her delicate touch over the place where we join. My cunt is trying to take flight again when the lights flicker a second time and the gong sounds.

  We disentangle. Denise and I lay arm-in-arm. He drops cash in front of us—a major tip—and leaves. Before he disappears down the passage to the lounge, he looks back at us. The mood is in his eyes, amusement mixed with satisfaction, slices me in half. He had his fun, but through every bit of it he was thinking about something else.

  Chapter Six Oh, Please

  Denise and I are relaxing on one of the couches, nibbling fruit, when Toussaint enters the brightly lit break room. Naked whores come wet from the waist-high showers, load plates at the buffet, and sit around us on other couches or in the makeup chairs. The wardrobe ladies freshen our outfits, stitching rips and wiping off stains.

  Amid all this undressed flesh it is the two of us, entirely bare except for our face paint, upon whom Toussaint’s gaze lingers.