The rain pelted out an angry, broken rhythm against the roof of his car. It eerily echoed through the gloomy darkness that seemed to penetrate every dirty crack of the lifeless street.
"Forte? Crescendo?" he asked himself, unable to remember which word accurately described the increase in loudness, of the eerie melody being pounded out on his car.
"Who gives a fuck," he thought as he reclined the car seat, stretched his legs and exhaled the cigarette smoke from his lungs.
He watched, unamused, as the smoke changed color, when the headlights from an approaching vehicle lit up the interior of his car.
"Make her wait a bit longer," he thought to himself.
She had been staring out her window, waiting for him to arrive, and watched as he pulled up on to her street. She gazed down at his car for a few minutes, anxiously waiting for him to get out and go to her. She pulled the curtains tight when he lit up the cigarette.
The spark and flame from her lighter lit up the window through the thin curtains of her room. He pictured her, naked, sitting crossed legged on her unmade bed, as she sucked in the small pillows of smoke, rising from the crumpled aluminum foil through a stained, glass pipe.
"This is the last time I use," she would desperately lie to him every time he visited her.
"I don't care," he always painfully lied back to her.
He took one last drag of his cigarette, flicked the butt out the window and made his way to her apartment. He pressed the familiar, well-worn button with faded numbers on it.
"1208. Her birthday," he could never stop himself from thinking that, when his finger touched the button, no matter how hard he tried to.
How fucking cruel life is.
The tinny, crackle of the buzzer was followed by the metallic click of the front doors unlocking. He rode the elevator up to the twelfth floor in silent desperation. His cock twitched at the thought of her. She was barely twenty three years old, and wasting her life away as an exotic dancer at a rundown strip joint.
****
He thought back to how out of place she looked, the first time he saw her on the stage. She was beautiful, vibrant, smart and full of life, as she danced in front of half broken strangers. He got up his nerve and asked her for a private dance. She smiled and led him by the hand to a small, dusky room at the back of the bar.
"I'm Candy. You may touch me where ever you want to, while I dance for you," she smiled as she pushed him down on the well-worn couch and straddled on to his lap.
He remained silent and lifted the laced bra over her small, perky breasts. She threw her head back and moved her hips to the music. Fittingly, she had picked, The Black Crowes, 'She Talks To Angels' for the dance.
"It's my song," she smiled, her voice soft and somber.
He was caught off guard by the sadness in her eyes. He had seen the same sadness in another girl's eyes, a life time ago. The sadness behind her smile tore open old wounds in him. She shivered when she saw how he was affected by what she had unwittingly revealed to him.
She stopped moving and stared hard in to his cold, dark eyes, and then cautiously edged her lips closer to his. Waiting and watching if he would turn away or tell her to stop. He slid one hand over her bare breast. She covered his hand with hers and squeezed it, as her lips gently brushed against his. She pressed her mouth harder against his and parted her lips.
She tasted like cherries in his mouth.
She gasped when she slid his hand in between her spread legs and rubbed it over her moist slit.
He bit her lip and softly growled, "Whore."
She shivered and nodded her head, "Make me cum, please," she desperately pleaded.
She released his hand, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He forced two fingers inside her and rubbed her clit with his thumb. She rocked her hips to the rhythm of his thumb. Her arms tightened around his neck as her body shook and a long, low moan escaped from deep inside her.
She held on tightly, long after she came and the song was over. Slowly, she released her grip and slid off his lap.
"Twenty dollars," she coldly informed him as she pulled her bra back down over her breasts.
He took a hundred dollar bill from his shirt pocket and placed it on the small, round table that was bolted to the dirty floor. He stood up and walked passed her in silence.
When he reached the door he stopped and said, "Your address, give it to me."
She waited a long time before she warned him, "You're going to hurt me, and I'm going to hurt you."
"Your address, whore," he demanded.
She lowered her head, hesitated and finally surrendered, "Raimer Avenue, apartment xxxx."
He was familiar with the area; it was rundown, sordid and seedy. The last place on Earth someone as delicate as her should be.
****
He stepped out of the elevator and made the two lefts he had made so many times before. He had a key to her door, but he knew it would be unlocked. It always was. He turned the tarnished, peeling brass knob and slowly pushed the door open.
A cold shiver shot through him. It was eerie how everything looked black and white in her apartment. Almost as if colors ceased to exist, as soon as he stepped through her door.
The rustle of her bed sheets greeted him. She got up from her bed and made her way to him.
She was high again. Heroin Chic, she called it. The dark circles under her eyes jumped out at you, against the contrast of her perfect porcelain skin. She had told him that her customers called her a junkie, and that she was popular. They needed her to be a junkie, so that they could feel better about themselves, and that she felt sorry for them, for needing her in that way.
She slowly walked towards him, a half smile on her pale, red lips, and extended her right arm. She had cut herself again. The thin line on her slender arm looked blacker than black, against her ghostly skin in the dimly lit apartment.
"This is the last time I use."
"I don't care."
He took a step to his left, to head to her bathroom. That's where she kept the gauze, tape and sterilized wipes he had bought for her.
She grabbed his arm, shook her head and softly said, "No, you need me more."
She got up on her toes and kissed his lips. Then held on to him, to steady herself as she got down on her knees and caressed his cock.
"It's been too long for you," she whispered as she looked up and smiled. "You're safe now. Please don't be sad. I'll always look after you."
She slowly undid his zipper and pulled his cock out. She rubbed her lips over the swollen, purple head as she stroked the thick shaft with both her hands. She pulled the skin back and held it in place as she kissed and slowly licked from the base of his shaft to the tip of the head.
He moaned at the sensation of her warm, soft mouth working his cock. She opened her mouth and sucked on the head. He trembled and gasped as his body stiffened. Her fist pumped his shaft, long and slow, as she continued sucking. She slowly took more of his length in to her mouth, till he touched the back of her throat. She pushed forward and his cock slipped down her throat. He held his breath and shut his eyes tight. She forced more of his cock down her throat.
The pressure of cum building up at the base of his cock hit maximum capacity. He grabbed her head and held it tight against his pelvis as he thrust the remaining length of his throbbing cock down her throat. She went limp, total surrender of her body to his need. He pumped hot cum down her throat. She swallowed each spurt of the hot, sticky liquid and waited for him to release her from his grip.
Slowly he pulled his cock out of her mouth. She coughed and took a deep breath as she looked up at him.
"Hurt me, as much as you need to," she whispered as she stood up and kissed his lips.
She took his hand and led him to her bedroom. She undressed him and neatly hung his custom tailored suit over the bedroom door. She sprawled herself on to her bed and extended both her arms to him. He eased himself on top her. Her heart quickened when she brought his hand to her throat. He squeezed her throat and pushed her neck in to the mattress as he covered her mouth with his.
"Tell me her name," she said in a barely audible wheezing voice.
He pulled his mouth away from hers, released the grip on her throat, grabbed her hair and forced her on to her stomach.
"She wasn't a whore like you! I told you to never mention her again!" he sneered as he pinned her wrists in to the small of her back and pushed his knee in between her legs, forcing them apart.
"You said she looked like me. Did she have my smile?" she asked in defiance as she winced at the pain shooting in her wrists from being squeezed tightly together.
He grabbed a fist full of her hair with his free hand, close to her scalp, and pushed her face in to the pillow.
