Taylor Made

It's a crazy business getting paid to fuck. But at the moment I wouldn't want it any other way. Mostly white women who want to feel a black man inside them. I'm happy to oblige. They pay me well. A trick or two a week and I have enough bread to do what I want. I'm always careful to cover my tracks. Some want me back, but I don't want a steady white woman. I don't want some maniac husband or boyfriend coming after me. I can't believe how many good looking white girls are on the prowl most nights of the week looking for their fix of black cock. Lawyers, Bankers, College girls, you name them at some point it becomes an obsession. I don't exactly have a business but I do have some places where I hang out or can be found. Word gets around...

It's late on a Saturday night. Around midnight. LA is going crazy. I'm not on the street. I'm home in bed asleep. When I work I work hard. I don't need to be out there caught in the crossfire of one of the most dangerous cities in the world. No I don't. But a constant buzzing wakes me from my slumber. I sleep alone. I don't have a permanent partner. A guy in my line of business isn't up for emotional commitments. The cell phone keeps on buzzing. I look at the number recognising the caller. I don't believe in having contact names.

"Hi Johnny." I say. "It's late."

"Got an assignment for you."

"I don't need an assignment man. Look at the hour."

"Say what you will. This one will pay thousands."

"I've heard that before."

"Let's start out at ten thousand. It could go north from there."

I'm awake now. Anyone paying ten thousand is worthy of my attention although Johnny never knows or tells who has initiated the original call. That's the way it works.

"They'll send you one of those texts that automatically deletes once you've read it. If you agree to the assignment the text will arrive in the next couple of minutes. It'll have all the details."

I shower and put on fresh clothes. I know it will take me somewhere near an hour to get to the address in the text. Not the usual swanky Beverley Hills mansion but a hotel I've never heard of in downtown LA. Security I'm told will be out in force. The text tells me I have a password to use and some key words to say. I repeat them to myself on the drive up the Santa Monica Freeway. I have to get them in the right order. "1312. AI bot. No camera. No phone." They seem the most peculiar set of words that I will need to use to identify myself. Perhaps I had misread the text.

One a.m on the streets and there isn't much traffic around. Strange. Maybe its just this part of LA. Someone, I don't know who's expecting me, knows my car and directs me into an underground parking lot. It's empty except for a big limo sitting conspicuously in the middle of all the concrete. Two dudes hop out and stroll towards me. They're in no hurry.

"You packin' anything man?"

"No."

"Don't mind if we do a pat down then?"

"No"

"Sorry no cell phone allowed and they take my Samsung Galaxy. We'll hold it until you return."

I regard them with some suspicion. It may be the last time I ever see my phone.

"Car keys fine, we'll keep them too. Show us your watch." I hold my hand out. It's a common standard watch, nothing special about it. It isn't like one of those Apple jobs that you can speak to. Dick Tracy calling Jo Jitsu. But I don't think they'd get the reference.

"Leave the watch on your wrist man, it's OK."

I begin to use the password. I say "1312" but I don't get any further. They escort me to a basement elevator.

"Step in there slowly. Scanner around the door. Like at an airport you know."

"All clear." One of them says and they head back towards the limo."

"Top Floor. Press the express button." He throws over his shoulder.

Express button? The hotel looks to be about twelve storeys high. Old too. I've had plenty of time to think about this on the drive in but as I ride up in the elevator I remind myself for the hundredth time I don't know who I am meeting or who I'm looking for. There aren't the usual connections. I'm too old for this. I don't like a mystery. It can end up bad. Apart from Johnny who called me over an hour a go I haven't met or seen anyone I know. No one in the business. Usually I have a photo, something to match my hit with the person I'm meeting. The white girl who wants the big dick treatment. The elevator comes to a silent and smooth stop and the doors slide open on to the entire top floor. There's no one about. No music, no sound of television, no food on the table, no drinks. Nothing. Just the distant hum of a never sleeping Los Angeles.

I am however aware that I am being recorded by a security camera that has me in its gaze. There's an enormous set of windows. Through some buildings over the street I can see the lit sprawl of the City of Angels as it spills away into the distance. And that's when I see her. A tall woman leaning over the balcony. Her short skirt showing a set of legs that must be insured for millions. It looks like she has the remote to a television or something in one hand and she beckons to me with the other. I look around, a large lounge in the corner, a piano with its lid open, a set of steps up to a small stage. I'm not usually nervous but something has invaded me. The woman has slid a window door open to enter the room and as she walks towards me I stop moving. I can hardly believe what I am seeing. I can hardly believe who I am seeing.

"Hi I'm Taylor..."

"I didn't know..." I begin, but she chips in with a few well chosen words.

"I'll start again. Hi I'm Taylor Swift. We don't have a lot of time. Certainly not for small talk. An hour at best maybe. But you know what you're here for right?" She gives a deep throated laugh that sends shivers down my spine. "I need a good fuck."

Is this a dream? I'd heard of the Era's Tour. Wasn't she supposed to be gay?

"I love big black cocks you know. Did you bring yours?"

She gives me a look that indicates that I might not be what she was expecting. I don't know a lot about her. I don't really know her music, one song maybe that was on the radio years ago. I've got a pretty good idea that she's younger than me. Maybe ten years younger. I have grey in my temples. I'm not in prime shape these days. I mean I look after myself, but I don't work out the way I used to. I don't pump iron religiously. I run, I swim, eat good food, mainly lay off the booze but that's about it.

I know I'm not in control. She is calling all the moves, but then I'm guessing she's paying all the dollars. I wonder if the guys down in the basement knew who they were sending me up to. I wonder if anyone in this hotel even knows she is here. I wonder if... there is no point in wondering.

"I only have three rules."

Three rules? Huh? I keep my mouth shut.

"No kissing, not on the mouth. No condoms because I'm a pleasure bitch and I want it all. And no anal."

I nod some form of consent and she starts to undress me. Unbuckling my belt. Tugging my trousers down. Reaching in and gently cradling what I guess is her objective.

"God your dick is beautiful. Let's get to work. I can't wait to have you in me."

She pulls her dress over her head. Underneath there is no bra no panties, just pure Taylor Swift. Undressed she is more stunning than I can imagine.

"Do you always dress like that?" I tease

Can you tell I've had a boob job?" She replies.

I can tell. I've seen a lot of them, but her surgical scars are almost invisible. And then after she's had her fill of sucking on my cock she takes me by the hand and leads me to the couch. "My pussy needs some attention." I have made a lot of money bringing women to orgasm with my lips, tongue and mouth. Taylor is no different. She adores it. Loves it. Doesn't want me to stop. "Make me cum and then you can fuck me anyway you want." More deep throated laughter. What is that expression? She's as horny as a heathen!

She's insatiable and wants me to take her from the rear. Doggy style. Fucking Taylor Swift doggy style. But before I do I work my mouth a little more on that more than generous pussy of hers. Easy to tell its had a few visitors in its time. Her bush is shaved down to stubble. Her ass swings gently as I ply my tongue to her clit. I hear her breaths, can almost feel the beat of her heart. I let my tongue explore a little further letting it wander over the top of her perineum, only I would know such a word, to her butt hole. I push her ass cheeks a little further apart. I can't see a stop sign there and she's not giving any directions. Full steam ahead as I insert my middle finger into her tail pipe. She screams louder than trailer trash. I'm breaking one of her rules but she wants more. "God yes. Back door me. I love it."

I'm having a good time. So too is Taylor, we're getting into some sort of rhythm. But I'm concerned that the time is getting away. That the hour she said we'd have might be gone any minute. My watch is sitting on a table on the far side of the room, the place where she undressed me. She wears no watch, there's no clock on a wall. Normally I don't hurry these things but before long I find myself slipping my cock into her and those long gorgeous legs go forever. She is so moist and wet. "Please fuck me. Please." Her moans coming at regular intervals as I do what I do best. "You're making me come. It's what I want. A big hard black cock. My pussy loves you." The upper half of her body is turning red, I can see beads of sweat forming on her. The pendulum is swinging and I sense a shift in power. She's handing what's left of the night over to me.

"Show me Taylor. Show me how much your pussy loves me."

I bury myself deeper in her as she begs for more.

"Oh God yes, right there. Keep going. This cunt is all yours."

Truly if I could tell her that she had the Cadillac of cunts I would. Plenty of room to move in there, a place to get comfortable. I could ride in it all day. All night too. I spank her lovely white ass and roll her into the missionary position. No resistance. I can tell she has surrendered as she spreads her legs open further than I thought was possible? The wings of a butterfly. I can see her eyes are glazed, she's in heaven. I wonder if the hour she mentioned was for real. Who is going to believe I fucked Taylor Swift? Who?

The cat woman and her favourite pussy are on fire. "Yes yes yes oh fuck yes." She says quietly. Is she recording all of this on some sort of video system. She's not the type to create sex tapes, or is she? Can security see me in here pounding away on the most popular woman in the universe? The stuff that comes into my mind.

"Come in me. Gimme gimme gimme. Yes oh yes. I'm..."

She's shuddering and shaking pulling my face down to hers pushing her tongue into my mouth like her life depends on it. The kissing rule has gone out the window too. My load spilling in to her. We lay quietly for a few minutes tongues entwining but no words exchanged. She reaches out to pick up the device that I think looks like a remote.

"What is that?" I ask.

"In house service. Do you want a drink. We still have a few minutes left."

"Perrier" I chance, half joking, half serious.

"Sure."

The next minute a maid that looks like she came from a 1930's black and white movie has entered the room.

"Yes mam." She looks past my naked form to Taylor who is equally naked and bathed in sweat from our exertions.

"A Perrier for the gentleman. I'll have my usual protein drink."

Protein drink I say to myself.

"Yes mam."

She disappears and then a moment later reappears with our drinks. By this time Taylor has climbed off the lounge though she's made no endeavour to dress. Man I'd love to start the evening again and for a moment it seems Taylor Swift has read my mind.

"You're a good fuck you know. The best."

"You too" I offer back.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for that fuck."

No I don't. She never speaks my name. Never asks for it. But her comment seems genuine. A hint perhaps that we might be able to do it again sometime in the future.

"Pity there isn't time. I have to be gone by the morning. Wouldn't do to get caught in bed with an LA gangster." She says with a smile cracked over her face.

"No. No it wouldn't."

She nods to my mineral water on the table and an envelope sitting next to it. I go to speak but without further words she walks away disappearing into a room. Bedroom? Bathroom? God knows. The door clicks closed. Her maid regards me with some expectation.

"There's a bathroom in there Sir" And she indicates the room Taylor has just vanished into. When I open the door I'm in a small hallway. To my left is a bathroom. No Taylor. I walk to the end of the hall but find only darkness. After I shower I return to the what I simply think of as the big room. The maid is still there. She hands me the remains of my mineral water and the envelope. The door to the lift opens as if by magic. The numbers of the floors disappearing rapidly as I descend to the basement. I look at my watch, a blank face. No time. Maybe the battery has died. I need to recharge it. The two guys who I saw when I first arrived are there waiting for me. They accompany me to my car, not a word spoken as they hand back my cell phone and make sure I start up and drive out. I sip at the mineral water on the way back down Santa Monica Freeway.

Taylor Swift does not have to pay me hush money. But the envelope contains more money than I will ever tell anyone about. Fresh clean money. Hard to earn money. I would pay it all back if I could fuck her again. I take the last mouthful of mineral water and think about throwing the bottle out the window. I stop myself and put it on the seat next to me. By habit I glance at my watch but remember it had stopped working. But suddenly it has come to life. The digital display telling me it is close to three thirty.