The Corner of H & L

Thanks very much to RavenShadow13, who edited this story.

I have no idea what brought me down there, to the corner of H and L. I never cruised for a hooker before - it's a little to

illegal

for my taste.

(You know where I'm talking about. Yeah, I know - H and L run parallel through the Warehouse district, but L angles off to follow the tracks and cuts across H right before it turns into MacPherson. Yeah - the red light district. Where else do you pick up hookers?)

I certainly didn't mean to pick

her

up. The other girls were giving her plenty of space, probably because she was a whole fuckload of sexy poured into a frighteningly six-and-a-half-foot-tall statue of dark olive skin and black leather. Hell, seven feet in those heels. That's why tall women don't wear heels.

It was no wonder that the girls were keeping their distance - she was scaring off the johns, scaring off the ones like me. I didn't want to bone a monster; I wanted some cute little thing who could sit on my lap and coo and moan and bite her lip and tell me not to stop, not yet, not yet. I wanted to fuck a girl who made me feel like a man.

But traffic... and the light turned red... and the car in front of me stopped short, and that's where I was stopping, right in front of

her

. My window was already down (stupid), but I sure as hell didn't pull over to the curb. She walked out to me.

"Are you here for a good time?" She sounded interested, more than bored. Her dark eyes peered intently at me.

Well, it wasn't the plan, but here she was, leaning into my window. Of course she was showing ample leavage, but strangely, from her navel to her face was the only bare skin on display - the rest was hidden behind black lace, thigh-high leather boots, long gloves and a heavy leather jacket. It was winter, but it doesn't get

that

cold here, and that getup would take awhile to unwrap. Maybe that was her game.

While this was turning in my mind, I guess I was staring at that fleshy crease where her breasts nuzzled up together.

"If you think window shopping's fun, come into my store, baby."

Fair enough. I glanced up to her face. Of course she was attractive with all that makeup - full lips, red-brown like dried blood - brown, almost black, oval-shaped eyes, heavily shadowed and set beneath thick arched brows - a strong aquiline nose, not quite hooked - straight black hair, shining like a shampoo commercial, tied up in the back but falling in the front to frame her round face. Her skin was clear and olive-toned. She carried herself with pride - not stiff, but not slouching like the other girls on the street, even in spite of her height. Think

Pretty Woman

, if Julia Roberts was a flesh-hungry Egyptian dominatrix giantess, instead of a blushing princess.

"How much?"

"Don't worry about the price, baby - it's a sliding scale. The light's gonna turn soon. Let me in, and we'll talk about what it's gonna cost, okay?"

Bad idea. "Okay."

She had just pulled the door shut when the light turned, and I steered back into traffic.

Even with the seat slid all the back she didn't fit very well, so she turned sideways, leaning against the door and facing me, one thigh-booted knee resting over the parking brake and almost into my lap. I rolled up the windows, and the scent of her musk and a spicy perfume began to fill the car.

"Seatbelt."

"Oh, that's no fun." She put a hand on my shoulder, then slid it down the neck of my shirt, reaching to squeeze my pec. The leather of her glove was buff and soft, not patent, and - damn! - it felt so sensual. I wanted her to touch my face, fondle my ear, play with the hair on the back of my neck. Instead she slipped her hand out of my shirt and roamed down my chest from the outside, past my ribs, my stomach. While I kept both hands on the wheel, she pushed her fingers between my thighs, forcing them apart, and began massaging the lump of my cock. It was already hard and aching, of course, or I wouldn't have been here on L street, so it was easy for her to get ahold of, to maneuver up inside my trousers, to begin pumping. I shifted and squirmed in the seat at the stimulation, and to give her room to operate. "Beside," she continued, "if John Law stopped us, he wouldn't care about my seatbelt."

"Uhh-h-h..." My voice faltered as the blood in my veins became confused, unable to decide which head to service, up or down. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and tried to concentrate. "Where to? Do you have some place... or is there a secluded parking lot?"

"Well, if you just want to go to a parking lot, the only thing I'll have room for is to suck you off. It

will

be the best damned blowjob you'll ever have in your entire life - I'm an expert." Her pale pink tongue slipped out between her dark lips and traced their shape, leaving them shiny and slick. "But you'll be whining that you didn't ask for more. And it will cost you a thousand."

"A

thousand

dollars?" My eyes went wide as I stared over at her. But those lips - she wet them with her tongue again, then pouted invitingly. Maybe... No!

"It's a damn good blowjob. I promise you'd be back here looking for me within a month, willing to pay double."

But it still couldn't be worth that much. "A

thousand

dollars for a blowjob! I thought you said it was a sliding scale."

"Then keep driving, and take me to your place. We can skip the hazard pay, and do a lot more. Hell, make it a good time for me, too, and I may drop the monetary fee."

We stopped at another light, so I turned to eye her carefully. "'Drop the monetary fee?' What, is this some kind of robbery thing? Your pimp follows us and breaks in when you've got me all tied up?"

"Is that what you want it to be?" She tapped a finger against her chin. "I could make it happen... Well, if you don't feel safe in your own place, take me somewhere nice. And I mean nice - Ritz nice, not Best Western nice. Some place classy."

"We can do my place. It's not far. And it's clean. So it won't cost a thousand?"

"I can think of things to do to you that would be worth ten thousand. Or it could cost you no money at all. I'm not hung up on cash." She had pulled down the visor on her side and was checking her makeup in the vanity mirror. She angled it a bit further down and eyed her breasts, shifting the bodice of her dress to plump them and enhance her cleavage.

"What kind of a trick is this?" I'm sure there was some accusation in my voice. "What kind of hooker doesn't care about money?"

"I'm not your regular working girl, baby." Satisfied with her appearance, she turned again to face me. She was right - there was nothing regular about her. "I've got all the money I need. This is my hobby - I'm sort of a raving nymphomaniac, you see." She rolled those words in her throat in an especially sexy way.

"Then why are you charging me a thousand for a blowjob?" I turned my head to her as we reached an open part of the road.

"Because, baby - it has to cost you

something

. I need to know how much it's worth to you when I fuck your brains out - that's what I get out of it. If I let every guy I came across ball me, I'd be Paris Hilton - I think one of her is plenty, no?"

"Aren't you worried about getting a disease, or getting hurt? What if I was a fucking psycho?"

"Do you have a disease? Are you planning to hurt me? Do I need to tell you I have people on speed dial that could make you disappear forever, in a very painful way?"

I remained silent.

"Well? You brought it up - now you have to satisfy my worry."

"No, no diseases. And I don't think I could hurt you."

"Damn right. I look like a kick-ass bitch because I am. Good. I'm glad we got that out of the way. How much further is it?"

"Just up ahead."

I locked the deadbolt behind us and hid the key under a magazine, just in case - that pimp-breaking-in scenario still worried me, and I wanted to make sure it took her a little longer to let in the guy who was going to slip me the shiv.

She stood in the center of the room, hands on her hips, and turned a circle to survey. "Homey."

Right. My loft ran three thousand a month unfurnished, and had a full wall of windows opening out over the river.

"You

do

keep it clean. No need for a tour, though. I'll give you five minutes to go into your bedroom and make it ready for me, and then I'm coming in. Don't undress yourself. I do that. And point me to a mirror."

I showed her to the bathroom, and for the first time, I really got a chance to see the whole of her. Mostly, she was huge. She ducked under doorways. My eye-level to her was ... well ... right to her cleavage. Her cleavage which loomed out toward me as we spoke, less than a foot away. That one tall 'V' of smooth, fresh, olive skin - that quivering crevice of flesh - hovered so invitingly in front of me; the curved shadows where her breasts nestled together begged to be touched, to be kissed. She obviously enjoyed that I stared; she rolled her shoulders back, let her breasts heave as she breathed and spoke, and kept them close to me, close enough that I could smell her skin, close enough that I would have to crane my neck to look into her face. But we didn't touch.

She turned away from me, toward the bathroom, and my eyes were torn away to flick over the rest of her body. She had a good figure: broad-shouldered, but not stocky - voluptuous, instead. Her hips curved away from the small of her back and blossomed into a full, round bottom, which nearly peeked out from the bottom of a very short black leather dress. Her thighs were thick, almost chubby, but poured into a pair of curve-forming stockings - probably pantyhose, actually, as short as her skirt was. Her legs disappeared a few inches above the knees into those leather boots with the heels - not stiletto heels, but thick dancer heels that gave her the extra six inches. That she was so smooth and casual in the heels, despite being so tall, was mildly amazing.

Over the dress, over her shoulders, she wore that black jacket with rolled-up sleeves that just covered the tops of the gloves, only occasionally allowing glimpses of the lace bodystocking (so it was a catsuit, not pantyhose) beneath.

The door to the bathroom shut, and, freed from the slavery of staring at her, I hurried to my own bedroom.

Five minutes was enough to pull the blinds, to pull the sheets straight and kick a few odd things under the bed, to find those candles from last New Year's and light a few of them in strategic places around the room, to turn off the overhead light. Oh - I saw my deodorant and gave myself a few quick spurts, then gave the room a long one just for good measure. I probably still had a minute or so, so I glanced around and-

Her gloves tugged up my undershirt and slipped beneath to grip the small of my back. I stood still as stone. I hadn't heard her come in, but now I heard her breath in my ear, on the back of my neck. It was warm. Her hands slid up the muscles on either side of my spine, up to my shoulders, lifting the shirt as they went. The gloves were surprisingly warm, too, and soft, so soft, like the skin inside a woman's thigh. I shuddered beneath her touch.

She reached around in front of me to untuck my shirts, and her hand pushed deeper, into my trousers but not my shorts, to find the bulge there and massage it back to attention. She had to lean down to do it, against my bare back, and I felt a collage of materials - the slick, sticky leather of her jacket, the dull press of her bodice, the slightly silky, slightly scratchy rub of nylon and lace, but most of all, the heat of her bare flesh against mine. I hadn't thought my back was sensitive as to feel the curves of her breasts.

Her cheek pressed against the side of my head, above my ear, and I could hear her mouth moving less than an inch away, hear each hot breath, the slick of saliva as she wet her lips or swallowed. She said nothing while she rolled her fingers and thumb around my shaft and slowly stroked up and down.

Once I was hard, her hands slid out of my trousers and up my stomach, pulling up the front of the shirt as well.

With my arms raised over my head, the shirt and undershirt binding as they wound over the tops of my arms, my head caught in the swaddle, she stopped lifting and turned me around.

"This is enough bondage for you, I think. No handcuffs or whips, eh?" She ran light fingers down the small wings of my lats, then back up over my chest, stopping only for a brief squeeze, then folded her hands behind my neck.

I was struggling with my shirt - my jaw, even the bottom of my nose was free, but the collar was hooked on my ears and I couldn't see anything but white cotton and straight down, to the candle-lit curves of her legs and my own stomach.

Then her arms slid further around, tighter, and she pulled me to her, between her breasts, into the crevice between them made deeper and firmer by her squeezing arms. Her hand slid up through the collar to catch the back of my head and fold me into place. She rolled her shoulders forward and rubbed against me, up and down and ever firmer, overwhelming me with sensations of her flesh until I was caught so tight that I was beginning to smother.

"Kiss me," she murmured, and I did, greedily, closing my lips over whatever skin she offered. She guided me with the hand at the back of my neck, willing me to trace along the outline of each curve, to flick my tongue against the crease where her soft skin folded. Then she was angling her ribs, moving the cup of her bodice against my nose, urging me toward the areola now just hidden beneath the leather. She didn't help by freeing herself from the cup, so I struggled, like a calf trying to suckle, and succeeded finally in slipping my tongue between her breast and the bodice to just flick at her nipple. She sucked in a quick breath, then pulled her arms free and pushed me away. I fell backward, onto the bed.

My head popped free when I bounced on the mattress, and I looked up to see her towering over me, smiling. She was tucking her breast back into the bodice of her dress and re-fluffing her cleavage.

"Well!" she announced as she straightened her dress and tugged up the tops of her boots. I might have been half-naked, but she still wore everything, even her jacket. I wanted to see more. "You've wanted that for the last half-hour, haven't you? I could have charged you a couple hundred just for that, and I think you would have paid. But don't worry;" she cut off any protest I might have been about to make. "That was a free sample."

She crouched down at the end of the bed, keeping her eyes on mine, and caught each of my legs by the ankle. "Now we come to the real fucking deal, baby. Now we talk about supply and demand - service and payment. Now that you have a real sense for what kind of services I can offer." She loosened the laces on one of my shoes, then tugged it off and tossed it to the side. She began on the other. "I think I'm going to give you that blowjob - that thousand dollar job that will give you nightmares for the rest of your life, because it's in your past instead of your future. That's what I'm selling tonight." The other shoe fell, and she rolled down my socks.

"I thought you said-"

"Right. You're not willing to part with a thousand dollars for a defining moment in your life. From the looks of your place, it would take you, what - three days to make it back? Less? Is that

I'm

not worth a fucking thousand?"

"No. No, of course not. But-"

"Of course not. But don't worry. I told you, I don't need the cash." Both feet were bare, and she was lifting my feet up to her shoulders. Once I was in an 'L' shape, my legs flat against her body, she leaned over to begin on my belt. "We'll make an arrangement, yes? I'll do this for you... And I know you want it; your cock is begging your brain to shut up and let me lick it, kiss it, nibble on that stretch of skin down beneath your balls - oh, your balls! the things I can do to them - then suck your head so hard you'll think I'm going to turn you inside out ...you know you can already feel it - I'll do this for you, in exchange for any one thing of my choice from this room, or any one favor I choose to name." My pants fell to the floor, heavy with the weight of the belt. Only my shorts were left between my cock and the paradise she promised them, and the shorts just barely. Her fingers slipped up my thighs beneath their hem, and she began to trace around my balls with her leather-clad fingertips.

"What thing? What favor?"

She laughed, a throaty affair, and pushed all the way up into my shorts to catch my cock in a tight grip. "Oh, don't worry. Nothing like your checkbook or credit card. I'll find something that's special to you, but isn't expensive. And I wouldn't ask you to kill someone or rob a bank. The favor won't leave your place. Perhaps I'll ask you to give me a bath and massage, or to cook me the best meal I've had. Perhaps I'll ask you to lick my ass for an hour ... but you'd like that, wouldn't you?" She was pumping the shaft, squeezing it between her fingers to keep it hard, to keep it filled with the blood my brain needed to make good decisions. Her glove was surprisingly warm, deliciously warm, like I knew her mouth would be. "You choose, favor or thing. And I choose what it is

after

I swallow. Whatever it is, it will cost you little, but be worth much."

Her hands pulled away suddenly, and my shorts tore cleanly at the seams, leaving me fully exposed. Slowly, her eyes still locked to mine, she knelt at the foot of the bed and lowered herself to kneel between my legs. She placed her hands inside my thighs and brought her mouth down until her dark lips were just inches from the full-veined shaft of my desperately hopeful cock. Her lips pursed, showing a thin ring of the pink mouth inside, and she blew a soft, warm breath against my head. "What's it going to be? Neither of us can wait too much longer."

"YES! Yes, of course yes!"

She wrapped her fingers around the shaft and pulled it upright, and a small clear drop appeared at my tip. So carefully, so gently, her pale tongue extended and felt its way to gather just the drop, and touch nothing else.

I quivered as she swallowed and smiled wickedly.

"I want to make sure you understand this is a contract, even if it's verbal. Once you cum, I'm holding you to it, no matter what you say. Do you agree?"

"Yes, yes. Damnit! Please!"

Her lips parted and descended over me, and my back arched.

Her mouth was wet, so wet with saliva, and unbelievably warm. I ached to thrust deeper, and my pelvis wrenched, but she held me down with her hand so she could control the pace. She didn't start by sucking, she just kept a seal with her lips and rolled her jaw so I slipped between the slickness of her cheeks and the roof of her mouth, and her tongue. God, her tongue! It was so flexible and strong, and she moved it as dexterously as a finger; she didn't rub or press with it - she cradled me and squeezed me to the roof of her mouth.

I don't usually make noise when I'm having sex, but I know I was groaning and gasping. My hands writhed, wrapped in the confines of my shirt sleeves, and reached for the bed rest to grab. I was too far down the bed, so I settled with gripping the duvet.

She had pushed me out of her mouth and was now basting me with her lips, lubricating me from base to tip with long, wet swipes of her tongue. Her tongue was incredibly long, long enough to wrap halfway around my shaft and hold me in the open curve of her lips, and she slid up and down that way over and over again, until I was dripping. Her mouth and tongue never went dry; her saliva continued to flow until it began to pool around the base of my cock and in the crater between my balls. Before it could drip further, she lapped it up, then moved further down to suck each ball in between her lips and tug at it with her tongue.