This is an experimental storyline I have thought of. Please do give some feedback at the end in the form of comments and votes. They are essential to improving the story.
*
Here they come again. Those urges, those damn urges!!
It had barely been two weeks since the last time and already I felt like doing it again. Like a compulsive smoker who has gone a day without a smoke. I have to resist. I can't give in again.
Let me introduce myself. I am Simon Chase, ace web designer and software developer. I work freelance for many large companies. Just sitting at home, I draw over a hundred grand a year. I am living in a nice little residential complex in Queens. Just 25, I still have some of my boyish charm. I live alone in my apartment and work at a computer all day. Anyone in the complex will vouch for the friendly, endearing chap I am. But yes, I have an addiction.
After trying to resist for an hour or so, I finally decided to do it. Heaving a sigh of resignation, I put on my jacket and stepped outside. The night was chilly as I made my way to my destination.
Now, you must be wondering where I am going and what my addiction is. Drugs? No. I have never so much as smoked a joint in my life. Alcohol? No. I am not a fanatic teetotaller but I rarely drink and, that too, mostly at social events and when I have company. My addiction is more primal than that.
Driving through the still night reminded me of the last time I had indulged. The adrenalin rush, the sheer exhilaration and the feeling of ecstasy afterwards were just too good not to repeat. For the most part, she seemed to enjoy it as well. Finally, I found what I was looking for.
The street corner was filled with hookers. They were of different sizes and colours, but united in the world's oldest profession. Just what I needed. Carefully, I made my way down the alley and stopped my car. It was an accepted signal. After surveying me and my car for a few minutes, a redhead sauntered down the alley and peered in through the driver's side window. I lowered the glass and gave her my best smile.
"Looking for a date, pretty boy?"
"You got me. So how about we cut the crap and you get in."
"Straight and to the point, just the way I like it. You should know I charge more than the average whore in these parts. $400 for a round."
"I'll take it. How about we get going now?"
So I drove to the nearest seedy motel. I had done this often enough to know exactly where they are. These places exist for the sole purpose of guys like me exercising guilty pleasures. On reaching, I got out and quickly went up to the counter in front. Discreetly, I gave him a couple of notes. The signal was clear: I didn't want him to see my face. The guy accepted it gratefully. Many of the clientele were married and thus, anonymity was of prime importance. It was a common practice to bribe the guy off. Soon, a key was thrust out of the counter bottom. Room 301.
My 'date' and I made our way to our allotted room. The doors were intentionally thick to conceal the noises emanating from within. Almost every room we passed was occupied. Some were even slightly ajar giving us an unwanted view of the debauchery going on inside.
Finally, we reached 301. We entered and I locked the door behind me. She said she wanted to take a quick shower before we started. I readily agreed as I needed some time to prep as well. I was tingling with excitement at the prospect of what was about to unfold, particularly the little surprise I had for the end.
Once outside the bathroom, she seemed eager to give me a show. Seductively, she peeled off her dress inch by inch, slowly to arouse. I watched intently as she finally removed her entire top and tossed it aside. Her breasts were nice and firm, her nipples were erect. Giving a small jiggle, she followed the same routine on her skirt. I am not a man of patience, but I let her have her moment. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she was completely naked. Her pussy was shaved and smooth. On the whole, she looked pretty nice. Definitely worth the $400. She gently lay down on the bed and seductively ushered me over with her middle finger.
She lay, with her head on the pillow, as I straddled her chest and gently lowered my cock to her mouth. Instinctively, her tongue knew exactly where to go; she was very good at this. It swirled around the head of my cock and slowly worked its way up the shaft until it met my sac.
I was in dreamland as she kept repeating this movement over and over again. After a while, I got off on her face and knelt down between her legs. I knew this wasn't obligatory but I wanted to do it anyway. I started with long licks of her folds before concentrating my efforts on her clit. Several licks later, she was aroused to the level of moaning. I took this as a sign of encouragement and brought the tip of my erect member to her pussy.
In one stroke, I sank the entirety inside her. She gasped at the feeling. I recoiled and then let loose with another, hard thrust. This time her body shook with the impact. I kept up a fast tempo and soon I could feel my orgasm building. She locked her legs around my waist as I neared climax and finally shot several loads of cum inside her.
Exhausted and sweating, I got up. She was panting as well, but seemed satisfied.
"Hey, you're good at this. You may be the best client I had in a while. You look decent too. Why do you resort to hookers? I am sure New York has enough horny women who would immediately go home with you."
"I have my reasons. Now, before I pay you, there is one more thing I want to do."
"Sure, bring it on. I've seen every fetish there is."
Trust me; she probably hadn't seen this one. She was lying, curled up against the pillow as I went to the door. My jacket was hanging from a hook. I reached inside and retrieved the thing I wanted from my inner pocket. Her expression changed a bit once she saw what it was.
---
Monica Devereaux was in a foul mood all morning. She had once again woken up next to a random stranger in her apartment. One of these days she would need to stop going to bars and getting wasted. The guys she brought back weren't any good. Then, her breakfast was burnt and her car ran out of gas midway to the station. She was at the filling station, when she received the call and realized that her day had just taken a turn for the worse.
"Monica, come over to the Flamingo Motel on 52nd and Westbourne. We have a crime scene."
"Christ, not that fucker again."
"Unfortunately, it is the same guy."
Cursing her day even more, she keyed in her new destination in the car's GPS. Driving through the traffic would be a pain.
An hour of trading expletives with other commuters later, she drove up to the hotel. There were onlookers everywhere. The yellow tape was stretched over the entire premises. She walked in to be greeted by her effervescent partner Brian 'Boz' Bozman. He was unusually cheerful, even at crime scenes. He idolized her. After all, Monica was one of the youngest detectives in the history of the NYPD. Just 32, she was surely en route for higher posts.
Monica was an interesting woman. Her parents had desperately wanted a boy and they were not disappointed. From an early age, she was into physical activities and contact sports, often beating the guys. She was a free spirit and her indomitable will and ruthless ambition meant she climbed the police hierarchy at top speed. She commanded huge respect from all her juniors, colleagues and superiors. She was not to be trifled with, as some people found out the hard way.
One particular instance had become stuff of locker room talk in every precinct. A pimp known as Edgar Bain had been hauled in for sadistically torturing his girls. It was well known that he was a criminal, but he was well connected enough to beat the charges. His girls were too scared to testify against him. Officer Devereaux took him in her cruiser and drove him out to the city limits. There she beat him to within an inch of his life and told him that if he ever returned, she would finish the job. He took the hint and left.
