Heat

Holy shit, it's cold. Now I can see why the other girls don't bother dressing up much. It might get you one or two more punters, but if it's cold and raining and there's no punters around, then it doesn't make much difference that you bothered to put on nice stockings and a short skirt. Fuck, if you're the kind of guy who comes down here to pay twenty quid for a blowjob then your standards aren't really all that high to begin with anyway.

But then, I'm new to all this, and it looks like it's going to be a hell of a learning curve. This wasn't exactly a childhood dream for me. Believe it or not, I want to be a librarian. I'm in the middle of my post-grad and it's just been impossible to make ends meet. I work in a pub at weekends and one evening a week, but it's just not enough. I'm studying so much that taking on more hours isn't easy and there aren't many jobs around that would fit around my course. My credit card was maxed out and I was at my overdraft limit. I literally couldn't afford food and I ended up borrowing some money from this guy up the next close. He's pretty well known around the area. Alan, his name is, but everyone calls him Mario because of the preposterous moustache he sports. He seems to be veritable underworld gentry.

There are always expensive cars parked outside and a stream of people parading into his flat, from guys in sharp suits and too much jewellery to guys in tank tops and too many tattoos to all manner of women, who are frankly just too much. He deals, he's the local hardnut, he seems to have worked his way round every half-decent looking girl in the neighbourhood and probably half the city. And he lends money to people that can't go anywhere else. I suppose I should have known there would be a price to pay. I'd never imagined him being as sweet and understanding with me as he was when he offered me the money in the first place. But that's just the hook. There's always a price to pay. And Mario is very...persuasive. Sweet, naive little me never even imagined that if I couldn't pay back every penny with extortionate interest, it would end up with me standing on this fucking street corner at midnight asking strangers if they want their cocks sucked for what is practically fucking spare change.

A few guys have passed already in the hour or so I've been here. The responses are a weird mixture. There are guys out with their girlfriends who sneak a furtive glance at my legs before a sharp tug on their arms leads them away while the girls chew the poor guys' ears about their unfaithful eyes. There are awkward, geeky guys who look at me with a kind of terrified lust, as if staring at the forbidden fruit itself before passing on, probably to wank themselves stupid over porn that cost them more than I would have. There are the abusive guys, walking guffaws in pink rugby shirts, calling me names I don't care to repeat. And then there are perhaps the worst of all; the ones who look at you with a wan, pitying half-smile and a slightly quickened gait. They might as well just say it outright: "my guilty liberal conscience says 'care' but my smug middle-class superiority complex says 'junkie whore' so I'll acknowledge you with my best mixture of condescension and contempt and tell all my friends of the horrible state of affairs in the city over a latte tomorrow afternoon after we discuss the fate of the Lib-Dems and debate just how hot Caitlin Moran is." I'm sure he thinks his liberal handwringing will make a difference. He doesn't have a clue. And of course, I'll probably have fucked one of his friends by tomorrow afternoon.

It's so cold out here. Quiet, too. The wind's starting to pick up and...shit. Now it's raining as well. I've got this cloaky shawl type thing, but it's not going to keep me dry for long, and I've only got this floaty, see-through top on underneath. The wind's catching my legs just above my stocking-tops and I can feel goose-pimples coming up. I wonder how many of the other girls bother to wear nice underwear. Not many, I reckon. When they started, they probably made the same mistake I've made tonight. Delicate, expensive knickers might look great in your bedroom and can make you feel sexy as hell, but when the wind is blowing up your skirt and you're standing on a street corner for hours at a time, it just gives you a chill.

Another guy walks by. "Business?" I mumble, almost hoping he doesn't even hear. He turns to look at me with a start.

"Umm...no, sorry." The poor bugger's embarrassed. "Uh, thanks, but yeah, um, no." And on he walks. It's going to be a long night.

Shit. It's fucking freezing now. Right now I'd probably go home with a guy for nothing just for a chance to warm up. But no. I need to make some money. I need business.

Oh God, not with these guys though. I can see them staggering along the street. It's about chucking out time. There's going to be a lot of these guys coming by over the next half hour or so. But these are the kind of guys I'd leave the pub rather than get cornered by. You can hear them a mile off. One's a loud, cackling Cockney who's the only one laughing at his own jokes, but laughing more than enough for everyone. He's big and well-built, probably not bad-looking if he wiped that smirk off his face. The other is a horrible pudgy wee guy, ugly, balding, with a horrible snorting chuckle. I step back a little, hoping they'll just walk by without saying anything to make me feel any worse than I already do. Cockney stops when he sees me.

"Alright darlin'?" he sneers. "Looking for business, are ya?" I look up at him icily and say nothing, hoping he gets the message.

"Come on darlin'. Don't be shy." He's such a cocky bastard. Do I really look like a hooker? I could tell him to fuck off, tell him I'm waiting for a taxi, waiting for my boyfriend. But somehow I just bite my lip nervously.

"'Mon sweetheart," says Chuckles. "What's the going rate for two handsome chaps like us?"

Ugh. This is awful. Why couldn't one of those poor nervous geeky boys have stopped? I'd have been good with them, made them feel good and let them go home happy. They'd have been sweet and polite and grateful and it would probably all have been over in two minutes flat. It's practically a public service for guys like that. But these guys? It's so fucking cold though. And I really need the money.

"Come on princess," says Cockney. "Come down here."

He grabs my wrist and starts to lead me around the corner. I try to resist a little, but it just seems pointless now. Maybe I can get a decent amount out of them and then go home to a nice long, hot shower. I just can't stand being out here much longer. He pulls sharply on my arm and leads me down a dark alley. Chuckles is behind us, snorting away. Disgusting little shit. I feel dirty already. Cockney suddenly pushes me against the wall, pinning my wrists above my head with his strong hands. He doesn't hurt me, but his sudden aggression makes me shiver.

"Who do you think you are anyway? You girls don't all dress up like this, do ya? You think you're something special, yeah?" I tremble and bite my lip again, looking down at the rubbish strewn across the ground. "What the fack would you mother say."

He kisses me. Hard. It's not a strong, passionate, desirable hard, a lover-who-hasn't-seen-you-in-a-month hard. This is a cruel, aggressive hard, an I'm-going-to-kiss-you-whether-you-like-it-or-not hard. I shudder and wriggle against the wall, trying to escape his angry mouth. Of course, there's nowhere for me to go, but still he grips my wrists more tightly and presses his chest against mine. I can't move at all. I whimper slightly and wrench my face away from his. Suddenly I'm pulled off the wall and my wrists are twisted behind my back. I'm nose to nose with him. He sneers at me and his curled lip sends an unexpected shiver through my whole body. He shakes his head slightly and slowly.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you the customer is always right?" he demands. I lower my face. Whether it's out of guilt or shame or some strange professional pride or even just my natural need to please others, I know I can't disappoint him again.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

With that, he puts his strong hands on my shoulders and pushes me down. I crash hard on to my knees and groan loudly. One hand is in my hair as my eyes fall on his crotch. He opens his fly and his cock flops out, brushing my cheek as it falls.

"Suck my dick like a good little whore."

What else can I do? I close my eyes for a moment, steeling myself to the task before me. I can't fight this. I take him into my hand, circling my finger and thumb around the base and pulling back his foreskin. His dick instantly starts to stiffen and I fix my eyes on the swelling purple head of his thick cock. I start to lick and he moans as he gets harder and harder by the second. His hold on my hair grows tighter as I study his now rock-hard cock. He's thick and smooth and so hard. His head is smooth and shiny and purple and swelling with every twitch I feel in my tightening grip. I swirl my tongue around it and find myself savouring the slight salty taste before I stretch my jaw wide open and gulp as much of him into my mouth as I can.

He emits an ugly grunt. I shake my hair over my face. Somehow I need to conceal myself. What the fuck am I doing on my knees in an alleyway sucking a stranger's cock for money? What kind of slut am I? In what seems an act of tenderness, though, my stranger sweeps my hair back behind my ears. His touch is gentle and somehow, despite my face now being exposed to the wind and the rain and the slice of streetlight at the end of the alley and the eyes of everyone who passes, I feel a sense of release. This is not mine to control. With his swagger and his smile, this guy could surely have picked up any girl he wanted, but he wanted a professional service. He wanted me, cheap hooker slut me. If I don't embrace this, I won't deserve my money. If he wants to see me - if he wants the world to see me - then that's how it must be.

I reach inside his jeans and snake my fingers down until I feel his balls. I carefully close my hand around them and begin to move my fingers, feeling them warm and heavy, writhing against my palm. As I do, Cockney begins to guide me with his hands spread around the side of my head, forcing me to bob up and down on the length of his hard dick. I keep my finger and thumb pressed to my lips and clutch still more tightly to his thick shaft as he manoeuvres me up and down. I suck hard, my tongue still squirming against him as he slips steadily in and out of my face. He needs more though, so I need more. I release my hold on him and, freeing my hands, I grasp at his belt buckle and undo it in a frenzy. As I tear open the two still-fastened buttons of his fly, he pushes his hips forward and my head bumps roughly on the wall. I whimper again and pull down his jeans and boxers, just enough to give me freer access to him. I return my hand to his balls, reaching my fingers out to trace my fingers behind them. Now his hips start to move more directly, slowly withdrawing his cock from my mouth before firmly thrusting it home again. I hold my head as steady as I can, impaled against the wall as he pushes this huge, hard dick deep into me. My mouth is so full of him. My jaw aches. My eyes start to water. The tip reaches right to the back of my throat and I gag. Still I suck. I squeeze his balls a little tighter and reach round to grab his tight, muscular arse with my other hand. I dig my nails into him, pulling him further into me, though I know he'll choke me. I need him to inside me completely. He fucks my face hard. He's using me like I'm no better than one of those awful inflatable dolls. I'm just a hole for him to use for his own satisfaction. I take a strange pride in this. Whatever he wants, I must be.

"You like that then, you slut? You like getting your face fucked like that?" His tone is accusatory, contemptuous. I feel so dirty. Should I really be enjoying this? "You like feeling my cock in your throat you fucking whore?" he asks. "Mmmhmmm," I moan, unable to form words with my mouth so full.

Now Chuckles appears beside him. I'd almost forgotten he was here! He's stroking himself just inches away from my temple. I release Cockney's arse from my claws and reach up to grab this other cock, but before I can reach it, Chuckles reaches down and grabs the waistband of my skirt, forcing me up of the ground. I shift the grip of my other hand to the base of Cockney's shaft, my head twisting wildly to keep him in my mouth as I am moved. He obligingly shifts his feet so he's right in front of me again and I gratefully suck harder on his bulging head.

My skirt has already ridden up and I can feel the cold rain on the bare cheeks of my arse as it points up in the air. I straighten my legs and roll my hips, knowing without seeing the lustful gaze it will engage. I feel the thin strip of fabric tugged from between my legs, and the cold night air only makes it more obvious to me just how wet I have become. The lips of my pussy are swollen, and as Chuckles kicks the inside of my ankle to spread my legs for him, there is thrilling icy tingle around my gaping hole. His fingers run over me, pressing against my hole then slipping roughly up to rub my clitoris. I moan loudly and Cockney responds by pushing deep into my throat again. I wonder if maybe he's a manual worker. His fingers feel rough and calloused. I've never felt any man, let alone two men, so in need of me. They are urgent and angry, this huge dick in my mouth and these primitive, animal fingers now harshly thrust inside me. Is that one finger? Two? I can't tell. It's painful but I arch my back and push myself on to them. I have to give my customers all they want.

The fingers slip out now. "She's more than wet enough, mate," says Chuckles, talking about me as if I'm not even there. "I'm gonnae enjoy fucking this tight wee cunt." My knickers are ripped from me and instantly my pussy is full of him. I gasp loudly and I engulf both hard cocks. My God! It's too much! I gag and convulse. My whole fucking body is full of cock! One rammed far down my throat and pulsing in my hand, one pounding my pussy from behind with long, slow, insistent thrusts. I hear his hand before I feel it. There is a thunderous crack. His fingers are spread and I feel the outline of his palm and all five fingers erupt in hot, red fire. I try to scream but my voice is muffled by Cockney.

"Sssshhh!" he hisses. "Fucking five-oh are over there!" Is he even talking to me, or is he admonishing his partner-in-crime for making such a loud noise in striking me. Regardless, I try desperately to remain silent as I feel Chuckles' cock stretching as things become silent. I clench my pussy around him, longing to squeeze his come into me. What am I saying?! That's not me! But the feelings coursing through me are so intense, so primal. I surrender all control and let them do their worst. A hand crashes against me again. The heat spreads. It no longer has edges, no longer a single fiery hand. Again it comes down. I whimper and moan, longing to feel it again, knowing I deserve it. Again...again...again. The inferno spreads and spreads. It is wildfire, uncontrolled and uncontrollable. Heat spreads up and throughout my body.

With a grunt, Chuckles resumes his prior rhythm. At the same time, Cockney reaches for my arms and pulls them behind my back, wrapping his own muscular forearms under my elbows and resting his own elbows on the front of my shoulders. "Let's fuck this whore the way she needs to fucked," he tells his comrade. "She's fucking gagging for it." At this, Chuckles slides his hands over my arse and around my hips then down the front of my thighs. He grunts again as he bucks his hips and now I'm suspended between them, supported only by four hands and two hard cocks. Oh my God. It's like I've been speared through with their hardness. I can practically feel them meeting in the middle of me. They quickly build up a rhythm, each thrusting into me as the other withdraws. I can feel the heat from Chuckles' hand radiating outwards. I'm suddenly incredibly hot.

Without warning, Chuckles drops me. The abrupt emptiness of my pussy makes me wince. He grabs my hair and pulls me away from Cockney too. I let out a breathless whine, making clear my need to continue. He spins me around though and, without even looking at me, hoists me over his shoulder with a grunt. With my legs dangling down his chest and my hands trailing down his back, I become aware that he's not actually all that fat. He's solid muscle, just not defined. My guess that he is some sort of manual labourer seems accurate. The way he lifts and holds me gives that impression too. His treatment of me is really no better than if I were a sack of spuds. I hear him address his co-conspirator: "Are you ready to finish this bitch off?"

He lowers me now, again without looking at me. I'm so wet that I slip easily down over his cock, sighing loudly as I feel him fill me again. His hands grip my arse tightly and I wrap my legs around his waist to maintain some kind of balance. Now Cockney's hands are in my hair again, slowly pulling me backwards. I lean back tentatively, terrified of falling but eager to do as I am bidden. At last I see his thick cock again. The angle is awkward, and as he manoeuvres his hands to the back of my neck, I arch my back and tip my head as far back as it will go in order to accommodate him in my hungry mouth. He can't really thrust into me from this angle, so I reach for him with my hands, corkscrewing one hand around the base of his shaft and caressing his balls with the other while sucking furiously on the part that is in my mouth. Chuckles starts to slam into me hard though. He pulls out slowly until just the very tip of his dick is brushing my entrance, then violently he forces it into me. His hips crash against my arse and thighs and I can hear his breathing get deeper and heavier. His powerful, piercing thrusts cause my body to quiver and twitch. The heat on my skin is matched by the heat inside me. I feel it rising, spreading. Every inch of my being burns. I writhe. I twist. I moan desperately. The heat engulfs my body. Chuckles grunts like a beast. He floods my cunt with his hot come. The wrenching, agonising, bewitching feelings explode inside me. I convulse. I slip from their grasp. I collapse on the cold, wet ground.

I sit on the ground, dazed. The heat on my arse starts to dissipate as Cockney steps in front of me and casually shoots his sticky come all over my face. I don't even blink. I want to respond to it, but I am empty. Mentally, physically, emotionally...I have nothing left. They've taken it all. I don't even have the energy or the dignity to wipe it off. I stare coldly at the ground, catching sight of my beautiful knickers, now a discarded rag in a puddle. The warmth begins to drain out of me as Chuckles' load slowly oozes back out of me and on to the wet pavement.

I hear them fastening their trousers again. Cockney pulls out his wallet. He thrusts a wad of notes into my hand. I don't even look at it. I can't. The heat I feel now is in my cheeks. I'm blushing. My lip trembles as he touches me. How did I get here? He pats my cheek and murmurs "you did good, girl." It's like he's praising an obedient dog.

They walk away. My shawl is lying on the ground too. I pick it up and wrap it tightly around my shoulders, but it's soaking wet. I feel no warmer. I finally look at the money and realise it's not tenners as I had first thought. This is a wad of fifties. Tonight might be all I need, maybe more. And now, in the silence and the bitter cold, the only warmth I can feel is from the tears that begin to stream down my face...