One-Night Stand with the Archangel

Chapter 2: Friends, Rapists, and Other Lovers

Daddy Vernon and I always enjoyed each other's company. He was always a good friend to me, and in many ways he was more of a father figure to me than my own Dad. Because of this strange love I never minded the fact that his sepia cock always tasted a little tangy. He had been on heroin ever since his wife died, and though I never gave him my pussy, he was always thankful for the pleasure I gave him. We had a symbiosis--he paid my pimp, and I pleasured him. But beyond that, I felt sorry that he let himself get thrown away by society--he was a sweet man, and given the nature of our relationship, he showed me all the love a junkie could possibly show a prostitute that refused to give him a free fuck.

I loved the way his fingertips touched my cheeks and cradled my face as I sucked his cock. They were never forceful. They were tender. Everything about him was tender. I would gaze up into his eyes and see the glint therein, and I liked the way he smiled and moaned at the same time. He thought I was an angel, and he reveled in what he perceived was my ability to make magic.

I didn't care how much older than me he was, and I didn't care that his cock lacked the girth of youth. He made up for it with appreciation. Thus, as I moaned softly on his cock and tightened my lips around it, I did so with enthusiasm; feeling his fingers comb my hair from my face and looking up to see his whole face alight with momentary happiness was my motivation.

On this particular day, though, I was behind on rent and needed Vernon's help a little more than I normally would. He paid Darryl my pimp, but fifty dollars was not going to help much this month. I loved the man like family, and as long as he paid me I would always suck his cock, but I needed to get a little more from him. Had I not cared about him, we would be doing this in a dark alley instead of my apartment, and in that alley I might have rolled him, took his wallet and ran as he wobbled in a confused orgasmic high, his pants rolled down to his ankles. But here, in my apartment, with a man I did love in my own way, I had to get creative.

"Ohh--Oh-liviahhh..." I heard Vernon whimper as his cock grew in my mouth. He always lets himself into vulnerable positions. I had to take advantage of him, but I just couldn't be cruel. "Ohhh, you are so beautiful."

He sat on my couch, leaning way back, legs wide, as I knelt at the floor. We were dressed like normal people--pants, shirts, shoes, whatnot. So don't think I got all gussied up for him--he was a dear friend, but he was also a john.

I released his cock from my mouth and sat up next to him, my fingers stroking him as he stayed in his stupor. I licked his neck and ear a little, and I whispered hotly to him. His cock was so hard, not necessarily large in any way, but sincerely aroused as able as it could have been.

"Oh Vernon, baby," I whispered hotly to him, trying to excite him further, "mmhh, you want me to do something special for you Daddy?

"Ooohhh oohhh sweetie yes yes." he responded.

"You got a few more bucks for your little girl?" My hand is fisting him roughly and furiously.

"Buuh--uhh--but I paid your Darryl fifty already."

"I know, Daddy, but you paid him, not me. I can give you something you've never had before if you want it bad enough." I was turning the slut on full force. The man wasn't rich, but certainly he had a little something for me.

My handjob coupled with my whore talk worked its magic. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and took out two twenties. His shaky hand gave me the money, and I took it happily and placed it between the cushions of this couch for the time being.

"Mmmh Daddy, I knew you would come through." At that, I sat up and smiled wickedly at him, reached to my shirttail, and pulled my shirt over my head. I lightly tossed it to the floor, and I watched his eyes light up and mouth gape a little.

Before he could comment on the size or fullness of my breasts, I resumed my place on the floor and, always looking up at him, I pressed my bosom against his crotch, smothering his cock therein. I smiled sweetly as his hands returned to my face, his way of saying I love you Olivia.

"Mmmmh Daddy Vernon, you like how your little girl likes to play?"

"Ohhhh sweet Jesus."

I leaned to him and pulled his shirttail up a few inches. I began to bite and suck on his flat stomach as I ground my tits against his crotch. I always loved getting my tits fucked, whether I did all the work or not.

His dark skin was kind of loose on his abdomen, as if he lost the muscles underneath. It was flat but not firm. I licked and sucked on his ribs and stomach, making him squirm and squeal a little, seemingly overwhelmed with my idea of fun.

I whimpered a little as I kissed his body--his fingers pressed at the sides of my breasts, forcing my breasts together, crushing his cock in between. Mhhh, this was making me wet, and though I wasn't going to let him even see or touch my pussy, I did grave a good fucking.

His moans and squirmings urged me on, and I got into this, loving giving him such pleasure, loving knowing he loved it.

"Come on Daddy," I moaned as he started to thrust his hips and fuck my tits on his own. "MMMMMhh Daddy Vernon, I love to party with you like this."

He went faster, and he gripped my tits tighter as I saw the desperation in his eyes. He was lost in the purity of the moment, unable to talk, only moaning and whimpering as I felt his cock thicken against my breastbone. I tilted my head back and let Vernon fuck my tits, and I loved it and was so fucking hot from it. I whimpered hornily.

"Oohh Daddy yes, fuck me, fuck your Olivia."

I heard him squeal and grow rigid as he arched and squeezed my tits hard. His body was starting to cum, but his cock was still full. I yelped feeling his fingers clutch my tits, squeezing them. I was so hot.

After a few frozen seconds he removed his hands from me and started to jack off wildly. I licked the tip of his cock frantically, wanting to get him off, wanting his cum on me.

It took just a few seconds. He grunted loudly as a few jets of sperm landed on my neck. He fell back on the couch, spent but excited, his heart racing faster than was probably healthy. I giggled naughtily. I made him happy. And I was happy for him. Getting a few more dollars from him was good, but seeing his satiated glazed-over expression was worth the effort.

I crawled back onto the couch and touched his face tenderly, smiling sweetly, as he caught his breath. "Oh Vernon," I said among my giggling, "you are so out of your league with me."

The old man looked at me, not with lust, but with admiration. He still couldn't speak, but his eyes were sweet, his lips in a grin, his hand touching mine as I touched him. He lightly took my hand and kissed my wrist, and I purred.

"You are a good girl to humor an old nigger junkie, Livie," Vernon finally said once he stopped gasping. "Why such a beautiful girl is giving head to a stiff like me is beyond me."

I pouted playfully at that, knowing he appreciated my company, but also knowing I could have done better for myself.

"Oh I wish you were my daughter Livie, you would have never been a ho."

"But I like to fuck, Vernon, and what's wrong getting paid for it?"

"I wouldn't agree with that line, but I understand it when a seventeen-year-old says it. But you're..."

Knowing where he is going with this, I interrupted, "...older than seventeen." I smiled, and he relented in his pointmaking.

"You know," I continued, "I like you Vernon, and as long as you're buying, I don't care if it's coffee or sex, I will always invite you by here."

"Spoken like a true prostitute."

He's pushing my buttons. "Spoken like a woman who, were we in better circumstances, would still expect the man to buy me dinner and to work while I kept the house nice. Prostitute or housewife, it's still a lady's prerogative to let the man buy."

Vernon smiled broadly at that. "You always make moments like these seem more than they are. Like we're Bogart and Bacall instead of junkie and ho."

"That's the point of all this, isn't it Daddy? If there's nothing special, ethereal, magical between two people, it's just a body function. And at that point, I am getting paid for having someone go to the bathroom on me."

He gave me a mock disapproving look for that comment. "It's a crying shame such a beautiful woman should think sex is someone taking a piss on her."

"You always say I'm beautiful, Vernon."

"You have the face of an angel and the body of a goddess."

"Oh yeah? Then why am I sucking nigger junkie cock?"

Smugly he answered, "Because you like to."

In my own way, I know he is right. Vernon knows me more than he probably should. Michael also knows this. I miss Michael.

After a moment, I stood up and walked to the bathroom. Vernon pulled up his pants and followed me. I looked in the mirror and wiped his cum off my neck and chest as we continued to converse.

"So, Livie, I hope there's a better Bogart in your life than me."

"What do you mean, Vernon?" I pressed a damp towel corner to my neck and cleaned myself as his dark hands cupped my breasts. My nipples hardened in his tender touch.

"I mean, I hope there's someone more special in your life than a pimp living off of your feeling men piss on you and a junkie who, if we didn't have this wonderful but highly unorthodox friendship, would be the pisser."

I dropped the towel in the sink and picked up a brush. I started to roughly brush out and tease my hair as his fingers groped my tits. "Look Vernon," I said as I looked at him in the mirror, "if things were different, and your wife were still alive, and I was a college girl or something like that, I think we would've been friends under better circumstances. I really believe that. I think real friendship is a constant."

I slipped out of his embrace and turned and looked up at him, touching his face again, my eyes gazing up at his tired but pleasant stare. "And I think you were a wonderful husband, and I would have loved to have you as a father."

Vernon laughed a little. "Is that a no?"

"To what?"

"Is there a significant man in your life, Livie?"

I smiled softly. "Well, there's this one guy I know, his name is Michael."

"Does he make you happy?"

"When he comes around, yes."

"That's all I want to know." His smile was broad. So was mine.

Vernon caught himself, realizing I was cleaning myself up. "But, uh, a pretty brunette always has better things to do than to talk to a junkie all afternoon."

"Darryl did set me up for tonight. Thousand dollar night! He'll be by in," turning and seeing the alarm clock on my night stand and reading 4pm, "Jesus, in two hours."

Feeling a little left out, Vernon muttered, "And what does a gentleman caller get for a thousand dollars?"

"Any damn thing he wants!"

"Well, if for ninety dollars I get a blowjob and a tittyfuck straight from heaven, I can just imagine what you might do for more."

"Not bad for letting a man piss on me, huh?"

"For a thousand dollars he can piss on me too."

"If ever I have a thousand dollars to blow, I'll do it for you. Promise."

With that, we were both laughing and carrying on like brother and sister. It was a good moment for Vernon to go, and he saw his cue as such.

"Well Olivia, I hope you have a good time. By all means, be safe."

"I will, Daddy Vernon. And I hope you can come by before you get your assistance check next week. Seeing a friend once a week is sad."

"Well, since you sent me to the poor house for the week, I don't know if I can spare a few bucks for that coffee you invited me to buy for you. Even if I did, can you just imagine us sitting in Starbucks, chatting like this?"

"Yes I can, Vernon, and I wish you could too."

I opened the front door, and as Vernon approached me he gave me a big hug and lifted me off my feet. I could feel the transference of love--or at least what our relationship defined as love--between us in the embrace.

"Stay safe, Livie," he whispered.

"You too, Daddy."

And with that he was out the door. For a little while I was alone. Physically, anyway. A good thing when having to get ready for a thousand dollar date. But with friends like Vernon, I was alone, but never lonely.

***

Impulsively, I eyed the clock on my endtable when I heard a rough knock on the door. It read 5:30, and the first words to pop into my head were, "Damn, this Walter fella is too early. I was standing in the bathroom, applying eyeliner and shadow, when the impatient knock came--my hair was in good shape, teased and fixed. I was only wearing panties; I was going to wear something special for this Walter guy, something hot, something worthy of a thousand dollar payday--perhaps my leathers, men always like it when I wear my tightest leathers pants and my leather jacket with nothing under it. Or should I wear something a little more adult, something ladylike--I have a certain red dress I've been waiting to wear, skimpy, cut at mid thigh, open back, and pushes my tits together and really shows off my cleavage. These are some of the things I was thinking about putting on, and once I had finished putting on my face I was going to leaf through my closet and pick out something real sexy for this Walter.

Another knock at the door, which prompted my words to leap from my head to my mouth. "Hold on!" I yelled, not wanting to let him get away, not wanting him to leave and call my pimp Darryl and nark me out for standing him up. I hastily grabbed a silk robe hanging from the back of the bathroom door--pink with a dragon print on the back--and scurried to the front door.

I opened the door a crack and saw the gentleman on the other side. Scruffy sort of fellow, with unkempt cropped hair and wearing a dingy jeans jacket. Smoking, too. His posture slumped a little. I couldn't make out his face in the shadows. I was unimpressed in my first impression of this guy. But, if this was Walter and was willing to pay a grand for my services, who was I to judge?

"Are you Walter?" I asked through the crack?

"Uh, yeah, Walter," he answered in a gruff undervoice. He shifted in his stance as he spoke, and his cigarette clung to his lower lip as he talked. "You that chick?"

I tried to smile warmly at him in this way, through the crack of the door. I try to be a good hostess, and if I can get away with a smile as a disguise for what I really think about the men I see, I do so with relish. Ever the actress.

"Yes, Walter," I purred as I spoke, "I am that chick. You're early."

I opened the door wider to let him in. The light of the room gave me a better view. Dark blonde hair, cut short, uncombed and a little grungy. His face could be considered handsome had he not several rings hanging from his eyebrows. His eyes were vacant blue. Denim jacket hadn't been washed, seemingly ever. Same with his ripped jeans. He wore no shirt, he was very thin, but I could see several dark patterns on his chest and stomach that suggested tattooes, perhaps those Celtic swirls. His fingers were yellowish as he took his cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke at me.

"Yeah, well...", he said in a standoffish way.

I looked warmly upon him. In another life I might have dated such a guy, or at least a cleaner version of him. As much as I try to think positive about people and take them at face value, I'd like to think there was something attractive about him. Maybe if I was at a coke party, I could see myself going down on him. I would have to be high to do so for free.

But he paid a grand--time to make lemonade out of this lemon.

I tried to play myself as an actress of some sort. I know too many girls that just lie back in bed, spread their legs, and let their men have their way. In that regard, prostitution is little more than going to the bathroom on one another. The only way I can do this on a daily basis is to make this more than what it really is. That is one reason why I seem to get a better clientele than other girls who just stand on the corner. Of course, I also have kept my figure and my face and haven't let my tits or ass sag. But I try to also be a romantic in this, and in this I make it through the day.

I took a few steps back as he entered. He was staring at my chest. I'm used to that. But his eyes were buggy, wide, hungry. That was a little intimidating.

"I was going to wear something special for you, Walter. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Naah, baby, I'm fine." His voice was low and guttural.

I smiled sexily. "OK, sweetie. Just give me a moment to put something on for you."

I went to my bedroom, to the closet, and ruffled through the outfits therein. Obviously this guy is not one for the refined things, which cancels out most of my wardrobe. Leather it is. I untied my robe and let it fall to the floor; in my panties again, I grabbed what I needed--black leather pants, leather jacket, and stiletto heels. I sat on the foot of my bed as I slipped my pants over my legs--so very tight on me, hugged my ass and waist and thighs. I had to inhale a little to fasten the buckles and zippers, it was so tight. I put my heels on and stood up. I looked at myself in the mirror in my room as I put on my jacket--it feels smooth against my bare arms. I leave the jacket open, showing to all my flat tummy and firm tits. I think I look rather hot.

My heels clicked as I walked out of my bedroom. I gasped as I returned to the living room. My gentleman caller for the evening was looking through my drawers and things, leaving them open as he looked through them.

"Just what the hell are you doing?" His head turned quickly to me as I caught him.

He froze as he looked at me, as if a little timid. His eyes again focused on my chest.

"I said, what the fuck are you doing, Walter?" I hope the expression on my face mirrored the anger welling up in me.

The rummager stammered, "I was..., well, I, uh..."

I walked to the door in a fit and opened it violently. "I don't care if you did pay a thousand to be with me, no one goes through my shit!" I turned back and glared at him to punctuate my want for him to leave.

His eyes widened, and he smiled a sinister grin. "You got a thousand dollars around here somewhere?" He resumed looking through my drawers.

I felt hit right between the eyes with my own stupidity. "You aren't Walter, are you?" I said with my tail between my legs

The thief didn't answer as he lifted the cushions off the couch. His face lit up when he found the two twenties Daddy Vernon gave me. He snatched them in one hand and hurriedly put them in his jacket pocket.

"Where's the rest of it?"

"The rest of what?" I was getting scared, partly because this guy seemed dangerous, but mostly that I had done something incredibly dumb and it was going to present its consequences rather quickly.

"Come on, girlie, you said you had a thousand bucks around here, where is it?" His tone was not yet horrible, for he was still in thief mode, wanting to get the money and flee more than lashing out at me.

I was frozen as I watched him continue to overturn the couch. He looked through a cupboard and pushed the glasses out onto the floor with a crash.

"My... mmmy pimp has it." I tried to mutter.

A little more impatiently, he asked, "Then coke. You got some coke or something I could have?"

I stayed where I was, door open, frozen, silent.

He was breathing harder as I watched him ransack my kitchen and living room. "Then heroin. Got any of that?"

The joy was gone from my face as I watched the pathetic scene.

"Any dope at all?"

"No," I said softly, "no dope."

He was getting ever more impatient by the second, and I watched how his actions grew more desperate. He pushed over a nice lamp that belonged to a friend. His eyes grew hungrier.