The city is lonely and my bedside table is in disarray. Cherry cola fizzes in a champagne flute. A ragged copy of Albert Camus’ The Fall holds a position of importance in place of a Bible. It’s bookmarked at Jean-Baptiste’s recollection of that warm autumn night by the River Seine. I like to reread that passage when I can’t sleep. Next to it, there’s a half-smoked joint in a vintage glass ashtray that I stole from an ex-lover’s apartment. I can’t remember his name, but there’s something satisfying about grinding my ashes into it, even after all these years.

Chanel’s Black Satin Vernis (the original, that’s impossible to find) is on the tabletop too. I’ve just painstakingly lacquered my toes while stark naked, perched in the red leather club chair that faces the floor-to-ceiling windows in my apartment. Sometimes I feel like I'm in my own little display case, only mine is far more pornographic than pretty. My long blonde hair veils my nipples like an untied scarf, yet I’ve left my cunt on full display.

Boredom is setting in, and I stand and place my hands against the glass. I lean my body into it so that I can feel the cool touch against my cheek and the very tip of my clit if I angle my hips just right. I like to watch the traffic below from this vantage point. The cars look like toys, pushed by unseen hands. It’s rush hour in the city streets, but there are still appointments to keep and promises that have been made.

Instead of cold hard cash being the motivation at this hour, the trade-off is usually about pleasure. There are friendly connections to be made, alcohol or drugs to escape the day’s monotony, family bonding that happens only on nights and weekends, and even indiscretions with lovers that don’t really love. Everyone is rushing to find something or someone, some profound little reminder of the blood pumping through our veins.

When we get down to it, to the real base of who we are, we’re mainly driven by darker instincts. The sex industry exploits every raw urge a filthy mind can conjure, capitalizing on the fact that most will be satisfied by being voyeurs rather than participants. The ones that insist on taking their piece of the pie usually keep their indiscretions well concealed. Under the safe cloak of night, people feel more comfortable giving in to their desires and kinks and all those little perversions they’d never admit to by the ugly glare of daylight.

When the sun goes down, it seems like no one has to pretend anymore. The bankers and lawyers sneak off to underground fetish clubs, married coworkers heat up mini-vans in abandoned parking lots, and schoolteachers are hurrying to hotel rendezvous with Doms that will consensually force them into submission. Countless others are online, sticky fingers tapping on keyboards, chasing orgasms with like-minded strangers. Everyone has a secret worth keeping.

And then there’s you and I. I always find myself craving you when the sun slips behind the long horizon of the city’s silhouette. The tall proud buildings fall into the evening shadows and the dirty, rank alleys of my psyche light up with possibilities. Of all my vices, you’ve always been my favorite fix. In reality we don’t quite fit, but there’s something freeing in that too. If we did, we might risk becoming victims of complacency and then we’d have to seek the rush elsewhere. Try that angle too many times and things could become dangerous.

I sink down into the leather club chair again and reach for my phone, dragging my bare toes against the cool glass windows as though I’m cutting lines of white powder across a mirror. Expectation is setting in now and I can almost taste you. I bury my free hand in my mess of blonde hair and arch my back, feeling your energy inside me, as though your phantom cock is teasing my hot little cunt through the wires.

You answer after an appropriate stall of three rings, almost tipping into voicemail before your voice tickles my ear like a wet tongue.

I’m blunt and to the point.

“Wanna fuck me?”

Your interest is instantly piqued, and like a pusher of dirty fantasies, I try to pull you in.

“You know I do.”

“Then get over here,” I tell you. “Your nasty little slut is waiting.”

I hear your low chuckle. “Oh, really. And what have you been doing all afternoon?”

“Preparing my tight little ass for your cock,” I purr. “Then I took a nice hot shower before turning the water on ice cold. My nipples are still constricted and hard. My cunt is warm though. I can feel the heat with my fingers while I fuck myself.”

I hear you draw in your breath. “Is that what you’re doing now?”

“I am,” I confess, as I slide two digits in on a curve and hold them there, nice and deep. “Right in front of my wall of windows.”

“Ah, where everyone can watch, of course.”

“If they want,” I admit with indifference. “But you know I’d rather be watched by you.”

“I want to,” you tell me, and I hear shuffling, as though you’re disappearing to a more private area of whatever room you’re in. Your voice lowers. “What if I can’t make it tonight?”

“What would stop you?”

“Obligations…”

I know she’s probably there with you right now, and tempting you makes me a little more eager to master your undoing.

“Send her home.”

“It’s Friday night…”

“Pick an excuse. You’re good at them, remember?”

I hear your low laugh and I pull my juicy fingers from my cunt and slide them into my mouth, licking and sucking as you linger silently on the other line like a captive audience.

“Come on, tell me what I have to do to get you here,” I say coyly. “I’m all wet and slippery and I don’t want to have to dial another number.”

“You would do that, wouldn’t you? Scroll through your digital Black Book and order someone else.”

“You’re always first on my list,” I remind you, and I’m being honest here. “No one else knows quite how to handle me.”

“Ahhhh, you need to be ‘handled’ tonight,” you conclude. “And so, what’s in it for me?’

“Oh, so many things,” I promise as I begin to rub my clit. “Want a little taste?”

“Tell me.” Your voice is darker now, raspy, and I know your dirty mind is quickly rifling through a long list of possibilities.

“I want your cock in my throat,” I whisper. “And then I want to slide my tongue into your ass. And I want your cum running down the back of my thighs after my hot little ass is fucked raw. I want a lot of things. But it’s up to you.”

Your sigh is heavy, yet there’s a tremble of eager energy there too.

“Babydoll always did love a challenge, didn’t she?”

“Babydoll always wins,” I remind you teasingly. “And I’ll bet you’re hard right now.”

“I am,” I hear you say in a tight voice. “It’s your favorite method of check-mate, isn’t it?”

“So… are you coming, so to speak?”

“Finger fuck your ass for me.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, now.

I move forward on the club chair and raise my thighs to my chest, walking my slippery fingers downward to my sensitive little knot that winks open expectantly. I slowly push a digit in, sliding it in up to the knuckle before building a steady rhythm. You hear my soft moans and I imagine you’re pleased and one step closer to giving in.

“You’ve got it all ready for me, have you?”

“I took my time. It’s all pink and tight and absolutely immaculate. You can even eat out of it,” I tell you.

“Oh, I intend to,” you assure me. “So here’s the deal. I’ll be there within the hour, but I want you waiting on the kitchen table, dressed in something slutty, your thighs spread wide.”

“Mmm… that can definitely be arranged.”

“And Babydoll?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to play with you pretty hard tonight. Be ready.”

“You can do anything you want to me,” I promise. My voice is sweet and irresistible, like cream and honey. I suck my fingers into my pretty pout again, just to telegraph one final kinky image that’s sure to speed your travels.

Even as I hang up, knowing the plans I’ve set in motion, I can feel that palpable restlessness inside me too. My senses are revved and humming and after a long day of meticulously preparing my body for you, the anticipation has me nearly at a breaking point. I hadn’t even entertained the idea that you might say no.

I’ll admit, there’s a certain satisfaction in being able to lure you, when I know you’re not the type to concede to any woman. Sure, there have been girlfriends that have come and gone but none that have ever been a risk to what we have. Not even the one that’s there with you right now. Sexual commitment runs deeper than all those passing flings and I know they can’t satisfy those base urges that linger in the darker corners of your mind. You can’t help what you want, you can’t reason with it or use logic to deny it. The blood runs faster all on its own.

This is our rush hour and the clock is still ticking.

The heat is already inside my apartment and the city outside seems baked with humidity. I’ve left the windows open to compete with the air conditioning tonight. I like feeling the contrasts in temperature on my skin. It’s going to rain soon and I’ve always loved the way the air feels wet and heavy just before a storm. A little bead of sweat hangs on the crescent of my belly button and I watch it trickle slowly down toward my slippery cunt as my fingers work deeper inside. Soon, I’m urgently rubbing my sweet spot until I feel the ache all the way up in my throat.

Fuck, I want to come.

I sigh and re-light the joint on my nightstand, taking a long drag. I know you think I’m a hedonist and something of a narcissist too. I also know it gets you hot thinking of me walking around nude in my apartment, with its walls of many windows. You think I crave the attention and that’s why I put myself on display to be watched, but it’s not. After all, I barely pause in front of mirrors. I’m not after affirmations and my behavior doesn’t stem out of any latent insecurities. I just like exploiting opportunities, and they seem to present themselves more often than not.

For example, right now there’s a man working late in his office in the building across from mine. I don’t know what company he works for or what he does. He has that kind of nondescript private office with expensive furniture, black cabinets and a corner desk that most corporations favor, only this particular one comes with a man’s favorite kind of view.

He’s been pretending to scroll through the same document on his computer screen for the past hour, not even bothering to touch his keyboard. I can practically see the beads of perspiration on his forehead as he discreetly watches me, with his cock no doubt straining against his expensive trousers. I’m openly watching him too. I spread my thighs wider and rub my clit, vicariously enjoying the tension I know I’m creating in his head.

I like watching the flicker of desire in the eyes that watch me from the building across the way. Sometimes it’s him and sometimes it’s someone else. Occasionally it’s a woman in a fitted suit getting in touch with some hidden aspect of her sexuality while indulging in a little voyeur overtime. It doesn’t really matter. I’m their nameless Babydoll in a little box in the sky, a window to desires they can’t completely own.

I enjoy their attempts to not look obvious or needy about drinking in my kind of sexuality, as though they don’t want to show all their cards right away. They remind me of the way you look at me, except to them I’m just a fantasy of skin and tight curves and long blonde hair. To you, I’m flesh and blood. Your dirty little whore. And in this gray concrete playground, this city of infinite possibilities, you’re mine too.

Minutes are quickly elapsing and soon you’ll be here. Eventually I abandon my perch in the window, leaving the businessman without a satisfying finale, except for the one he’ll make up later as he’s driving home to his suburban nest. Now I’m on my feet, the joint dangling preciously in my pink pout as I pull on a pair of tight low-rise white panties. They curve into the cleft of my ass, leaving most of the cheeks exposed, just the way you like it.

The fabric holds the heat in and I can feel my juices slowly soaking the crotch as I move through the dark bedroom to rifle through my wardrobe. I tug on a tight little black mesh tee that barely skims the top of my ribcage. Even in the shadows, the see-through fabric explicitly reveals the curves and swell of my breasts and the outline of pink areolas topped by nipples that push obscenely against the fabric.

I garnish the final look with red patent leather stiletto heels. These heels have history. They’ve danced in dark underground clubs and been scuffed while I’ve been on my knees, sucking cock in the dark corners of a Penthouse after-party for a famous musician whose name I’ve never told you. You’ve hummed along to his chart-topping tune more than once when we’ve been in the car together. One day I’ll reveal all the fine points of that night and you’ll spank my ass crimson red for not sharing the story sooner. I’ll look forward to that.

Yes, these heels have carried me through first dates, chance encounters, and even that night I called you when I was naked and covered in cum, having fucked five professional athletes at least twice in one go. Yeah, that night . I texted you the photos, didn’t I? You saw all that hot cum all over my pretty red shoes and heard every filthy detail while you stroked to an orgasm. Technically that made you my sixth.

I stroll to the front door, my hips swaying, those infamous red heels clicking over the black hardwood floor. You’re not here yet, but I unlock the door and leave it just slightly ajar. I remember the last time you tried to talk me into giving you a key. You were waiting in my lobby with an impatient scowl and I was forty minutes late, on purpose, but I never told you that. The rough way you finger fucked me and sucked my collarbone on the ride up to the twenty-seventh floor got me excited. You were a beast that night, and you really are at your best when there’s some tension and hostility in the mix. There’s nothing like a good ‘anger fuck’, you told me once, and you’ve proven it time and again.

In my modest kitchen, I turn on the small recessed lights above the countertop. With one hip cocked to the side, I open the refrigerator to browse its contents. They are sparse, to be sure, but I’ve stocked all the necessities. I flick the end of my joint into the sink before pulling the jug of milk from the fridge. I pour myself a glass. It’s cold and wholesome and everything we’re not. I lick the remnants from my lips and leave the milk on the table.

When I hear the sound of the elevator doors open down the hall, I place both hands on the kitchen table and hoist myself up onto the edge. I lean back, one leg left dangling carelessly, the other bent so that my stiletto heel is hooked under the edge. I slowly spread my thighs just as you’ve requested.

When the door opens, you walk inside with your usual cagey energy and just a hint of predatory sex appeal.

“There she is. My little blonde Babydoll in those slutty red shoes. Goddamn those heels have mileage, don’t they?”

“Fuck you,” I smile.

“You don’t hear me complaining, do you? Nice choice. The slutty little tee, the tight little shorts. I’m going to enjoy this.”

“I hope you brought your A-game.”

“Games? At this hour? I thought you said that hot cunt of yours is all mine.”

“It is. It got you here didn’t it? But the truth is, you still have to earn it.”

You seem intrigued as you cross the floor. You toss your jacket on my sofa along the way, not pausing or breaking eye contact.

“Earn it? Or take it?”

The question is potent, but I’m too distracted to answer. You’re near enough now that I can inhale my first scent of you. The damp smell of summer rain clings to your skin and I see the fine droplets of water in your dark hair. The shirt you’re wearing teases at the tight well-trained muscles beneath. My hands slide up your abdomen and I feel them flex with my touch. You're always trying to sidetrack me with that wicked grin and those quick-witted eyes.

“So, how did you get away tonight?” 

You shrug. “I told her there was an emergency and one of the partners couldn’t entertain some out-of-town clients. I had to step in. Of course, I assured her that it was all work and no pleasure.”

I smile and stroke the bulge in your pants. “Well I can be a ‘piece of work’ sometimes.“

“We can agree on that,” you confirm. “But I do like the rewards.”

I drag my tongue along your neck and flick it along the underside of your chin. “Was she suspicious?”

“A little. She probably knows deep down that I’ve passed her over for my favorite little slut.” Your hands grip my hips and your fingers press into the sensitive inner curve of my pelvis. “And she’d be right.”

“Brave girl, taking that risk.”

“I think it secretly turns her on,” you tell me. “She’d never admit it out loud, but I’ve caught her masturbating with my boxers when the scent of you is all over them. She knows. Maybe the thought of me ruthlessly fucking another girl gets her wet.”

“Mmm... it sure gets me wet.”

“Oh yeah? You don’t mind that I bent her over the bed earlier tonight?”

I shake my head. “As long as you didn’t shower afterward.”

“I didn’t. I came straight over here. You promised a whole lot of things, Babydoll. I’m going to collect on each and every one of them.”

“And then…?”

“Then I’m going to push you harder than I’ve ever pushed before.”

“I know what you want,” I say, leaning back on both hands and spreading my legs.

You hold my gaze and hook two fingers into the crotch of my panties, pulling gently. I can feel the cool air against my warm, wet pussy, followed by the forceful shifting of my ass along the table. I lean backward, resisting, letting you pull me slowly toward you with the loop of moist fabric until I’m sitting on the very edge of the table.

“This is what I came for,” you remind me, and I feel the exquisite pressure of your two fingers suddenly pushing up inside me, hooking my cunt like a prized catch. “This hot little piece.”

“It’s yours,” I sigh softly.

Your fingers work inside me as my face narrates the story. My eyes half-close and low moans blossom from the soft ‘o’ of my lips. Unlike many men before you, you’ve mastered just the right rhythm and speed to build the pressure with each thrust. You watch me carefully, finger-fucking me until I’m nearing climax, looking for the tell tale signs that I’m close. In this case, it’s the arch of my neck and the tip of my tongue that teases the corner of my mouth. You bring me right to the precipice, until you can see the quiver in my upper thighs before expertly pulling out, leaving me cursing out loud.

“Fuck you, let me come,” I gasp.

“You’re a greedy little thing tonight, Babydoll,” you say with a knowing smirk. “All worked up. All hot and wet. All tiger and no kitten.”

“I thought you like it that way,” I purr.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning into me so that your lips are next to my ear. “Every man knows the right pussy can be just as hard to tame.”

I giggle in response. “I can be your kitty if you want.”

“Is that why you’ve left the milk on the table?”

“Maybe.”

Your hands move behind me, barely teasing the promise of a kiss, before pulling the milk jug forward.

“Spread your legs for me, slut.”

I move my thighs apart as you step back and appraise your mark before raising the full jug between our bodies. You splash ice-cold milk over my steaming mound, and I can’t help but gasp out loud as it hits my skin. In an instant, my panties are soaked through. They cling tight and wet over my labia, the front seam of fabric sliding into the cleft of my cunt. I can even hear the sounds of the little puddle forming on the tiles as it drips from the edge of the table.

You set the jug beside me and crouch down low to get a better look at your work.

“Now that’s pretty fucking hot,” you say. “I think I’m going to need a taste.”

I grip the edge of the tabletop as you shift me forward until I can feel your warm breathe on my pussy. You do long laps back and forth before greedily sucking the milk-laden fabric into your mouth.

“Fuck,” I sigh, as you finally shift the wet panties to one side with your teeth.

Your thick tongue slides between my soaked lips and hums over my clit until I’m squirming. Next, you assault my cunt with your tongue, fucking me with it as you grip my thighs, keeping me firmly against your mouth. You nearly engulf my little mound, and I instinctively grind against the source of pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” I beg.

I know you won’t let me come just yet. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? You’re not going to give up the reward until you’ve had your way with me, and I suppose with all my teasing, I’ve set myself up to be edged along all night. You know how to make me just a little more desperate and pliable, a little more eager to defile myself at your command.

You pull me forward again roughly and I have to lean back at an angle to prevent myself from sliding off the table. You continue licking down the lower curve of my cunt until the weight of your tongue is pressing up into the hollow of my ass. You clean my dripping knot before pushing inside, and my abdominal muscles tighten as I feel the warmth of your tongue snaking up into my hole and moving in and out at a toe-curling pace.

“Mmm… yeah, fuck that feels so good,” I whimper.

“Goddamn, Babydoll,” you swear. “I could eat this hot little ass all night.”

“Maybe you should,” I gasp, fingering my milky pussy and then sucking my fingers. “You make me wanna do dirty things, you know that? Really dirty things.”

“You’re going to be a pure whore tonight,” you assure me, sliding your tongue from my asshole all the way up to my clit before spitting a mixture of saliva and milk into my folds. “I’m going to fuck every single hole, one after the next, and you’re going to want more.”

“Mmm… I already want more.”

I sit up straight with perfect posture and slip both hands between my thighs while my legs dangle and swing back and forth like a mischievous schoolgirl. I explore my slippery cunt while staring up at you.

“What have you got for me next?”

Unexpectedly, you grab a handful of blonde hair at the base of my neck and tug it backward. It forces my face to tilt upward as you lift the jug of milk to my lips.

“Come on, kitten, drink…” you coax.

I feel the stream of cold milk splashing against the insides of my mouth and I struggle to swallow, gulping and gurgling messily as though I’m sputtering an impossibly huge load of cum. I imagine that’s exactly what you’re thinking too. It coats my lips and runs down my chin, beading up on the mesh top before you proceed to pour it freely over my breasts. The milk is cold when it hits my nipples and it quickly streams down my bare belly before settling into my soaked panties.

You set the jug down, and as you lean into me, I take the opportunity to scissor my legs around your waist, dampening your jeans. You suck the slippery white wash of cream from my chin before I open my mouth, wordlessly inviting your tongue inside. The kiss is warm and liquid as we pass the milk back and forth between us as though we’re wrestling for each mouthful.

“See, definitely a slutty kitten,” you say.

You push against my pelvis so that my upper body tilts back at an angle, allowing you to capture a nipple with your teeth. You tug at one and then the other through the fabric of my mesh top, drinking milk off the tips while my head hangs back limply, giving in. Eventually you become a little more rough and impatient, using your teeth to slice through the loosely woven mesh until it comes apart. You bite into a frayed edge and pull the fabric from my body, causing me to arch my back until it splits like a whore’s ruined fishnet hose. Now on bare flesh, the quick pain is electric as you use your teeth to turn my nipples to rich red cherries.

I writhe on the table and you hear the little whimper in my throat.

“Do you like that?” you ask, as you bite into my tender flesh.

“It hurts…”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

I smother a moan and grip the back of your neck, my nails digging in. “Fuck, yes. I like it. It hurts so good.”

The corners of your mouth turn up, revealing the hint of a smile before you bear down again, roughly sucking my nipples and the surrounding flesh of my little breasts into your gluttonous mouth. Your breathing quickens, as does mine, and as I twist in your grip, I’m able to pull the jug of milk toward me. When you release my reddened nipple, I take the opportunity to pour another heavy load into my mouth, letting the rest stream down my neck to soothe the marks you’ve made on my breasts.

Your tongue laps at the milk I’ve spilt, drinking a tiny pool from my collarbone as I nudge you with my cheek.

“I wanna lick you all over, I whisper.

“I wanna fuck your throat,” you counter.

Your eyes are dark and the heat in your words is undeniable as the energy between us very palpably shifts. You make quick work of the clothing you’re wearing. The t-shirt comes off over your head and is tossed to the floor. I catch delicious glimpses of your sinewy body in the shadows, the fine muscles of your thighs flexing beneath your skin as your jeans hit the floor and you kick them aside.

You haven’t bothered to wear any boxers tonight and your cock springs free, thick, cut and demanding attention.

I wonder if I’ll be able to taste her juices on you and it gives me pause, thinking of you pacifying her so that you can be here to play. It also turns me on, because right now you’re all mine and I’m eager to claim your body back and leave my mark all over you.

“I think it’s my turn for some cream,” I tell you.

First, I use the jug to drizzle milk all over your smooth shaft, before proceeding with a slow pour. I pull up briefly to let it splash over your taut abdominals until it streams to the floor and down your beautifully sculpted legs in a spider web of white. I love watching the way it glazes your skin, running in rivulets that tempt my tongue even before you push me down on my knees.

My mouth starts at the base of your cock, and I slowly lick the milk trails along the deep vee of your pelvic lines. I continue upward, hunched on my heels, lapping at your skin and doing a half-moon circle around your belly button, sucking in droplets that have collected there. Now I leave little bites in my wake as I inch my way back downward, feeling the head of your cock pushing against the hollow of my neck as though it wants inside.

This time, it’s your turn to find your patience.

I settle in on my knees and slide my tongue just under your balls, tasting the droplets of milk that linger there before I begin to suck them into my mouth. I roll them back and forth before you hear the audible pop of suction as they slip out and I begin the process again.

“Goddamn, Babydoll,” you swear, and I can hear the tension in each tight exhale of your breathing.

“You want me to suck you now?” I ask, finally letting the engorged head of your cock bob on my tongue.

“Oh, it’s not a matter of want, you will,” you assure me.

“I think you need to make me,” I tease back.

You bury your hands in my hair, seizing both sides of my head. I can feel the pressure of your fingers against my scalp as you tilt my neck to the angle you desire.

“Now put your hands behind your back and wet your lips,” you tell me. “Fill that slutty little mouth of yours with saliva so that I can watch it frothing up and streaming down your chin when I fuck your mouth.”

Every demand excites me. I love the way you look at me, like I’m your favorite kind of pornography. I clasp my wrists behind me, obedient and waiting.

“Now tell me you want it.”

“I want your cock,” I say breathlessly. “I want to open up my throat for you and be your dirty little cock-sucking whore.”

“Yeah?” you ask tightly. “You think you can take all of it.”

“You can make me take it,” I tell you.

“Fuck, yeah, I will,” you swear as you push against my wet lips.

The head of your cock is still slippery with milk and it glides easily into my mouth. The milk has nearly washed away the taste of her, but I still sense that familiar flavor of pussy tinged with cream. It makes me want you even more. You begin with long slow thrusts, warming me up before you arch my neck back and slowly sink your shaft in deep. My lashes flutter as I blink in quick succession, taking you in, inch by inch. You’re really making me work for it. I struggle to relax my gag reflex until my bottom lip is flush with your balls. You hold there for a moment, as though admiring the view of my lips stretched wide around the root of your cock.

“Fuck.” I hear your long deep sigh. “Look at that pretty mouth, all filled up.”

With handfuls of blonde hair clutched tight in your grip, you begin to thrust in and out until obscene noises emanate from my throat, and saliva, milk and pre-cum bubbles up to the corners of my mouth. I glance upward, responding to your expertly controlled movements. You push me to an exquisite breaking point before pulling out abruptly and leaving me gasping for air. My mouth drools, my lips swell, and there are little smears of mascara at the corners of my eyes when you tell me I’m the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Let’s try a little more cream in that throat,” you say, reaching for the jug of milk yet again.

This time, I let you fill my mouth and I try to hold in as much as I can. When you sink your cock into my squelching creamy inner cheeks, you thrust slowly so that you can watch the glorious spill down my chin and breasts. Once the head of your cock is buried in the core of my throat, you begin pumping in short, quick bursts and it leaves me sputtering and gagging.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you moan. “Nice and warm and wet. That feels damn good, Babydoll.”

I slide my hands up your muscular thighs until my manicured nails are digging into the flesh of your buttocks. My mouth descends down on your cock as my finger teases the ring of your asshole until I manage to work a finger inside. I move it in and out as I suck you off, building a nice rhythm. When I feel you getting close, you ease back.

“Not yet. Take another mouthful,” you tell me, and once again, I put my lips to the rim of the jug and let you do a slow pour.

You turn and bend forward, bracing yourself against the kitchen table with one hand while keeping the other firmly on the back of my head. I spread the cheeks of your ass and then spit a long thick stream of milk against your hole, bathing your puckered knot with cream. The outer ring glistens wet and streams begin to vein down the back of your balls. I edge the tip of my tongue against you, lapping at the milk before eagerly working my way inside.

You groan and draw my face in tighter. “Fuck, Babydoll. Get in there nice and deep.”

Milk dribbles from my chin and the wet sounds of my efforts sound loud and deliciously perverse. I'm driven to please you. Something about the chemical way we come together frees me to become raw and debased and it's become a kind of release that I can't find anywhere else now. I get a rush out of being bad and you know how to feed my addiction.

“I love your ass,” I tell you. “I love making you come.”

“Where do you want me to come?”

“Mmm… all over my filthy tongue,” I murmur, before sliding it in again.

You begin to jerk your cock and when you’re close, you turn around and seize a handful of my hair to steady me. I arch my body upward as you finish the last strokes. I can feel all your restraint of having held back your climax. Now, at the moment of release, your cum jets all over my face, leaving salty ropes on my outstretched tongue.

“Fucking gorgeous,” you tell me again, breathing hard.

You hoist me up from the wet floor onto the kitchen table in one smooth movement, as though I’m feather-light. Your face inclines to mine and I feel the raspy burn of your stubble as our lips lock violently. Your tongue fills my mouth and we taste a salty-sweet mixture of milk and cum that seems to fuel the hunger between us. That’s one hole that’s been well owned and I know you’re already thinking ahead.

“Now what to do with you….” you muse. “So many ideas are going through my mind.”

“That filthy mind,” I echo. “You can do whatever you want with me, but I’d better get fucked hard.”

Your fingers smear the cum from my chin up and around my lips before you press them into my mouth to suck clean.

“Trust me, by the time the night is over, you might regret begging for that.”

A little shiver of electricity, like the rush of some potent drug, sets my nerves on edge. I shift on the kitchen table as you push me down on my back until I’m resting on my elbows.

“First, we need to take these off,” you tell me, rubbing your fingers up and down the sodden fabric of my panties.

I watch you move through my kitchen, catching the slight lift of your cock that’s just beginning to harden again. You take a knife from the wood block on the counter and return to me. I watch the silver metal flash in the low lighting as you turn it on its side and slide the cold blade in between the white fabric and my hipbone.

With a surgeon’s precision, you slice through them and my panties fall away. I briefly feel the cool air on my mound and I close my eyes as I feel another splash of milk over the skin you’ve just exposed. You ply the lips of my vulva apart and I instinctively tilt my hips so that the next slow pour hits my clit and fills my folds. I already feel like I’ve been fucked a dozen times and we haven’t even started.

The thick head of your cock teases my slit, sliding back and forth through the milky cream.

“Fuck me,” I whisper, and this time I can feel the ache of want rising up in my throat.

Your hands close roughly around my neck, and your fingers tap against my chin, taunting me.

“You want my cock?”

“Yes,” I manage to cry as I feel the pressure of your grip intensify.

You finally push into me and the milk squelches noisily around your shaft. You’re slow and deliberate but your thrusts are coming hard, bottoming out and forcing my pelvis to smack into yours. The metal table legs squeal as they shift and rock against the tiled floor.

“Oh yeah, fuck me,” I beg shamelessly.

Your hands continue to hold a vise-like grip around my neck, doubling up the intensity.

“You like getting choked and fucked like a dirty slut don’t you, Babydoll.”

“Yes,” I whimper.

“You love my cock, don’t you?”

The sounds coming from my restricted throat are muffled and you lean in and bite my full lower lip before adjusting your hold that so that you can push your thumb forcefully into my mouth.

“Suck it,” you order.

You build a steady yet undeniably aggressive rhythm. I know you’re enjoying my reactions and I can see in the intensity of your stare. You’re transfixed by the deep flush of my cheeks, my wildly fluttering lashes and my bruised pout stretched around your thumb as you hit your mark over and over again against my tender cervix.

“What did you tell me earlier on the phone?”

You ease up on my neck, leaving me panting and struggling to get the words out.

“That you can have my ass.”

“Mmm… that’s right. Fucked raw, I think was how you put it.”

“Mmm… fuck,” I echo back. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Of course you will,” you growl into my ear. “You always have.”

You’re right, of course. From the moment we first met, I’ve been a very willing whore for you.

Our collision course began in that dark underground sex club on the outskirts of the city. The way you’re looking at me right now as you punish my cunt reminds me of the way you looked at me that night, completely uncensored. In my head, I’m reliving the way you emerged from the red-hued shadows of the room. You stood with your back rigid against the wall, sipping bourbon, as I recall. I remember tasting it on your tongue later that night.

You were completely unassuming back then, as though you could have been in any club in any city. There was nothing about the way you were dressed or the way you were groomed that would lead anyone to believe you belonged there. There were no BDSM or fetish accoutrements in tow, or meticulous suit and tie meant to signal authority. You weren’t some amateur walking around with his cock in his hand and there wasn’t that typical smear of desperation about you. I remember the unshaved stubble, the angular lines of your face, and a certain primal energy that I tapped into right away.

You seemed bored, as though every room of filth you’d just wandered through had offered nothing more unusual than the last. When you walked into mine, you made me want to put on a show for you. Maybe you were surprised that I cared at all about a stranger’s reaction, but as you’d always tease from that night on, ‘Babydoll loves a challenge.’

That night I was wearing the same red shoes I’m wearing now, a collar and leash someone had snapped on me when I’d first arrived and nothing else but cum. Oh, the fucking cum. I know the way it must have glistened on my skin as I moved, impaled on a thick ebony cock in the center of the room. You couldn’t look away as another man spread the cheeks of my ass from behind, seeking to find another willing hole to drive himself into. My body lurched forward until I was prone on my hands and I tilted my head to the side so that I could watch you as you watched me .

I think you even enjoyed the way another eager player filled my mouth as they took turns sawing in and out of every well-used orifice. I had rivulets of virgin white running from my ass and chin before I was finally jerked upward by a snap of the leash so that two bystanders could unload on my breasts. I knew I had you transfixed. I remember the tension in the way you sipped your drink and the way your jaw clenched and unclenched as they fucked and defiled me. I was purely filthy that night and you wanted a way in.

Pure adrenaline. That’s what our first meeting felt like, combined with some sense of familiarity. The fact that you didn’t just shed your clothing and join in made me want you even more. The men I’d fucked that night were just props, faceless strangers to explore my sexuality with. You were something special.

Now, back in the darkness of my kitchen, wedged in between my thighs as your cock drives into me, you pull me to the very edge of the table.

“Time to put on another show for me, Babydoll.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I want to watch you fuck my cock right now,” you tell me, reaching behind me for the milk jug.

Your slow pour spills over my pussy and your half-exposed shaft before dripping down the back of my thighs and onto the floor. “And do it like you mean it,” you urge.

I hook my hands behind your neck for leverage and use my abdominal muscles to create momentum as I propel myself back and forth on your cock.

“I always mean it," I tell you, pushing the heel of my red shoes firmly into the flesh of your buttocks.

“Those damned shoes,” you say. Our foreheads press together as you tug my lower lip with your teeth. “I like having you whenever I want.”

“Or whenever I want?”

“You’re power tripping.”

“Hell, yeah,” I tease back. “Because you know what that makes me?”

“Well-fucked?”

“Free,” I affirm. “Just like tonight, I’m free to be your whore.”

I hear your deep inhale of anticipation before you turn me and roughly pin me, face down, on the table. I can feel the weight of you over me as my upper body is forced flat and I’m bent at the waist.

“Then let’s not waste anymore time. You know what I want, don’t you. What you promised me?” I feel a fast lick of fire as you slap my ass hard enough to leave an imprint. “Come on, tell me.”

“Fuck it til it hurts,” I whimper.

“That’s my Babydoll,” you affirm appreciatively. “You like getting that sweet ass filled, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“How many guys have you had fuck your ass in one night?”

“The most?” I wonder out loud. “Maybe five. But four of them filled it twice.”

“That’s a lot of cum,” you agree as you slowly spread my ass cheeks. “Another red stiletto special?”

“It was before you, or I would have saved the pictures,” I say with a smile.

“Of course, you would have,” you say mockingly, spitting on my tight knot in preparation. “And I appreciate the sentiments, but you know I demand proof.”

“How can I prove it now?” I ask in a sweet candy-covered voice.

“I’m going to show you.”

Over my shoulder, I watch you walk to the kitchen counter and pull a stainless steel wide-mouthed funnel from the drain board before returning to your position at the foot of the kitchen table.

“Now pull those cheeks apart for me.”

I reach around to spread for you, and soon I can feel the ice cold steel brushing over my trembling knot. My instinct is to clench, but I feel your hand on the small of my back, pressing my pelvis lower and keeping me at an angle that’s favorable to what you have planned.

“Push out,” you urge.

As I do, the tip of the funnel slips inside my muscular ring and then closes back around it, creating a perfect seal.

I exhale deeply as you lift the jug of milk and begin a very slow thin pour into the funnel, alternately stopping and starting, and allowing the pressure to build in increments. My anal cavity swallows the smooth cream and it feels exquisite.

“Oh fuck, I can’t take anymore,” I gasp finally.

You slip a hand beneath me, slowly massaging my abdomen in a counter-clockwise direction to ensure I don’t cramp.

“Sure you can…” you reassure. “Just a little more. And then I’m going to slowly fuck every drop out of you.”

I moan as the pressure increases yet again, until you eventually set the nearly depleted milk jug down, just inches from my face.

“There, how does that feel?” you whisper.

“It’s so full,” I say with a tremulous sigh.

“Just imagine if it was all cum,” you say.

“I am,” I admit, biting the soft flesh of my knuckle. “Fuck, it feels good.”

Your hand continues to massage my stomach, before slowly migrating downward to my clit. I begin to cautiously grind against your fingers, careful not to disturb the funnel.

“Looks like you want my cock to stir that ass pretty bad,” you growl into my ear.

“I do.”

“You’re going to have to clench as I remove the funnel, can you do that?”

I nod impatiently, eager for any opportunity for release.

As the warmed steel tip slowly slides out, I force myself to tense my muscles. The initial overflow is unstoppable, however. I can feel warm milk flood out of me in quick gushes, pouring down the back of my legs and into the heels of my red shoes.

I feel momentarily defeated but then my soft moans fill the room when I feel your tongue lapping at the streams of milk.

“Oh fuck…” I sigh as your lips press into me. Your tongue darts and coaxes fresh spills from my quivering hole as thought you're challenging me to hold it in. “Hurry. Please fuck my ass.”

My nails are digging into the table beneath me and I can feel the quiver in my buttocks and the strain in my thighs as I struggle to stay tight and taut. Soon, I can feel the head of your cock sliding up the cleft of my ass before pushing more firmly into me. The pressure forces the milk from inside me and I hear your low groan as it bathes your cock. I push out again and it causes another hot creamy gush to flood us both as you bear down and sink your thick shaft into me.

The hot patter of liquid hits the tiled floor with each thrust. Every time I think there’s nothing left, your efforts produce yet another spill and I can hear you swear and drive into me harder and faster as your excitement builds. You seize my wrists behind me and hold them tight for leverage, pulling me back against each thrust until my ass is slapping against your pelvis.

“Look at all that cream,” you say. “It looks like you’ve had a dozen guys fuck that slutty little ass.”

I know you’re looking at the back of my glazed thighs and thinking of that first night at the club, when I leaned over the bar to ask for a drink, right next to where you stood.

“Nice shoes,” you’d said, nodding downward at my cum-stained stilettos.

I’d flashed a smile back at you coyly. “Thanks. So, how come you don’t play?”

“Oh, I do,” you assured me, leaning back against the bar and crunching shards of ice from your drink with your teeth. “I’m just looking for a worthy playmate.”

“Where do I apply?” I’d giggled, licking each sticky finger while you watched.

“I like to go pretty hard,” you’d warned. “And I’ll admit, I do get bored easily. But you… you’re something else, Babydoll.”

Now, in the kitchen, you’re forcing me to my knees again, in a creamy puddle on the tiled floor. Your cock is freshly plucked from my ass, dripping with milk and now it’s pushing against my lips.

“All the way in,” you tell me, as my mouth works your shaft, licking you clean.

You run your fingers through strands of my wet, ruined hair as I lap at the rivers of wetness along your upper thighs. The taste of sweet milk is on my tongue. “I want you to fuck me until I come.”

Finally you nod appreciatively. “I think you’ve earned it.”

You pull me to my feet and then hoist me back up onto the table.

“How bad do you want it?” you tease, as your hand slides down the back of my wet calf.

“I’d do anything.”

“I’m going to double you up,” you tell me, slipping one of my stilettos off. You bring the candy-red stem to my lips and I lick the milk with long sweeps of my tongue

“These slutty red shoes,” you say, turning them to the side carefully so that I can clean the base of the heel with my mouth. “You like to wear them when you fuck, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been a damn dirty girl while wearing these.”

“Uh huh.”

You put your hand on the small of my stomach and press me backward until I’m resting on my elbows. I watch you drag the stem of the heel past my lips until it’s lightly scraping my neck. Down it slides, tugging at the wrecked fabric of my mesh top and circling each nipple until the stiletto continues a journey down my abdomen. It traces the curve of my pelvis, slipping over my smooth milky mound and rubs against my clit. It feels hard and unyielding and yet the tension of wanting to come has me welcoming the sensation and my hips lift slightly off the table as it rhythmically rubs against my sweet spot.

“Oh fuck, put it inside me,” I finally whimper. “Please…”

I’m practically holding my breath as you begin to work the rigid heel into my wet pussy. You slowly edge it inside me until it’s nestled in tight, all the way up to the base of the sole.

“Fuck yourself with that heel,” you nod. “I wanna watch my little slut show me how much she wants to come.”

I seize the base of the stiletto and begin moving the heel in and out, coating the shiny red leather with juices. It feels sublimely erotic to have you watch me shamelessly grinding it into my wet cunt. I can feel your dark eyes on me taking it in, enjoying the building desperation. It slides in and out, the edges applying pressure in all the right places until I’m pumping it harder and breathing quicker. The moans swell in my throat until I’m begging you to fuck me.

I hook my legs over your shoulders and you pull me forward until I’m at the very edge of the table. The thick head of your cock is pushing against my slippery asshole and once again, you slide in easily.

Everything feels so tight and raw as my hands slip between my thighs and I take hold of the shoe, slowly sawing it in and out of my pussy in rhythm with your thrusts. 

“Think you can take it harder?”

“Yes,” I sob, and I’m eager for a whisper of sweet pain. “Fuck, don’t stop. Just like that.”

“I’ll always fuck you like that,” you say, breathing harder. “You’re mine, Babydoll, even if you don’t know it just yet.”

“I know it,” I swear as I edge closer. “You own me.”

“Say it again.”

“You own me,” I sob. “This ass, this cunt, this dirty little mouth.”

“And that filthy mind,” you say in a tight voice, thrusting harder, groaning, until I’m squirming and my nails seek to embed themselves into the red leather. “I fucking own that too.”

The heat rushes through me and I’m unable to hold back. Instinctively my back arches and I wedge the stiletto in deep as your cock drives me into my long-awaited climax. It releases something primal and not at all pretty, and I hear myself crying out, loud and unrestrained. Every involuntary spasm nearly pushes you out before sucking you back in.

You stare down at my flushed face.

“Look at me, Babydoll.”

My eyes open and I see you the way I saw you that night at the club, recognizing the need in your eyes because I felt it too.

“Fill me up,” I whisper.

There’s a freedom in the way we’re moving now. I slide the freshly fucked heel out of my hot cunt and let it fall to the floor. Your hands slip under my back, pulling me up into your space. I can feel your breath against my mouth as you drive into my ass, quickening the pace of each thrust until my nails are digging into the muscles of your back. Your jaw clenches as the first spasm begins. There’s something satisfying about hearing your carnal groan as you empty everything you have into me.

“Fuck, yes,” I gasp. “Just like that.”

You pull out almost immediately, bending low to suck all your hot cum and milk out of my raw little hole. I squirm as you drink in your fill before you stand and lean into me. My lips part instinctively and you spit the load into my mouth before leaving me with one final bruising kiss, echoing my sentiments.

“Just like that.”

Later that night, we’re sitting in the leather club chair in my bedroom. I’m curled up on your lap, like a satisfied kitten, heedless of the trail of milk and cum that we’ve left throughout my apartment. Later, while you’re getting dressed to leave, I’ll distract you by sliding my tongue along every soiled surface. I’ll suck warm milk off red leather, the tiled kitchen floor and even lap at the cold steel legs of the table, drinking each drop from its shiny surface. You’ll watch me, not speaking, taking in all my curves and naked skin, enjoying the way I look back at you, promising more.

“Babydoll always wins.” I remind you.

“She does,” you admit. “But that only means that I win too.”

Sometimes I remember back on that day we crossed paths in early June. You were sitting with her on the patio of some nameless bar and she looked at me with a calculated sidelong glance when I paused to say hello. You didn’t have the decency to look awkward and you didn’t even blush when I reminded you that you’d left your jacket at my place the week before. She was suspicious though, and even though you’d tell her later on that it had been taken off and innocently forgotten at some party or social event that she’d missed, she was already judging me. I was a danger to her relationship. Of course she had no idea that I was judging her as well. She was a danger to my freedom. Who’s to say why one should be more important than the other? We all see things through our own looking glass, don’t we, and at this very moment, all I see is you.

My boyfriend will have returned from his business trip tomorrow. He’ll be wearing a beige suit and my red heels will be in a little shoebox at the back of the closet. There will be fresh milk in the fridge and cut blue hydrangeas in a vase on the kitchen table.

You’ll still be on speed dial though. And later that night, I’ll text you a photo of my wet cunt while he sleeps.

Life is ruthless with expectation, and in a way, we are all slaves to it, shackled until we find ways to break the rules. In the meantime, the dark corners are always inviting you in for a little taste of twilight. You can stay on course, or you can take a detour when the moment is just right. You and I will continue to find atonement among all these little perversions.

The End.