From the Confessions of a Whore Trilogy – This scene from Book 1 takes place somewhere in Anytown, USA
Neil was munching on a green tea ice cream out of the cup and I was eating an ice pop called Vanilla Quickie from a company called “Lil’ Sugar.”
Neil was staring at me, so I gave him a show. I held the red berry ice pop up to my mouth. My lips were parted, and my tongue was slightly out. Like Lenny, I looked like I was panting from the heat. He was panting cause of the sun, but me, no, it was different. I was hungry for a big, hard cock. In my mind, I was getting it. I was panting as I brought the big, dripping ice pop toward by open mouth. I licked from the very bottom of the shaft all the way to the top while staring into Neil’s eyes. As I repeated this full-length lick while holding the stick at the base I craned my head left and right. Then I put the tip in my mouth and sucked on it. It was so cold against my lips. My hot tongue melted the frozen cream. I pulled it out, “Yum!” I said. The cream was sweet and tasty.
“You’re too much,” he answered.
“Am I?” I taunted him. I shoved the entire length of the thing into my mouth until the ice pop disappeared into the back of my throat. Only the stick was hanging out from my closed lips. I stared at Neil and he looked annoyed. I put on my sad puppy eyes and then pulled the length of it back out of my mouth. In a sweet baby voice I said, “Baby wishes she had something bigger and harder to suck on.”
“Baby!” Neil chided me. He looked down into his ice cream. “Come on, you’re not a whore!”
I laughed. “Okay, you’re no fun, you know that?”
I ate “properly” the rest of the way, peering out at the boring, quaint town of South Pampton. We strolled home, slowly. Lenny was still panting. I looked down at him understandingly. I had been bitten. It was done. Between the hunk whose hands never touched me, the ice pop, and the nasty feeling in my gut, I had to do something.
I tried to let this feeling pass. It just wouldn’t go away. I would be at the supermarket in the aisle with the chocolate syrup and imagine the stock boy spraying it all over my chest. I would be reading a book in the bookstore and want to rip off my clothes and finger myself right there with the book resting on my pelvis.
While with Neil in the copy shop I wanted to be railed by the automaton making a photo copy of one of his geek achievements, something or other about being the Renegade Music Pirate of the Year or something I didn’t care about. All the machines pounded in their robotic, repetitive back and forth. It was too much for me. I wanted to be railed by an automaton. I wanted a fucking machine to do me over and over again until I was trembling. I was jealous of the sex life of a room full of copy machines. I mean, I was so aroused by all this copying that I would have let R2D2 finger me with his gyroscope thingy that plugs in and cracks imperial codes while C3PO diddled my ass with his gold-tipped toe.
That night I went for a bike ride. I rode to Lorna Morris’ house. Her boyfriend was in the back fixing a broken outdoor table umbrella. The shaft was stuck in through the hole of an outdoor table and jammed stuck in the base. I imagined the solid wood shaft of the umbrella going in and out of the hole in the table. Everything was sexy. I was wet. Not damp. Wet. Unbearably wet. Everything was sex.
Inside, I saw Lorna adding the last bits of clothes to the laundry basket.
I sat on the washing machine and spread my legs. I moved to the dryer, which was shaking like a lucky girl getting cunnilingus. I felt the shake and the warmth and inched that much closer to climax. When Lorna came in and saw me legs spread on her bucking machine she threw the basket to the ground. The dirty clothes spilled out everywhere. She got down and let her amazing tongue relieve the pussy-ache. She worked magic on my swollen clit. Tongue, lips, teeth, everything she did felt great. The machine buzzed and whirred to a shaky cataclysmic stop. It vibrated. Lorna licked. She fingered. She teased. My orgasm built and built and built some more.
I was on the verge of squirting across the room. Her boyfriend burst in, I guess he’d heard the buzz, and seeing him and his bulging muscles sent me over the edge. I grabbed the shelf above me so hard I dislodged it from the wall. As I came, I got showered in cascading fabric softener sheets. “So you finally seduced her, Lorn,” her boyfriend said. He walked back out, leaving the laundry room door wide open.
I rode back home feeling the bicycle seat under me. My sex was pushing against the seat like I was neatly in the right place. Orgasm had cleared my thoughts. I was calm. I knew what I had to do.
(continue reading I Am Not a Whore, At Least Not Yet by Emme Hor)