Dirty Nights Read online

  “Yes, George understands.”

  George sits and I undress, slowly, and watch him as he licks his lips. I tug and squeeze my nipples and lean into him. “Lick these, George.” He does. “Now suck them. Hard.” Again, he obeys. And why the hell wouldn’t he? “Oh, George, that feels too good.” I back away and see how hard he’s breathing. It really is a heady feeling, having all this control over someone.

  “Open your eyes George.” When he does, he sees that I’ve pulled the barstool right in front of his chair and I’ve taken a seat on it. My thighs are spread wide, exposing myself for his viewing pleasure. “Look at me, George and tell me what you see.”

  “I see your pussy. Your sweet pussy.”

  “What should I do with my pussy, George?”

  His breath is busting out of his lips in little pants now and I wonder if he’ll even last the hour and a half tonight.

  “Rub your slit, top to bottom and back and forth.”

  “Like this?”

  “Oh yeah, Lena.”

  Once I get going, I ask him, “Now what?”

  “Stick two fingers in and pump.”

  I follow his direction.

  “Harder.”

  “Like this?” I ask.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “What else, George?”

  “Rub your clit, fast,”he says.

  Taking my other hand, I use my finger to add the little clit play. Since I am in no way into this at all, my acting skills are going to come in very handy tonight. I moan, just a tiny bit. Then in a breathy voice, I ask, “What else, George?”

  “Just keep going till you come.”

  And I do. Keep going that is. I don’t come, but I sure give him a good show. By the time I’m done, he’s sweating and gripping his knees, bent forward in the chair, eyeing my pussy, like it’s going to take off in a sprint and disappear.

  He stares as I pull my fingers out of me and put them in my mouth, sucking my juices off of me.

  “Oh God, Lena. That was good. That was so good.”

  “Get up George and get yourself ready for me. I’m gonna fuck you with my mouth. And bring me your favorite toy. You get to pick tonight.”

  George hops up and is nearly giddy with excitement. His dick bounces around as he makes a dash for his bedroom. Moments later he returns with a bottle of lube, gloves, a butt plug and a condom. George does like his anal play.

  After I get all gloved up, I tell George to bend over. While his ass is in the air, I say, “Okay George, now remember Lena’s rules. No sound. If I put this butt plug in and you moan one time, it comes out and Lena goes home. Got it?”

  George nods and he reminds me of a dog waiting for a treat. I lube up his plug and insert it slowly. George sucks in his breath, but that’s it. “Good boy.” I pat his butt. If I could, I would bust out laughing right now, but I don’t dare. There’s a couple hundred bucks tip in this for me tonight.

  “Stand up, George.” He obeys. I must say, George really is a good boy.

  “How does that feel? Does George like his toy?”

  He nods enthusiastically.

  “Give it a whirl, George. Let me see how much you like it.” He follows orders, and pure pleasure erupts on his face. I better get to work again, or I’m going to have a limp dick to suck.

  After I take a seat in the regular chair, I motion for George to come closer.

  “Good boy, George. Lena likes how you put your condom on.” Then I put my mouth over his hard cock and start to suck. Hard. I twirl my tongue around the head, licking and sucking, taking him deep into my throat. Up and down, in and out I suck. Hard and fast, and then slower. My hand moves to his ass and I turn his butt plug. Seconds later, he makes a gurgling sound. It doesn’t alarm me. This is how he sounds when he comes. The first time he did it though, I almost dialed 911. I’m used to it now.

  I lift my eyes and smile. George’s mouth is wide open and now he looks astonished, like he has no idea what’s happened and like this is his first blow job he’s ever had.

  “George, you’re such a good boy. You can go and take your toy out now.”

  He nods and staggers to his bedroom. My BJ’s sure suck the life out of him. When he hasn’t returned five minutes later, I have a good idea of where he is. But I go check on him anyway. Just as I suspect, he’s sound asleep, in bed, flat on his belly, butt plug intact.

  Shaking my head, I scribble a note, letting him know how much he pleased me tonight. Then I sign it with lots of hearts and take the five, yes five hundred dollar bills he left me on the nightstand. George was a very good boy tonight.

  By the time I leave the building, my ride awaits me. I tell the driver where to drop me. He never is allowed to take me all the way home. No one, not even Jimmy knows where I live. That would be a huge mistake.

  FOUR

  Ryder

  Thirteen months ago

  “You know what? You’re pitiful, the way you whine and moan about how you’ve been wronged. Look around you, dude. There are people that would trade places with you any damn day of the week.” My physical therapist is, get this, a petite red-headed, woman, who’s probably around forty years old. And she’s over-the-top sick of my attitude. Her name is Dot. And she’s a bitch to work with.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Yeah. ‘Uh-huh.’ You’re the most spoiled little shit I’ve ever worked with. Now get off your sorry ass and do as I tell you. You should be walking unassisted, with maybe a cane. But look at you. You’re still clinging to that walker, like some ninety-year-old nursing home patient. Wait! I’ve had ninety-year-old nursing home patients that have had hip replacements act better than you. You’re a miserable little piece of you-know-what.”

  “You have no idea …”

  “Shut up Ryder. I don’t want to hear it. Now get to work.” Dot walks away, leaving me to my own black mood.

  In reality, this is my only outlet. My mom acts like she listens, but she doesn’t really. She looks at me with pity, but I don’t want to see it in her eyes anymore. And I am a whiny ass. When I moved away from my parents into my own place last week, my dad shook his head and told me that I need to get a grip on this. He’s right and so is Dot. But I’m stuck like glue to this sick place and I don’t really have the gumption to get out.

  Gritting my teeth, I begin my program for the day. Six long, grueling hours of this crap. I thought my workouts for dance were tough. They were nothing compared to this. This is brutal. Maybe it’s because my bones were so badly crushed and all the muscles supporting them atrophied, but by the time my session is over, I’m dripping and covered in sweat.

  “When was the last time you showered?” Dot asks.

  I shrug.

  “Don’t come back here until you do. You stink.”

  That’s another thing. Personal hygiene for me has gone down the tubes. I need to keep better track of that. But the drugs make me forget.

  “Hey, I got this guy I want you to meet,” Dot says to me.

  “Who is it?”

  “Just a guy.”

  Here we go. He’s probably some therapist or something.

  “Look, I don’t want some dude trying to get into my head.”

  “Did I say anything about that?”

  I groan as I push my leg into another set of presses. “No. But I know how you people work. You’ve probably teamed up with my parents or something.”

  “Or something. No, really. He’s a little older than you and he had the same thing happen to him. Was mugged. Left for dead. Anyway, here’s his number. He said to call him anytime.”

  She shoves a piece of paper into my hand, one of those sticky notes, and walks away. I look at it and all it says is Case Russell—555-1290. I cram it into the pocket of my workout pants.

  “So, did you call him?” Dot asks.

  “Huh?”

  “Case?”

  “Who?”

  She shakes her head and cuffs the side of mine. “The dude. Remember? I gave you his number?”
<
br />   “Oh. I forgot.” I think back and try to remember what I did with it.

  “You don’t even know what you did with that number, do you?”

  That bitch is a mind reader. I swear it. She’s like my mom on steroids. “No. But I’ll find it.”

  She gives me a nasty look and walks away. A couple of minutes later, she’s back and jams another one of those sticky notes into my hand. “Don’t fucking lose this one. Now give me fifteen more or I’m gonna make you jog laps.” She turns and leaves. Fucking taskmaster.

  I don’t want to call this dude. What the hell am I gonna say? “Hey man, I was mugged. Like you. Can I come over and cry on your shoulder? Will you rub my back and make me feel better?” Shit, talk about feeling like a bigger pussy than I already am.

  By the time Dot’s finished with me today, I’m a whipped puppy. All I want to do is go home and crash. She helps me to the door and hails a cab. As soon as my ass hits the door of my apartment, I flop on my bed. All I want to do is lay here and not move until tomorrow. But I’m hungry. Living is such a fucking chore. My phone vibrates with a text and I check it out. It’s Dot. The message says: Call Case. Now.

  Damn. I wish she’d get off my ass already. I dig in my pocket and pull out that scrap of paper. After a couple of minutes, I press the numbers and wait for an answer.

  “This is Case.”

  “Um, yeah. My name is Ryder and …”

  “Oh. You’re the guy Dot knows. She’s told me about you.”

  Great. I’m sure she’s said all sorts of shit about me.

  “Oh, well, then you probably don’t want …”

  “So, Ryder, let’s grab some coffee.”

  “Right now?” He doesn’t know me from Adam. I could be a serial killer.

  “No time like the present. Where do you live?”

  “Lower Manhattan.”

  “Cool. I’m close. How about we meet at this coffee shop near Wooster and Spring. It’s called Joe and Mo’s. You game?”

  Fuck! This is the last thing I want to do. “Um, I …”

  “Oh, come on, Ryder. It’ll do you good to get out.”

  “Okay. What time?”

  “One hour. See you then.”

  My hands are shaking when I hit end on my phone. I get up in search of my pipe. I need a hit of some weed … and fast. After two long draws, I get to the shower. What the hell am I going to say to this dude? This was a fucking set up.

  As I reach for the door handle to Joe and Mo’s, another hand intercepts mine and says, “I’ve got it. You must be Ryder. Case here.” A huge hand is shoved in front of mine so I have no option but to shake it.

  “Good to meet you.” I don’t really mean it and I wonder briefly if he can sense it. “On the way here I thought about how we didn’t discuss what we looked like … you know so we could recognize each other.”

  He doesn’t laugh at my sarcasm. My walker makes a clanking sound as it moves across the floor. As usual, people give me surreptitious glances, like they think I don’t notice or something. Every time I go out in public now, I think back about how I reacted to people before I got to be this way and I wonder if I stared. Did I give them funny looks, the way people stare at me now?

  We find an empty table and Case asks me what I’d like to have.

  “Aren’t we in a coffee shop?” I refrain from adding the dumbass at the end.

  He grins and only says, “Right. Cream? Sugar?”

  “Black.”

  When he leaves, I study him. Tall, good looking, I suppose, with dark hair, he seems fine to me for someone who nearly died. He’s back too soon, holding two cups of steaming coffee.

  Without preamble, he says, “So how often are you using?”

  I almost spew coffee in his face. The damn shit is so hot, I burn the fuck out of my throat. After I’m done sputtering, I say, “What the fuck, man! You trying to kill me or something?”

  “Not at all,” he says calmly. “Just wanting to know some truths here.”

  “Well, that’s none of your goddamn business.”

  “Whatever. Listen, Ryder, I want to help. I’ve been where you are.”

  “Oh? How’s that?”

  “I was mugged and left for dead too.”

  “And did they destroy your life in the process?”

  “Not exactly. At least not like they destroyed yours. I did that on my own.”

  “Say that again.”

  “Yeah, you heard me. In the aftermath, when I couldn’t get over what happened. During all the shit I had to go through to get better, my bitterness destroyed my relationship I had with my family. Lost my wife and kid. She’s with someone else now. Someone who gives her what I couldn’t at the time. I was a mean son of a bitch to her. Angry. Threw things. Came too damn close to hitting her. That’s when I turned to drugs and alcohol.” He snorts. “Not that I wasn’t taking handfuls of the shit for pain as it was. But noooo. I had to add weed, coke, crack, meth, and you name it to the mix. I even started chasing the white dragon.”

  Fuck. Even I stay away from heroin.

  “What kind of injuries did you have?”

  “Gunshots. Stabbed a couple of times. Still have pain and numbness in my left leg because one of the bullets is lodged close to my spine. They say one day it could move and I could be paralyzed.”

  “Why don’t they take it out?”

  “Removing it is too dangerous. It’s so close to the spinal cord, one tiny movement could end my walking days permanently.”

  “You mean there’s nothing they can do?”

  “Not a damn thing. But hey, I’m fine now. So my motto is: Every day. Live every day like it’s your last. You and I both know there are no guarantees.”

  The room closes in on me and I need to get out of here.

  “Hey Ryder. Listen to me, man. You’re young. Life threw you a curve ball. Catch the motherfucker and throw it back.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t let the damn ball win. It’s a fucking ball. You know?” He stands and walks out of the place, leaving me alone. Alone with the fucking ball that’s slamming into me over and over. I don’t finish my coffee. I get the hell out of there and go home. Home to my weed. Home to my crack pipe. And home to my self-pity.

  FIVE

  Ryder

  Five Months Ago

  The movement of the bed edges its way into my sleep, rousing me from the only place where I find peace these days. Refusing to give in to it, I roll to my side, determined to let sleep reclaim me. But that’s not in the plan for me. Soon after, I feel a warm hand wrap around my limp cock. This is so not what I’m interested in right now.

  Shoving the hand aside, I lie flat on my stomach, my message loud and clear—Hands off, bitch! It seems the bitch isn’t that bright. Before long, her hair tickles my back as she rubs her tits against me and reaches between my legs for her target. She finds it all right, and commences to massage my balls and then slowly, my cock springs to life. If she wants to play, who am I to deny her?

  I lift my hips high enough to allow her to slide her head beneath them. Then she goes to town on me, sucking my cock and licking my balls. Suddenly I pull out.

  “Get on your knees. On the floor,” I demand. She complies. I move to the edge of the bed and say, “Take it all. Deep throat me.” My hand wraps around her neck and I force my dick into her throat. Her eyes water but she doesn’t refuse. I pump into her like a fucking piston, letting that throat of hers work my dick until I’m ready to shoot my load. There’s no asking if she wants to swallow because I don’t give a shit. She’s going to whether she wants to or not. As soon as I come, I feel her throat tighten against the length of my cock as she milks every last drop out of me. She loves this; don’t ask me why. When I finish, I pull out and knock her away from me. Before I can get to my feet, she scrambles to her knees and is between my legs again. For the first time, I take a good look at her. Bleached blond hair that’s nothing but a mass of snarls and eye make up smeared everywhere. The sigh
t of her disgusts me.

  “You need to get out of here.” Pushing her away for the second time, I make it to my feet and hit the bathroom. Fuck, I feel like shit. After I take a long piss, I grab a toothbrush and get rid of the nasty taste in my mouth. I hope she’s gone, but I know better. She’s still naked, sitting on the bed.

  “Can I have a hit?”

  If I answer her, I’ll have to acknowledge she’s there. But I can’t ignore her forever. I want her gone. Like ten minutes ago. Why did I even let her stay the night? After I guzzle some water, I say to her, “You gotta go. Now.”

  “But …”

  “But nothing. Now!”

  “You’re a bastard. I just gave you a fucking blow job and you won’t even give me a goddamn hit?”

  “Nope. I didn’t ask you to suck me off. That was your choice.”

  She dresses and leaves in a huff. The idea of what just took place should make me feel bad, but it doesn’t. Not one bit. I hunt down my vial of white happy dust, dip the tip of my key into it, and raise it to my nose. When I inhale and feel the initial sting, and then the numbness, I sigh. Relief courses through me. And then I’m energized somewhat. I glance at the clock and notice the time. Shit. It’s after two. Today’s the day I promised my parents we would meet for dinner. This is going to suck, in a big way. Dinners with them have turned unbearable. They were bad before those fuckers ruined my life. But now, well, let’s say all we do is argue. Worse than before. At least before I had a vision for my future. Now all I have are drugs. Getting drunk and high. I try to hide it from them but they’re not stupid. They can see how strung out I am. My heads starts to pound just thinking about it.

  Jeffrey and Juliette Christiansen. Proud parents of moi. Fuck them and everything else. I’m not living up to anyone’s expectations anymore. They never wanted me to dance. My mom told me I didn’t have what it took. But I worked my ass off to get where I was. And I got there … I made it. And for what? To get my goddamn leg smashed up by some motherfuckers who wanted my damn money. They ruined my life. So my mom was right after all. I’m nothing. Nothing but a good-for-nothing loser, who can’t walk without a fucking cane. Oh, and did I mention a fake knee because the one I had was so badly smashed they couldn’t salvage it?