Free DangeroustoKnow by Lily Harlem Page B

Being predictable was not in my nature,
well, not in my whore-self’s nature anyway.
    He placed his newspaper on the bench between us and took a
last drag of his cigarette before stubbing it under his black boot. “I’m not
really one for fucking whore’s pussies, even pretty ones, but…”
    “But.”
    “I’ll pay you to suck my cock.”
    Inside I welled with triumph. The idea of sex as an
arrangement, a transaction, was what thrilled me the most. No emotions, no
strings. A customer, money and a murky act. That was what appealed to me.
Forget candlelit seduction and emotional intimacy, I wanted sleaze, I wanted
filth, I wanted to be used as a sexual object by a rough bloke who took what he
wanted on a very basic level.
    “Okay. Where?” I asked.
    He glanced left and right, his gaze searching, then nodded
straight ahead. “Down there.”
    I looked in the direction he’d indicated. Through the trees
and railings, I could just make out a gap in the buildings. “It’ll cost you
twenty.”
    He shrugged. “Whatever.”
    Finally closing my legs, I stood. My knees felt weak and my
stomach clenched. This was something I’d been dreaming of, plotting for so
long. Never had I thought I’d find the courage to actually go through with my
foolhardy plan. The man was a stranger. He could be a complete psychopath and
murder me the minute we were out of view. Stuff like that happened to whores
all the time. I’d seen it on the news, read about it in papers.
    It was a risk I was willing to take.
    Stepping ahead, I turned to make sure he was following. He
was. Sauntering in that menacingly purposeful stride of his that I’d become
totally fascinated by. I also realized now that I was on ground level how tall
he was, a whole head above me, and wide too. If he did set his mind to
subjecting me to a gruesome back-alley death there was nothing I would be able
to do about it. He could squash me as if I were an ant, choke me without
breaking a sweat.
    Tugging at my cheap, tarty skirt, I headed for the location
of my first whore experience. As we reached the entrance, he pressed a hand
into the small of my back and urged me into the murky world of New York’s dark,
dingy alleys. The scent of rotting food and urine caught in my nostrils,
underfoot there was trash of every description, and here there was no sunlight.
It was dark, cool, barely even a hint of the bright, civilized world beyond.
    As we went deeper the alley narrowed, the walls closing in
around me. The stinking air here was humid and clogged my throat.
    “Keep going,” he grunted when I slowed. “I don’t want to be
distracted by anyone. Walk farther down.”
    Hurrying, I accidently kicked a bottle. It clanged against a
pockmarked wall and ricocheted into an armored door with a peeling “Keep Out”
sign.
    Another ten steps and he tugged me behind a filthy green
Dumpster and pushed my back against the wall. I stared at him boldly,
un-intimidated—or so I hoped, for inside I was a bag of nerves sinking into a
deep well of lust.
    His gaze flashed as it connected with mine and he stared,
stared long and hard with his big hands wrapped around my upper arms. His
fingers sank into my flesh and his feet and knees knocked against mine.
    My heart beat so fast I feared for its continued survival. I
could barely catch my breath. Was he about to kill me or would he stick to our
deal? Twenty for a blowjob? That was our agreement. That was the arrangement.
    “You really want to be a whore?” he asked. His breath was
hot and reeked of tobacco. “My whore?”
    Both relief and excitement tumbled in my groin. He was going
to play my game, thank God. I nodded up at him and he leaned against me, his
chest just touching my excited nipples and his steely cock pressing into my
hipbone. He was slightly out of breath—from our fast walk or sexual excitement?
    Sliding his hands up and over the balls of my shoulders, he
pressed and urged me down onto my knees. I sank obediently. I