HT100: Challenge #43: Fluffer “Detachment”
The taste hits my tongue from miles away. The jerks and thrusts all phoned-in from Boston, London, Mars. I wonder if it's like this for all whores. I say I'm different. I've driven a Rolls, worn Armani, order wine without looking at the price. But the taste of Merlot is lost, replaced by the flavour of a dozen fucks. I chuckle at this and my victim moans.
“That feels good Beecher. Do that again.”
I smile, lips moist, knees aching.
“For you, Mondo, anything.”
The show's not for him anyway. I imagine his broken body. Better to be dead inside than dead all over.
“That feels good Beecher. Do that again.”
I smile, lips moist, knees aching.
“For you, Mondo, anything.”
The show's not for him anyway. I imagine his broken body. Better to be dead inside than dead all over.