Farrah

 

By the time we reached the Devil’s Wings Compound, I knew I had made a mistake. Why the hell did I show him my skills? I thought. No regular whore— even the toughest of ones—does martial arts. Fuck. If he wasn’t suspicious before he is going to be now.

 

And yet, I was torn. Part of me wanted to end this terrible charade, and yet the rest of me knew that this was the best way to keep me, my aunt, and even the Devil’s Wings safe. As for Honi … well, she was what I thought of as jumping out of the pot and into the fire. Yes, she had (at least for now) escaped whoring, but at what cost? The Devil’s Wings, and therefore probably the Minghelli family, thought she was me. What sort of danger did that put her in?

 

But I couldn’t worry too much about Honi right then. She had picked her fate and whatever it would bring.

 

I did need to worry about Connor. I strained against him on his motorcycle, wishing I could look into his mind. What was he thinking? Would he turn me in? Contact Montengo? The Minghellis? I couldn’t be sure. All I knew was that I needed to figure out some way to distract him—to get his mind off of everything that had been going on.

 

But how?

 

It came to me, in a single, clear, terrible moment: Fuck him.

 

At once, I was chilled by that response. Though I had grown up with whores my entire life—and had in fact been raised by one—I had never intentionally sold my body for something other than pleasure or love. Sure, I’d fooled around, and had sex with guys I’d later regretted, but I’d never gone in with ulterior motives. Distraction. Money. Political gain. It was all the same.

 

Whoring?

 

‘So what? a callous part of me demanded. You are a whore. You’ve been forced into it, like a million women before you. It’s time you started thinking like one. Besides, just because you have ulterior motives doesn’t mean you don’t want to bang Connor’s brains out.

 

That was true. While my heart and my mind protested, I couldn’t deny the throbbing between my legs every time he was close. My body wanted him. Shouldn’t that be enough?

 

I thought about so many of the clients my aunt and her business entertained. They were weak men who wanted to be strong. Men who thought that fucking and even beating up whores made them more masculine somehow. That was not all of them, of course. Mostly the ones who wanted violence against the whores. Who enjoyed seeing them suffer. I had looked on them with disgust all my life, but not much more than that. As Aunt Venus always said, they were, “Essential to the business.”

 

Connor, though. He was nothing like that. He didn’t need fucking or hurting women to make him feel like man. He was already manly enough. When he wanted violence, he went to beat up people like the skimmers—other men who had wronged him. I thought about the way he had taken them on, two on one, and how he had completely humiliated them. Yup. A man like Connor didn’t need a whore to restore his manhood. He had plenty of manhood all to himself.

 

So what would he need whore for? I asked myself, but that answer was simple: pleasure. Simple, sexual pleasure. And was that really so bad?

 

We parked outside the compound and strolled inside. Leo was still dutifully awake, and he gave us a bored nod as we entered. Easy come, easy go, I thought, and suppressed a chuckle. Though it was late, I found that I was not tired at all. I felt energized and ready to go.

 

I had come to a decision.

 

“Connor?” I asked, as he went into his office and shrugged off his leather jacket, frowning as he noticed a splotch of blood on its breast.

 

“What, Princess?” he asked, wiping at the spot. I winced at that fake, horrible name, but swallowed my dislike. One day, I promised myself. When this is all over, he will know my real name.

 

“I … I was hoping we could go somewhere private,” I said. “Somewhere, you know … comfortable?”

 

He grinned. Was that suspicion on his face? No, I thought. It was a genuine grin. He wants me. He really, really wants me.

 

In the next second, however, a flicker of amusement crossed his gaze and I felt incredibly embarrassed. Of course he doesn’t, Farrah, I sneered within myself. Don’t be stupid. But then he spoke.

 

“Actually,” he said, his amusement growing. “I know the perfect place.”

 

He took my arm and guided me steadily out of his office and deeper into the compound. I had never been this deep and could guess that most of the Devil’s Wings hadn’t been either. This was the private quarters—offices and bedrooms for the people in charge.

 

My father would have worked and lived back here, I thought in a sudden realization. I wondered how much of his presence could still be seen or felt.

 

But when we reached the far room and Connor unlocked the door, I decided in an instant: None.

 

“This must be the famous President Montengo’s room,” I commented, barely able to conceal my disdain. Connor snorted.

 

“Is it that obvious?” he said. I glanced around: a yellow, leopard print comforter covered an enormous circular mattress dotted with golden throw pillows. Suggestively shaped lamp shades warmed the room with lighting as gentle as the black shag rug beneath our feet. Overhead, a mirror even larger than the bed waited, offering to reflect whatever went on below.

 

I chuckled. “He’s got quite a taste for interior design,” I said.

 

Connor sighed. “That bed cost the club twenty thousand dollars alone. And that’s ignoring what he spends to fill it, if you know what I mean.”

 

I wrinkled my nose. There was nothing wrong with a man blowing his own money on pleasure, but to be blowing the club’s money? Especially when they were struggling so much? My father would never have stood for it.

 

“Tell me,” said Connor, approaching the bed. “Have you ever fucked on a twenty thousand dollar bed?”

 

I smiled. “Please,” I said. “I’m a princess. I have fucked on twenty million dollar beds.” This was, of course ludicrous, but it felt good to be able to joke, especially about my horrible nickname. Keep it light and fun, I told myself. This is about having fun. Right?

 

Maybe Connor sensed my hesitancy, for he stepped forward, took my hand, and pulled me down until we were both sitting, side by side, on the edge of the bed.

 

“You know,” he whispered into my hair, one of his hands stroking along the line of my collarbone. “You are the strangest whore I have ever met.”

 

“Oh yeah?” I asked. Only half of my mind was on the conversation. The rest of it was on his fingertips, trailing down from my collarbone to the crook of my shoulder. His palm hovered inches above my breast, and already my nipple was burning.

 

“Yeah,” he said. The coarse scruff along his jawline tickled my neck. “Half the time you seem really into it, and then the other half …”

 

His hand fell and was now caressing the naked part of my thigh. I gasped and felt trails of heat where his fingertips touched.

 

“Tell me now, Princess,” he said. “Are you into it?” His lips touched down upon my neck, right where it met the shoulder.

 

A whirlwind of thoughts in my head. Distract him. Yes! That was why I was doing this. Keep his mind off of … Off of …

 

Oh, fuck it. I wanted him.

 

In answer, I seized that wandering hand and clapped it firmly across my breast. I moaned, and I felt my nipple pop like a spring against his palm.

 

“I thought you’d be,” he said, and then shoved me onto the bed.

 

I gasped, amazed at his power as he stood over me. He reached down, slipping his hands on either side of my collar, and then flexed. Rip! The fabric of my shirt split clean in two, and my breasts, hidden only now by my white, lacy bra, popped free.

 

“My shirt …” I protested, thinking I had nothing more to wear. Connor chuckled and then crawled over me, his knees on either side of my body and his mouth bent low, close to my face.

 

“I’ll get you new clothes,” he said. “Dress you like a star.”

 

And with that, both hands clasped over my breasts and he let his weight shift on top of me. Our lips connected, and we were buried in a passionate kiss.

 

“Oh, yeah …” I moaned, feeling his hands pressing into my tits first through the bra, and then his fingers slipped under, pinching hard at my nipples. There was a flash of fire in my mind, and I found myself flexing, brushing my nipples against his touch by the motion of my body.

 

“You like it when I do that, don’t you?” he murmured, flicking back and forth. With a single, incredible twist of strength, he tore my bra away. I felt its fabric biting into my skin as it broke, but I didn’t care. My longing for his hands on my tits was too great.

 

He leaned back, my naked tits exposed before him. I panted, goosebumps breaking out on my porcelain skin. He smiled and then leaned down to take my left nipple into his mouth.

 

“Oh!” I cried, feeling his teeth bite down. There was a flicker of pain and then an explosion of pleasure. His hand worked my other tit, at once pressing and flicking the nipple and massaging the meat of it. His hands were huge, big enough to swallow all of them in their grasp.

 

He was on his knees, his thighs forked over me. I reached out and pressed my hand against his package, enormous and burning hot through the denim of his jeans. He grunted. I could feel his hot breath exploding over my nipples, wet from his sucking. Knowing I pleased him, I began sliding my hand up and down, exploring the length of him.

 

“The buttons,” he grunted. “The buttons.” I tried, fumbling with the button of his jeans to open them up, but I couldn’t manage. His breath milky with excitement, he knocked my hands away and stood up, doing it himself.

 

With a single wrench, his pants came free, and that cock—that massive, fucking cock— burst out.

 

I moaned again, writhing as he bent down and I felt it slam against my belly button. It was as hard as a baseball bat and bigger than both my fists by half. He gave it a squeeze, letting out a little drop of moisture from its tip, and then returned to my breast. His hand was damp was heat and longing.

 

“You want it, you slut?” he demanded, rubbing it against me. I nodded, moaning, and struggled to reach down between my own legs and lift my skirt. But he had me pinned. This was about him. Anything he wanted with me, he would have.

 

“Not quite yet,” he murmured, chuckling. Instead, he shifted up. I could feel his iron thighs pressing on either side of my hips, and then my ribcage. He worked his pants and boxers back until both his cock and his balls were free—hanging, now, right in front of my face.

 

“Lick them,” he ordered, and I did as I was told. I reached up with my tongue and tasted him. He was salty and clean, his balls as large as lemons. I rubbed them with my lips and my tongue, so eager to please. It was a great view; his body extended all the way up above me, cock in hand. So powerful. So dominating.

 

That’s what I thought, at least, until he slipped his cock into my mouth.

 

“Suck it, you slut,” he said, and I opened up to take him.

 

My God! The sensation of it! He felt as thick around as my forearm, and he slid inches deep down my throat. I moaned, making sure to relax enough to allow this pressure. He was enormous! No way he would fit!

 

But he kept going. I closed my eyes, all of my being focusing on my lips on his shaft, my tongue caressing his length, and my throat closing around his tip. I realized with a sudden rush that he had complete power of me. He could kill me if he wanted to, I thought in wonder. My airway was blocked. There was nothing but me and his cock, taking up my whole being.

 

“Ah!” I gasped as he slipped out of me. I felt like a wine bottle that’d been uncorked, all that pressure suddenly released. I sagged against the bed, trying to catch my breath while he stood over me, grinning.

 

“Good girl,” he said. “I’m impressed.” As he spoke, he began taking off the rest of his clothes.

 

I nodded and gave him a thumbs up. I wasn’t capable of much else. I stared at the mirror above me, fascinated by the brilliant whiteness of my tits next to the rich wine color of my nipples. Then I felt Connor’s hands closing around my skirt. Gently this time, he slid my clothing off me, panties included.

 

I gasped. Cool air touched my core, and I felt trickles of wetness soaking my inner thighs. Connor leaned down and blew softly on it, sending goosebumps spreading all over my body. “Pretty pussy,” he murmured, and gently touched it with a fingertip. I jumped, as if a thousand jolts of pleasure had surged through me. All from that single touch.

 

“Yup,” he said. “Now you’re ready.”

 

He scooped me with his arms, pushed me further up the bed, and mounted me. He was completely naked now, and I could see every muscle, every tattoo, every scar flexing with his movements. He took his cock in his hand. Massive! Big as an exhaust pipe!

 

And then he thrust it into me.

 

The pleasure was immediate and overwhelming. I moaned, spreading my legs wider and taking him deeper. I felt the coarse hair of his chest rubbing against my flesh, catching against my nipples, and my pleasure surged even more. He pressed his weight down onto me and shoved his arms beneath my head, pressing me to him. We rocked, our whole bodies swaying with the movement as he opened me up, making sure I could take his hardest assault.

 

“You ready?” he asked, kissing my nose. I nodded.

 

Wham! His body flexed like a snake, driving with terrible force into my pussy. I screamed, my fingers scrabbling against the bed sheets, my vision fuzzy even as I watched the pair of us in the mirror. My tits bouncing. The muscles of his ass flexing with each monumental thrust. I heard the wooden frame of the bed scraping against the ground, the curved headboard slamming into the wall.

 

He’s going to break me! I thought. I can’t take it!

 

But I did. Just when I thought I was going to have to stop, my first orgasm hit me like a train, bowling me over and flexing the muscles of my pussy even wider so that he could fuck me harder. I moaned, biting into his flesh to keep from screaming, and saw my hands digging red lines into the flesh of his back from the mirror. He didn’t care. Connor could take anything.

 

“Over!” he demanded, and at once he pulled himself out. I felt winded, as if I’d been punched in the gut, and could not figure out how to roll over. Growling with impatience, his seized me on either side of my hips and hurled me over so that my breasts and face pressed into the bed.

 

I felt him latching onto my thighs and ass, positioning them, readying them for him to fuck me. He paused, as if enjoying the view, and then spread my cheeks.

 

Slap! He rammed inside me so hard that his balls swung up and slapped against my pussy. His fingers dug into my ass, opening me up so that he could fuck me so deep his swinging balls slapped against my clit. I came again, and hot wetness flooded the length of his shaft, streaming down my thighs.

 

“Yes!” I screamed, my hair flying, my tits shaking with the impact. He reached around me and grabbed them in his vise-like grip, and my pleasure doubled. I felt myself growing dizzy, overwhelmed by the massive size of him buried so deep inside me. I sensed a change in his rhythm. Short, quicker thrusts, and his panting breath upon my back. His hands lost their focus and now slid across my skin at random, grabbing it. Enjoying it.

 

When he finally did cum, it was like a volcano exploding. I felt it flood my insides, and I collapsed onto the bed, defeated.

 

“Oh, fuck, yeah …” he moaned, giving me a few final thrusts before sliding out of me. Even when it was growing soft, his cock was still enormous.

 

I expected him to get dressed right then and just turn around and leave me soaking in his cum. But he didn’t. Instead, he swept the comforter aside and slid in beside me, laughing as I struggled to turn over and to meet his gaze.

 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he said. It was a proud, possessive tone.

 

I smiled, and snuggled against him. “I did,” I said, and was honestly surprised that I was not lying. Whatever my motivations were—to distract, to mislead, to survive—I could not deny how good the sex had been. Everything, from his cock to his hands to his lips, had been incredible.

 

Drowsiness took over me, and I felt myself drifting, warm in the hollow of his arms.