Hernandez Villie
More love to come
CHAPTER ONE
Although the bedpost could have provided support for his venture, the skinny hairy man was too drunk to notice. He balanced on one leg and regarded the sock – his arch-enemy of the moment – curled enticingly around his toes. He grabbed for it, missed, grabbed again, finally managed to pull it up at least as far as his ankle, took that for a victory, put his foot back on the floor just in time to avoid a fall. He remembered the voluptuous girl on the bed, frowned at her, began the search for his other sock.
Judy Burton returned his frown with a smile, thought: You skinny fuck, just put the money on the dresser and get the hell out of here. The man ignored her telepathic message, continued rummaging around the room for his sock. Judy took a pull on her stale bourbon and soda. The money, she thought, just leave the money. The man had gotten everything he wanted, and more, the bruises on her thighs were testimony. Now it was her turn. She had to have that money, it was well that mattered.
Judy tried to forget the bruises on her legs, the tiny stinging welts on her back, the throbbing ache in her pussy. She tried, but she could not. She was still too new at this business, had not yet hardened her mind and body to the brutal mistreatment she was expected to take. In the course of just a few months every part of her had been violated, but she had never complained. She had no one to complain to, no one who would care.
Yes, she thought, this one had outdone them all. He looked so harmless now, so comical and silly, crawling drunkenly around her room, but just a few moments before he had been anything but funny. Judy's pain came roaring back as she remembered his gouging fingernails and rock-hard fists – she had been astounded that someone so skinny could hit so hard – and finally the savage penetration of his prick, without warning, a sudden, ripping spear in her still-dry and unprepared cunt. He could have at least waited until she was ready, could have fingered and toyed with her gently to get the juices flowing, but that was what happened when you made love, and love was not a part of this man's constitution. This man, or any man.
Judy wondered how anyone had ever come up with the phrase "making love". What this man had done, what all men did, they did out of hate and lust – love was nowhere to be found. When he had taken her nipple between his teeth and bitten so hard that blood had begun to flow; was that love? When he had brought his open hand, then his fists, crashing down on her body and face, was that love? And when he had entered her, tearing at her tight, tender flesh, forcing himself further and further in even though she had begged him to stop, to wait until she was ready; was that love?
No, Judy thought, there was no love in this business. "Making love" indeed!
The aching in her pussy continued while the john went on looking for his sock. He bad crawled under the bed, was bumping his head and swearing, causing little earthquakes in the mattress. Judy wished that he would leave, hoped that he wasn't so drunk that he would forget what he paid for and ask for more. She knew she would not have to submit to him again, even if he asked for it, even if he demanded, but she hated the thought of having to argue, having to force him to leave, or having to call Slackjaws to throw him out. Probably, though, she wouldn't have to worry – most of these johns were good for one brief go-around and nothing more, and there was nothing to indicate that this one was any different.
Tom, at least, had been better than that, even if he was a skunk in every other respect.
Tom. Before she had met Tom, Judy had been exactly like thousands of other eighteen-year-old girls, full in the body but hopelessly naive, dreaming her dreams of escape, trusting everyone, waiting for the man who would change her life in a day. Tom had changed her life, all right, but in a way that she never would have imagined. Tom had done this to her, Tom and that other skunk, Jay Snyder. She hated both of them.
Tom was always in her mind, even now, even while this puny trick stood in front of her with his prick caught in his zipper. No matter where she went, no matter what she did, it was Tom, always Tom who occupied her thoughts.