Chapter 3
Desdemona Valentine did not live on Fleet Street. That would have been very, very uncool. It'd been thirty years since anybody with any kind of class whatsoever had lived on Fleet Street. The classiest part of the downtown area was called Browning Heights and that, of course, is where Desdemona lived. Not at the top of her high rise apartment building, but not at the bottom either. It's not a good idea in her kind of business to draw too much attention to yourself.
But the suite was high enough up to offer a commanding view of downtown St. Louis, with the silver arch dead center in her large picture window. The interior was the epitome of good taste. As it well should be, since Barrett Kirkpatrick, member of the American Society of Interior Design, had done the decorating. A faggot, thought Desdemona when she first met him, but a talented faggot.
The days of outlandish styles for madams, pimps, and hookers were long gone, at least at the top end of the scale. Oh, the lower class street niggers still had apartments done up with day-glo red crushed velvet couches and chairs. Tiger skin design fuck carpet, purple drapes that might have come from a funeral parlor, and throbbing disco lights that would make a blind man happy he couldn't see. The lower class pimps still had wet dreams over metal flaked Cadillac Eldorados with "gangster whitewalls," big TV antennas, wet bars, and reproductions of the Venus De
Milo as hood ornaments. Desdemona drove a silver BMW Baveria, which she traded in every year on a new one, same car, same color.
Desdemona sat in the leather chair near the picture window, looking out at the night time St. Louis skyline. The lights twinkled as far off into the distance as the eye could see. A truly vibrant city, thought Desdemona, one that was just coming into its own-like Atlanta, like Houston, and like Seattle. Cities on the way up, with that special kind of energy and pride the older cities just no longer had.
Sitting in the opposite leather chair was the long, muscular shape of Mr. Washington White. He was hunched over the coffee table, razor blade in hand, carefully chopping the fine crystals of cocaine into even finer crystals. He was very slow and methodical with the blade, chopping carefully, but with confidence and precision. Washington enjoyed preparing his drugs almost as much as he enjoyed using them. The preparation was a prelude, like a doctor scrubbing up and slipping into his greens. If the coke was not chopped just right, big clumps would stick to the membrane lining his upper nasal cavities. These big clumps, instead of rapidly being absorbed and giving instant pleasure, like the finer crystals, would sit and burn a painful hole right through the tender tissue. And that was uncool, very uncool. Mr. Washington White was never uncool.
Desdemona turned her gaze from the St. Louis skyline down to the coffee table where Washington was pushing the cocaine around with the edge of the razor blade, forming long, tempting glittering lines.
She didn't say a word, but simply took the solid gold tube that hung on a chain from her neck, bent to the table and began to suck the powder deep into her head. When she finished, Washington did the same. Then they both leaned back in their chairs, leaned way back, sniffing their noses and feeling the warm glow of pleasure spread from their heads down through their bodies.
Washington smiled, his white teeth lighting up the darkness of his black face.
"That some mighty fine shit, baby." he murmured to Desdemonia.
"Should be, jack," she replied. "Uncut, unfucked with-straight from Miami. The very best money-or anything else can buy."
Washington's broad smile grew even larger. That's what he liked about Desdemona-always the best, the very best. Whether it was drugs, women, food, wine, or cars, it was only the best. Washington liked that. He learned class from Desdemona; he learned style. Before he hooked up with her, he was just another street-wise nigger, just another boy who could talk himself into a few dollars or out of an arrest. Before he met Desdemona, he thought he looked pretty sharp in his double-knits and polyester. Now he laughed when he saw the cats on the street wearing that kind of shit. Washington looked like he stepped right out of the pages of Gentleman's Quarterly. He laughed, looking over at Desdemona. She was fine, mighty fine in every way, and Washington knew where his bread was buttered.
They were just getting their minds right before the business they had ahead of them that night. Washington was going to break in a new girl. A real beauty, 18 years old and fresh off the bus from Chicago. A white girl. Blonde hair, jade-green eyes, a tight young body. She could've easily been a cheerleader the year before at Lincoln High School. If she'd been interested in that sort of thing. Which she wasn't. To her parent's dismay, she'd always seemed to hang around with the "bad" kids. The kids who stood around every morning before class on the corner across the street from the school, smoking cigarettes and looking belligerent.
Her name was Patti. Her father was a self-made man and owned the largest plumbing supply house on the north side of Chicago. He wanted the best for his little girl-even if his little girl wasn't particularly interested in what he thought the best was. He had plans for her and she never ever really seemed to measure up. From the time she became a teenager they'd been at war.
All their problems came to a point when Patti graduated from high school. She thought that meant she was an adult and should be given more freedom, more control over her own life. Her parents, afraid that they might be losing their little girl, drew the reins in even tighter and let her know that, "unless she shaped up," they were going to restrict her even further. After all, "weren't they still paying the bills" and "doesn't your daddy provide the roof over your ungrateful shoulders?"
One day, Patti decided she couldn't take it any longer. While her parents were sleeping, she slipped into their bedroom and emptied daddy's wallet of the $238 it contained. Then, with her small suitcase in hand, she went out front to the waiting taxi and headed for the Greyhound Bus Station.
Three days later, Patti met Desdemona. Patti was sitting on a bench in the small park near the arch. Her money was just about gone and she didn't know what to do. She just sat there.
Desdemona read the signals perfectly. One look at the forlorn girl sitting on that bench had told her well trained eye all it needed to know. She sat down on the bench next to Patti and struck up a conversation.
Of course, it wasn't really Desdemona's apartment that Patti would be house-sitting. It was a special apartment, one that Desdemona kept especially for this purpose. But Patti had no idea what the purpose was. She thought she'd run into an angel. A savior who allowed her to salvage her pride, give her a few days to get her feet on the ground, a chance to show her parents that she could make it on her own. Even though they had no idea where she was, she wasn't going to have to come crawling home to them.
As Desdemona and Washington drove across town in her BMW, Patti had been in the apartment for four days. Desdemona had phoned in every night to see "how things were". Patti was taking real good care of the place for her.
Desdemona was a good driver-and fast. The custom sound system, with its 100 watts of clean power and six strategically placed speakers, pumped the smooth sounds of the O'Jays. Washington, in the passenger seat, was feeling good. Good coke, a good car, and good sounds were all he needed in life to be happy, that and good pussy, of course. But ever since he'd started working for Desdemona he had more good pussy than any nigger even had a right to dream of. Shit, he thought to himself, I'm even smoother than Smokey Robinson.
Desdemona parked the car in front of the apartment building. The building was fairly nondescript-not too nice, but not run down either. Just the kind of place a runaway middle class girl might feel comfortable and safe in.
When Patti opened the front door she was all smiles. "Hi, Desdemona, glad to see you back!" Then she smiled at Washington. "Who's your friend?"
"Patti, I'd like you to meet Washington. He helps me with my business."
They made small talk for a short while. Patti was far more animated than when Desdemona had first picked her up in the park. Her depression was now pretty much gone and in its place was a new self assurance, a new confidence. She had made the break from home, landed herself in a nice apartment, and was doing okay. They had a lovely time, the three of them. Desdemona had opened a bottle of wine from the kitchen and they sat in the living room like the oldest of friends.
"Patti, what are you going to do now that I'm back?" asked Desdemona.
Patti was silent for a moment. She hadn't really thought about it. She didn't want to think about it. The only place she had to go was back to the park, or back to Chicago and her parents-and anything was better than that.
"Oh, I don't know," she answered, "I guess I'll get a job or something, and then maybe get my own apartment somewhere.. . . "
Desdemona glanced at Washington. They had been there many times before with many other young girls. This was going to be easy. These sweet young chickens could be taught to peck and flap their wings. They just needed a little guidance and a firm hand.
"I was wondering," said Desdemona, "if you might be interested in working for me. I've been impressed with you and I think you could make a solid contribution to my business. What do you say?"
This was too good to be true. Patti was so grateful she almost began to cry.
And tjien Desdemona added "You can even have this apartment. I've got another on the other side of town I like to stay in."
That did it. The tears began to flow down her smooth, unwrinkled, girlish cheeks. "I don't know what to say," she sobbed. 'Thank you, thank you. But what can I do for you? I don't even know what your business is-I can't type or anything like that." Then she started crying twice as hard as before. "I can't do anything!" she wailed.
Desdemona sat next to her on the couch, putting an arm about her, comforting her. "There, there, there . . . if I didn't think you could do the job then I wouldn't have asked you. I know you'll be great." She took a handkerchief from her purse and dried her tears.
"What we do," Desdemona continued, "is run an escort service of sorts. Businessmen come into town by themselves, they may want company at dinner or to the opera. They may want someone to show them around the city or any number of other things. I know you'll do great. Do you want to work for me, Patti?"
Patti didn't hesitate. "Oh, yes! You just tell me what to do and I'll do it."
Desdemona patted her on the knee. "That's the girl. I have to go now, but Washington will stay and tell you more about the job. I'll be talking to you soon." Desdemona gathered up her coat and disappeared out the front door.
Patti was a little nervous at first with this muscular, black hulk of a man sitting in the chair across from her. Her parents were not very fond of black people. In fact they were out and out racists. From the time she was a little girl, they had warned her that to be alone with a black man meant nothing but trouble. Big trouble. But Washington seemed friendly enough and he worked for Desdemona-so she guessed it was okay.
Washington had gone to the bar and helped himself to a scotch. He made one for Patti and brought it over and sat it on the table next to her. He sat back down in his chair, relaxed and smiling.
"So Desdemona tells me you finished up wid your high school jes last year," said Washington.
"Yeah, I even graduated," offered Patti.
"Well, that's good. That's good. Not enough people these days know the value of a good education. Yes sir, a good education is important no matter what kind a work you be doin'. " Washington paused a second, scrutinizing her. "You wanna smoke a little pot?"
Patti didn't know what to say. Back in high school she smoked pot almost every single day. All of her friends smoked dope too-and did a lot of other things. For the last few days she'd been dying to get hold of some weed, but without any money or contacts, it'd been an impossibility. But she didn't know if Washington was just trying to find out if she used drugs or not before Desdemona hired her. She didn't want to blow her new job if the boss didn't want any dopers around.
Washington read her hesitation. "Hey baby, it's cool. All us who work for Desdemona get high. She do too. Fact is, she gave me this pot just tonight-thought you might like to have some to relax. Thought it might make you feel like one of the family."
Reassurred, Patti didn't hesitate. "I'd love some," she said. Her delight was obvious. Washington smiled with all those white teeth, thinking how pretty she looked. How young, how innocent, how sweet. He knew she would taste so fine and that furry pussy would be so tight, sooo tight. He thought of what she'd look like in a skimpy high school cheerleader's outfit and the thought began to raise his massive black member from its slumber between his legs.
Washington pulled out a perfectly rolled joint from his shirt pocket. With his solid gold lighter he lit it, inhaled deeply and then passed it to Patti. She greedily sucked the smoke deep into her lungs and held her breath as she passed the joint back to Washington.
She exhaled slowly, enjoying every last particle of smoke as it flowed from her lungs, up her throat and then out her perfectly formed pouty mouth.
"Desdemona said you'd tell me all about the job. Some kind of escort service?"
"That's right," mumbled Washington. "You just be patient, we'll get around to business soon enough, honey."
Soon they were smoking the roach, sucking hard to get every last bit of smoke from the tiny butt. Patti took the last puff and then ate the roach. Washington reached into his pocket and pulled out a small packet.
"You like to do ludes?" he asked.
Well, Patti loved to do quaaludes. Those pills were one of her very favorite things in the whole world. But she also knew what happened when she was high on quaaludes-she'd do damn near anything. That, along with the fact that she was already very high from the pot and alone with a strange black man made her decide to say no.
"No thanks," she said. "I think I'm high enough on the pot."
Washington handed a little pill over to her, a small white one with the numbers 714 imprinted in the top. "Here, go on ahead and take this."
"Really, I don't think I should."
Washington's smile grew larger, but also less friendly. There was something decidedly vicious in that leer. "Baby, it don't matter whether you think you should or not. That ain't the point. The point is that my job is to train you fo' your job and that means you gotta do what I say. You dig? 'Cause if n I go on back to Desdemona and sez that you didn't do what ol Washington tells you to do, well, she ain't gonna be too happy, no sir. Fact is, she gonna be mighty pissed off.
She gonna fire yo ass and you gonna be out on the street again-but worse than that 'cause you already owe her. Who you think pay for this apartment? Santa Claus? Who buy the food in the freezer? Girl, you gotta learn that there ain't no free rides in the life, there ain't no free rides. Now, sweet chops, when Washington says take the pill, what you say is thank you. Now, take the pill."
He leaned over and handed her the pill. She sullenly took it in her hand, not saying anything. She was, by nature, a strong-willed girl, used to having her way. She didn't like anybody telling her what to do-that's why she ran away from home in the first place. She placed the pill down on the table. .
"I'm sure that Desdemona would rather I didn't get involved with drugs," she said coolly. "In fact, if I told her about what you tried to do tonight, I rather think it'd be you instead of me get gets fired."
Washington laughed in her face, got up ,took one step toward her, lashed out with his left arm, striking her full on the face, sending her sprawling. "Bitch," he said, "when I tell you to do something, then you do it! Don't give Washington no shit!"
Patti was flat on her ass in the corner of the room, one hand on her swollen lip and the other wiping the tears from her eyes. She was scared, real scared. No one had ever hit her before-her parents didn't even believe in spanking. All of a sudden she was in an apartment with a big, mean nigger, high on pot.
"If I take the pill," she asked in a quivering voice, "will you leave me alone and go home?"
Washington walked over, grabbed her by the hair and viciously threw her across the room. "Goddamn it'! " he screamed. "You damn well better do as I say and don't go giving Washington no conditions!"
Patti's head throbbed where the hair was pulled. She thought better of doing any more arguing with Washington. Her mother had been right about black people. For a second, she wondered whether her mother might have been right about a few other things too. But she didn't have time to think about that kind of thing. She scrambled on her hands and knees over to the table and gulped down the pill.
As soon as she'd taken the pill, Washington seemed to visibly relax. His whole threatening attitude seemed to disappear and he seemed to become a nice guy again. He went to the bar and fixed them each a fresh drink.
"Sit up in the chair, baby, and drink this.' he said calmly. "Soon as you start comin' on to that lude you be feeling better. There's a lot you gotta learn 'bout this job and I'm the man that's goin' teach you. But the first thing you got to learn is that when Washington says you do something, then you do it. You don't argue with me, baby. You don't whine, you don't give excuses-none of that shit. You just do it!" He laughed, sort of chuckling to himself. "Yeah, you just do it and you have yourself a sweet time when you be doing it."
They sat drinking in silence for awhile, each with their own thoughts. Patti's nervousness and apprehension began to vanish as the qualalude and alcohol spread their warm glow through her body. Her whole body felt pleasantly tingly, the skin alive with sensation, wanting to be touched, wanting to be stroked.
Washington got up and sat down on the couch. He leaned over and turned the dimmer of the light down a little lower. "Come over here, baby," he commanded, his voice soft but firm.
Patti didn't want to go, but she had a pretty good idea of what would happen if she didn't. She meekly walked over and sat on the far end of the couch from Washington. She had a good idea of what he was leading up to and it scared her to death. She had had tentative, reluctant sex with her old boyfriend in high and didn't think too much of the whole experience. And because of her good looks, she'd spent many years fighting off the amorous advances of high school boys and college men. She was good at cock-teasing. But she'd never been with a man before, especially never a black man.
If she wasn't so high, she would've been scared to death. As it was, she was pretty damned frightened, but the drugs gave the whole thing very much of a dream-like quality.
She sat down on the sofa, knees together, looking straight ahead. She didn't want her "body language" to give Washington any ideas whatsoever. Maybe, she thought, if she acted totally uninterested, Washington might not do what she thought he was about to. Her heart sunk when he lifted one black arm, curved a finger, and silently ordered her to slide closer to him. She slid over.
"That's better," observed Washington. "You learn fast. You do a good job for us and you'll be sitting pretty. Nice clothes, nice car-you get to keep this apartment. And we take care of you. You get sick, we take you to the doctor. Somebody hassles you and we make sure they never want to do it again. You get in trouble and we get you out. It's what they call a "nice arrangement." We all one family-those of us that work for Desdemona. But you gots to be good, you gots to be first class. Because if you ain't, then you don't work for Desdemona and you be out on your own."
Almost afraid to ask, Patti ventured, "just what is it that I have to do?"
Washington laughed and slid his arm around her shoulder. "Desdemona told you. We run an escort service. Businessmen come to town. They be lonely and they want some company, you know. They don't want to eat dinner alone. They don't want to go to the movie alone. They don't want to go home alone."
"What!" cried Patti, standing up.
Washington just smiled confidently. "I said, they don't want to go home alone."
Patti backed away from him, shock and indignation on her face. "I would never, I would never do anything like that!" she cried.
Washington was still calm, but there was a fire burning behind his eyes. "Now, Patti honey, I thought we already had this conversation. I thought that we had worked it out so that when I told you to do something, you did. No discussion, no talk. I am a patient man. A gentle man. But my patience is wearing out, you dig? And when the patience wears out, why then I even scare myself. So why don't you just come over here before I have to go over there and get you?"
Patti ran to the door to escape. The handle just turned freely in her hand. The door wouldn't open-there was no way to get out. Patti, like a frightened doe, turned to face Washington.
With a resigned expression on his face, he slowly raised his massive black body from the sofa. He walked deliberately over to the front door where Patti stood shaking. Washington was so fast that Patti never even saw the blow that sent her sprawling. But it knocked her halfway across the room, flat on her face. She had barely hit the ground when a swift right foot to her ass lifted her clear off the ground, flipping her over in the air so that she landed on her back.
The second she landed, Washington was on her, pinning her shoulders to the carpet. His black form towered over her terrified face. His right hand shot out, slapping her hard across the face, raising a bright red welt on her pure white skin. Then his left. And then the right again. The smacking sounds bounced and echoed off the apartment walls.
Then he stopped. He knew it would be easy, knew that these little white girls had no stomach for pain. He'd teach her all about pain-but that would come later. Right now all he wanted was to break her spirit, snap her will.
Patti sobbed uncontrollably. She was helpless and she knew it. Back home, no one would have even dared touch her. Her daddy would have made sure of that, her daddy would have made them sorry. But she'd run away from daddy and now she was out in the real world and she was about to learn what it was all about.
And she knew that whatever this cruel black man wanted from her, she would have to give. She knew that whatever demand he made, her answer would have to be yes.
Washington waited for her crying to calm a bit and then gently said, "I do believe, my pretty little girl, that we are comin' to an understanding of just how it's going be between us." He then got up off her shoulders, walked back to the armchair and sat down, spreading his legs.
"Come over here," he commanded. Patti didn't have to be told twice this time. Stifling her sobs she obediently walked over to the chair. Washington smiled at seeing her so submissive-not that he minded beating the bitches to make them behave, but all that slapping around could wreak havoc with a man's manicure.
"Now kneel down between my legs."
Patti did just as she was told, the marijuana and qualuudes still flowing through her body, making everything dream-like, making everything not quite as bad as it really was. Patti was on her knees between the black man's legs, looking up at his face. At that moment he was her god, her master. His wish was her command. She was his slave and nothing more. She smiled bitterly at the thought-a beautiful white girl the slave of a nigger! God, she thought, if only daddy could see me now.
Washington began to talk in a low voice. "Now, baby, today's lesson is gonna be how to give a man a proper blow job. How to suck him off and how to swallow it. How to make him shoot that hot sticky cum all over your young face and let it run down your cheeks, let it run down your chin, let it run over your sweet red lips and into your hungry mouth. You're gonna learn to open that mouth and to take cock, to take cock all the way down your throat, to swallow that meat. You gonna be gaggin' on cock, and you gonna love it too."
Patti began to feel sick to her stomach. She had never done that before, though her boyfriends had always tried to get her to do it. She thought it was nasty and vile and disgusting. To actually put a man's penis into your mouth!! She didn't have much time to think about it, though.
"Take your hands," said Washington in a stern voice, "and pull my zipper down," Washington was leaning back in the chair with his arms behind his head.
Patti slowly reached up and unbuttoned Washington's gold Gucci belt. She couldn't believe what she was doing. But she was doing it and she wasn't about to risk hesitating and getting Washington angry again. She pulled the belt buckle aside and then undid the top button of his slacks. She grabbed the top of the zipper and slowly began to pull it down. The slacks gradually came apart the farther down she went. When she reached the bottom she stopped and awaited the next command.
Washington spoke harshly. "I ain't about to tell you how to do every little thing! What the fuck do you think you supposed to do now!"
"I, uh, well," Patti began timidly, "I've never done this before and I'm not sure-"
"Fuck that shit!" Washington interrupted. "I think you know what's goin' on here and if n you don't, why don't you just use your woman's instinct and get down to business. Now I don't want to hear any more shit outta you."
Washington was right. Even though Patti had never done anything like that before, she knew what it was all about. Her girlfriends in high school had told her all about it and two summers earlier she had gone downtown with a friend and seen "Deep Throat." She knew what it was all about.
Patti reached up and pulled the top of his slacks apart. Washington raised his hips so that she could slide them down. At first she tried to avoid looking at what she had just exposed, but finally had to confront what was before her.
The first thing she did was to gasp with surprise. She had seen penises before, she had even given her old boyfriend a hand job once or twice, but that totally left her unprepared for what she now saw. Washington was hung like a big black stallion. His thick, meaty cock, even hanging limply between his legs, was a solid eight inches of ebony muscle. Patti thought it looked like a huge black sausage, though she was a little confused by the way the end of it looked. It appeared that Washington had no cock-head. But then she remembered about circumcision and realized that Washington must have never had the operation. His massive rod lay atop two equally impressive balls, all covered with kinky, short black curly negroid hair.
Patti reached up and tentatively placed her hand around the thick black cock. She shuddered for a second imagining that it was a snake-a vicious black mamba. But then she felt the stirrings within, felt the blood rushing to fill the giant cock cavity, felt the rod beginning to stiffen just at her touch.
There was plenty of room on Washington's love rod for Patti to place both hands. She began stroking slowly and saw the huge pink cock-head slide out from beneath the folds of black skin around the top. She ran her fingers up and around the head and the slit, let them run down the length of his cock and then cradled his balls in her hand.
Washington let out a low moan of pleasure when she fondled his nuts. They were so large that they could both barely fit in her hand. The cock was growing and Patti was incredulous. She couldn't believe what was happening right before her eyes, couldn't believe that the black monster was actually growing so large. Soon it was rock hard, hard as a diamond, all ll inches sticking straight out from his sweaty groin.
He reached one huge black hand down and wrapped it around and through Patti's blonde hair. He applied a little pressure to the back of her head, pushing it toward his cock. His meaning was unmistakeable-just like a rider giving his horse a signal. Patti knew what was expected.
She opened her mouth to get her first taste of cock. The tip of the swollen pink cock-head punched past her lips and she opened wide. God, oh God, thought Patti in anguish. How did I end up here, why didn't I stay home where it was nice and safe. Oh, Gross! A nigger's cock, I'm going to suck on a goddamn nigger's cock. Washington kept pushing his thick rod in further. Patti opened wider to accommodate the massive girth.
"Now suck on it, bitch! Suck on it and tell me how much you like nigger cock in your sweet white mouth!"
Patti started sucking, though it was difficult because the penis filled her entire mouth.
"I said, tell me how much you like sucking on nigger cock!" Washington demanded. He grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back. "Tell me, goddamn it, tell me!! ! "
"I, uh, I, uh," Patti stammered, "I love sucking on your . . . nigger cock."
"That's better, cunt. Now suck on it. Lick it, love it."
Patti began to suck furiously as Washington pumped his suffocating thickness deep into her mouth. Only by keeping two hands firmly around his cock could she prevent him from ramming it all the way down her throat.
He grabbed the back of her head and began to pull her head up and down the length of his shaft. Pumping faster and more furiously.
"Oh yeah!! ! " he moaned. "Just suck it like that, suck it like that, you white bitch, you white cunt, suck on my big black cock. Taste my big black cock deep in your slut mouth. You on your knees, you on your knees in front of your nigger god, sucking on his nigger cock. And you love it. I knows you love it."
Patti began to feel his dick swell and throb within her mouth. She felt so degraded, so humiliated. If she wasn't terrified of what this nigger animal might do if she displeased him, she never would have done it. But she didn't have much time for thoughts like these-Washington was going crazy, slamming his cock in and out of her mouth, his balls slapping and pounding against her chin. She gasped for breath, thinking that if this ordeal didn't end soon, she'd pass right out.
Washington began to grunt and rasp, making strange animal noises that came from deep in his chest. "Uhhh, uggghhhgg, ooooo!! ! ! ! Oh, baby, oh you sweet white whore, you suckin' on my cock and you goin' make me cum. I goin' drown you in hot nigger jism."
Then his groans grew deeper, the stroke of his black member deep into her mouth, deeper, slower, more deliberate.
Patti felt the thick shaft swell even larger and then burst. Washington let out a low moan and began to pump squirt after squirt of the hot milky fluid down her throat. Patti was swallowing as fast as she could to keep up with the flow, but couldn't get it all down. A thick drool of cum escaped from the corner of her mouth and ran down her chin.
Washington groaned a sigh of relief and then patted her on the head. His energies, for the moment, were spent. "That pretty good, baby, that pretty good. For a beginner you ain't bad-though you got a lot to learn. We gots to teach you to relax those throat muscles so you can take it all the way down. But for a start, that wasn't bad, that wasn't bad at all. Now stand up."
Patti did as she was told. The taste of the salty sperm was still in her mouth and it wasn't as bad as she thought it was going to be. Washington was just leaning back in the chair, his once mighty cock now lying limp between his legs. Patti thought it was still pretty damn impressive.
"Turn around and let me take a good look at you."
Patti slowed, turned around and couldn't help but blush under his close scrutiny.
"I like that turning red shit," Washington commented as he saw her blush. "The customers will like that-you just remember how to do that. Yeah . . . you look pretty good, the clothes, raggedy as they are, hang pretty good on you. Well, let's see what you look like in the flesh-take 'em off."
Patti knew better than to argue. But she'd been hoping, been praying that he might be content with just a blow job, that he wouldn't want anything more. But now it dawned on her that not only did he want everything, but that he was going to take everything and that there was nothing she could do about it.
And she also realized just what this escort service was all about. She was going to be a whore and there was nothing that she could do about it. She was going to be a prostitute. She ran away from home and ended Up a prostitute and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. So this was the price of friendship with Desdemona, this was the price of the apartment and the frozen food she found in the refrigerator.
She tried to stop from crying, but couldn't. A small tear ran down the side of her face. She faced Washington and slowly began to unbutton her blouse. First the top button, then the next and then the one down below that. She opened the blouse wide, revealing her lacy white brassiere, her soft young breasts swelling out over the top. She thought with irony how her old boyfriend would have loved to see her do this and how she'd always been too prudish to let him. She looked at Washington who was sitting in the chair, a fat smile across his black face and his cock dangling between his legs. She blinked back another tear and reached back to unfasten the brassiere.