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Gangster Love

Isabella raised her head from the dripping cock and wiped her chin on her bare shoulder.  She gave the man a toothy smile and crawled across the floor to her next assignment.

At one end of the room stood a clump of idle girls – not the favorites, Isabella thought smugly.  The favorites were on their knees, crawling between bosses, slurping and moaning and, sometimes, embracing one another at the center of the chamber.  Every breast was bare, and most of the men lounged on cushions with their pants unzipped.

She reached Alanzo and curled up between his knees.  He ruffled her hair.  "Izzy, baby. I feel like we haven’t talked in months.“

Leaning her head back so she was resting it on his stomach, she fluttered her eyelashes at him.  "We haven’t.  You’ve been busy with Vera.”  She narrowed her eyes just enough to show exactly how she felt about her fellow entertainer.

“Awww, Izzy.”  Alanzo cupped her chin and tilted her head so she was a sleek, dark line from chin to sternum.  "You know I’ll always come back to you.“

"Yes,” Isabella purred, rolling over so her face rested in his crotch.  "Because I’m the best.“

Her eyes still trained on him, she went down on his cock, flattening her tongue to take him all the way in.  A sigh shivered out of him and he slumped, melancholy but sated.  Isabella bobbed on his cock, working her hands as well.

Alanzo’s head lolled and he gazed at Isabella through half-closed eyes.  "Hey.  Listen.”  His voice was almost too quiet for her to hear, so she released him with a pop of her lips and swung to her feet, straddling him.  She buried her knees deep in the couch cushions on either side of him and sank down on his waiting cock.  Spasms of pleasure pulled them closer together; she rested her head against the side of his, eyes closed, waiting.

“There’s a big delivery going down on Sunday.  Church time.  Enrico, Teddy, a few of the others – they’re dragging something out of the boats and distributing it while the holies are occupied.”  Alanzo’s lips barely moved against her ear, the soft, moist skin making her cartilage tingle.

“Got it,” she said back, just as discreetly.  She folded her torso and then leaned into him.  He grabbed her ass and pressed her down as far as she would go.  Isabella curled her tongue into the corner of her mouth and bumped her forehead against Alanzo’s.

“Well aren’t you just the strong, healthy stud today.”

“I do what I can,” the gangster said, and gritting his teeth he began to bounce his lap.  Isabella gripped him with startling strength and threw her head back, her large breasts flying up to smack her under the chin, her moan coming out in staccato snaps.  Her fingers dug into Alanzo’s shoulders and her mouth dropped open as she climaxed; Alanzo showed her a set of yellow teeth and then leaned forward to nibble her nipples.  He left bright red marks on her areolas.

Isabella dropped her hand to her clit and flicked it with two fingers while she continued to pump.  She lowered her back into the motion, riding with all of her energy, until Alanzo finally huffed and surged into her, a hot flood.  Isabella caught up her hair and settled on his lap, pulling her feet out from behind her so she was almost squatting over him.

“There you go, Mister Alanzo, sir,” she said with a teasing grin.

He wheezed in her ear, his scruff tickling her cheek. “Come back sooner next time,” he said, smacking her cheek with a kiss and then echoing the sound on her ass.

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Master of the Kennels

Klia tried to stop her trembling as the hovercraft pulled up to the intimidating iron gates, but her hands betrayed her.  She stuffed them between her legs and tried not to hear Azha’s whimpering.  The gates opened and the hovercraft slipped inside, picking up speed to avoid being crushed as the metal formation clanged closed.

The baying of the harrihounds was deafening as the slave girls were ushered out of the hovercraft and up the stairs to the main door.  Klia stifled her disgust at the blotches on Azha’s pale red skin and hugged her close.  "Hush, little one.  You’ll be – “  Her voice wavered as she looked over Azha’s matted hair to see Lord Wendell’s beady human eyes boring into her.  "Fine,” she finished, with a trembling of her own.

A servant emerged from the home: a slender ranyed like them, his skin the traditional deep blue of males.  He nodded to Klia and extended his hand to Azha.  "You, with me, please.“  His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking that he was giving her a command.

Lord Wendell cleared his throat.  "Excuse me, I believe – ”

“This girl,” said the servant, in the same soft tone, “is for the hounds.  Orders of His Majesty.”

Azha cried out.  Even Lord Wendell looked away.  "Ah.  That explains the request.  Carry on.“

Klia could not watch as the sickly girl stumbled against the servant through a side door.  The harrihounds’ baying grew louder and more frantic.  As Lord Wendell hurried to pull the last of the tributes out of the vehicle, one of the harrihounds’ voices rose to a crescendo above the rest.  Klia flinched and tried to stand straighter.

The servant returned, his expression unchanged.  He opened the door and let them into the main hall of King Thancmar.  Klia’s feet made no noise on the soft carpet stretched before them to the throne at the end of the long chamber.

They arrived and fell to their knees.  Klia did not raise her head until she heard the grunt of Lord Wendell getting to his feet, and then she dared look up.

King Thancmar oozed over the sides of his chair.  One hand, like a string of sausages, rested on the head of the largest harrihound she had ever seen.  His thick mane was groomed to a sheen, and when he curled his lips to show its teeth, they glittered with gold.

"Ahhh, what a jewel you have brought me, Wendell,” Thancmar said, the words sliding out of him like thickening blood.  "Your taste in visiting gifts is impeccable.  Bring her here.“

Wendell gave Klia an almost apologetic look and took her elbow, walking half the distance to the throne with her before bowing and backing away.  Klia willed her body to remain rigid as the king sized her up.

"Mmm, so delicate, so supple, so ready for me and mine.”  And King Thancmar heaved himself out of his throne, towering above Klia so that her head came barely to his waist.  Her throat bobbed as she realized why he had designed his throne this way.  Out from beneath his robes peeked an uncut, hairy cock, like a curious, hideous worm.  She shuddered; he saw, and it widened his smile.

“First me, then the hound,” he said, patting the harrihound between the massive ears.  The animal gave a soft snarl.  Its gaze never left Klia.  She imagined how it would feel, bent on the floor as a show and a toy, and trembled, because she would not have to imagine for long.

“Come here, girl,” Thancmar said, and she stumbled forward to ram his foul-tasting cock down her throat.  She pumped until, as she gagged, he came in her mouth, his whole body convulsing and an inhuman noise growing in his gut.

Klia dared not look at Lord Wendell as the servant appeared once more and disrobed her.  "I’m sorry, sister,“ he whispered to her as he removed her robe with surprising gentleness.  Klia closed her eyes as he pushed her to her knees and arranged her limbs.  She could hear the harrihound breathing hard, the soft whines of arousal in his throat.

She thought of making love to Imper, their bodies a mass of lithe limbs and sweet affection.  She locked her mind on that image and waited.

The harrihound descended like a storm.

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Alley-Oops

Becca’s foot tapped impatiently as she waited near the gym entrance.  No sign of her brother, or any of the rest of the team, for that matter.  It was annoying enough to have to ferry Victor and his friend Luke around to and from basketball practice during her winter break, but when they disappeared to snog the high school girls, it was that much worse.

Another five minutes passed.  Becca fiddled with her boxy phone and sighed.  She had given them the fifteen minute warning thirty minutes ago, with no text in response.  Drastic measures would have to be taken.

She strode across the court, her street shoes squeaking.  At the other end, the door to the locker room hallway was propped open with a brick.  She peered in, but there was no gender designation here, so she slipped inside.  "Victor?  Luke?“ she called softly as she crept down the hall, her fingertips brushing the rough bricks.

A shadow loomed in a dimly-lit doorway ahead, and she started.  "Hey, someone there?”  She tried to keep her voice from wavering, but it was impossible, as spooky as the drippy pipes and abandoned yet echoing passages were.

The shadow shrank and then a tall, lanky man-boy peered around the corner, half-hiding his face and wry grin.  "Hey, Becca.“

"Oh.  Luke.”  Becca put her hand to her heart.  "Thank god it’s you.  Fucking creepy place.“

"Come on in,” Luke said, gesturing her into the doorway and vanishing.

She hesitated.  "Isn’t that the boys’ – “

"It’s just me,” Luke called back, still out of sight, his voice betraying broad sweeps of movement.  "Victor’s off with Fenny.“  Becca rolled her eyes; her brother had a string of awkward, messy high school girls, and Fenny was the latest whack job.  With a last glance over her shoulder – because convention was convention, after all – she entered the boys’ locker room.

Luke was buck naked, still dripping from his shower, his impressive cock hinting upward and a confident grin pointed at Becca.  She blushed furiously and covered her eyes with her hand, leaving enough space between the fingers to stare.  "Luke!  What the hell?”

She was four years his senior and still had to admit that, standing posed like that, he cut a more impressive figure than any of her peers.  He kept smirking.  "Isn’t this why you came back here?“

"I – no!  No, of course not, I’m seriously just trying to leave.”  With each word, the gaps between her fingers widened until finally she just dropped her hand.  "Homework.  Due.  Sometime.“

He seemed to swirl something around in his mouth, finally deeming it worthy of voicing: "It’s not gonna suck itself.”

“Honestly!” Becca almost shrieked, but then she caught herself.  Not that she could ever admit it, but – she had harbored a secret crush on Luke since they’d met, when he was a precocious but soft-spoken thirteen-year-old as tall as she was at seventeen.  Her throat bobbed.  "Are you sure,“ she said in a tiny voice, "that Victor isn’t here?”

“Positive.”  He rested his hands on his bare ass.  "Pretty please?  I’ve always seen you staring.“

Again, she swallowed hard, her gaze drifting down to his slowly awakening manhood, and then she made up her mind.  Summoning all the huffiness she could, she plopped down on her knees on the rubber mat and cupped him in both hands.

"This is for that three-pointer,” she said, and took him between her lips.  He gasped and jerked, but she held him still.  "And this,“ she said, pulling away and grinning up at him, "is for being a cheeky little bastard.”  She nibbled down the length of him and he hardened so quickly she was afraid he would come before she’d had enough time to make it worth his while.

“Control thyself,” she chuckled, and went back to work.

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Closing Time

The tempered squawking of the baseball announcers was the only sound of life in the bar.  Grunting as he leaned across the counter to reach the far corner, the bartender glowered at the small figure hunched over the last stool.  "Hey.  Kid.  We’re closing.  Move along.“

The figure uncoiled, lengthening into a slender woman with a pixie cut.  She smacked a piece of white gum under her canines.  "Your sign’s still on,” she said with a jerk of her thumb over her bare shoulder.  The movement made her visible breasts quiver.

The bartender stopped mid-wipe and sighed.  "Right.  Okay.  Look, I’m turning off the sign.“  He crossed the distance behind the bar and flipped the switch.  Neon tubes hissed and died.  Hands to hips, the bar cloth dangling from his fingers, the bartender faced his last customer.  "We’re closed.”

“Excellent.”  The young woman swung off the stool, and with a thrill in his groin, the bartender realized she was not wearing pants.  Her heels ticked away the seconds as she moved to the door, bolted it, and slunk back towards him.

He suddenly found that his hands were awkward, no matter where he intended to rest them.  "Ma’am, I’ll h-h-h-have to ask you…“

"I’d prefer you give commands.”  She dropped to her knees on the rubber mat, her tongue lolling.  Like graceful divers, her hands disappeared into his pants and slid them off.  "So?  What’ll it be?“

"In your mouth,” he gasped, his hand moving without bidding to the back of her head.  Her hair was coarse, dyed too many times; he grasped a handful and pressed her nose into his crotch.  She accepted his length down her throat with a grateful gulp.

His eyes fell on the envelope, splashed with beer, resting where she had been sitting.  His name was on the back.  His fingers trembling with the effort of concentrating, he managed to extract the card.

Happy birthday, bud.  Have one on us.

It was signed by bar owner and his coworkers.

Stabilizing himself on the edge of the counter with his palms, he adopted a wider stance.  "Deeper, bitch,“ he said, and she went to work.