Not bad at all, she thought, giving it a rough count, fingering the leaves and riffling the pages. And I did not even have to do anything kinky.
A knock on her door, a twinkle of ears and the kitty stirs in her lap.
“Hush baby,” she purrs.
She saunters over to the door, swaying her hips side to side. The cat tiptoes behind.
The bronze doorknob twists and the door creaks open. A puff of smoke immediately suffocates her. She lets out a dry cough and stuffs a roll in his good hand.
His cigar hangs loose between his lips. He cracks a toothless smile:
“You aren’t going to invite me in?”
She swallows and backs up a little. He brushes by her and she can smell on him the mix of tobacco and rain. She holds back the urge to puke. He indulges in another puff and continues:
“Listen, I’ve got a bigger offer. A politician.”
She quickly eyes the remaining cash on the table and slaps the green in his hand.
He pulls her face closer and hisses:
“It’s got to be a lot more than that. Why not just obey, huh? After all, you are just a whore.”
He dips his head lower; she wraps her leg around his. His hand slithers up her thigh, pulling at her undergarment. With one hand, she hooks the nape of his neck and gifts a long kiss. With the other, she reaches behind her for something cold.
He clasps around her waist and plunges into her as she plunges it into his neck.
His eyes a piercing blue, his face turns pale and blood sprouts out as if from a broken water hose. With a quiet thud, he drops on to the floor.
The kitty sneaks over, one paw at a time, white fur dripping with red, and sticks out her raspberry tongue to lick at his wound.
She loses her grip and murmurs:
“You are the real whore.”