He shakes his head and runs his hand down his face. "But you don't wanna be here whoring around, correct?" I give a slight shake of my head no, and it's enough for him to see it. Hanger huffs out a breath and laces his fingers together, placing his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. "Shug, you don't owe me or this club a goddamn thing. You have a lot going for you. I don’t understand why you got it stuck in that thick fuckin’ head of yours that you owe the debt."
"My mom, Hanger—" I murmur, and his hands come down on the desk hard, making me flinch.
"Shug!” he shouts my name. “Your mom’s debt isn’t your responsibility. Bulk gave you a place to stay, and he set up your college fund. After he died, I just continued to do what I felt was right and finished paying. That’s a choice I made for you and never wanted you to feel like you were in debt to me or this club.”
"But—"
Before I can finish, he interrupts, "You do what you want, Shug. Just know that you ain't gotta do this, and you don't have to pay any debts that aren't yours to pay. You keep coming around until you feel you're done, not when someone else thinks you are. Your mom should be the one paying, and if she ever comes around, she will be."
"It is my debt, Hanger. Whether you believe it or not, it is, and she left me to take care of it." With that, I get up and storm out of his office.
Finding Chayser at the bar with a beer in hand, I sit on the barstool next to him. "Pretty Boy, can I get a shot of Kinky Blue, please?" I request, desperate for the shot the cute Italian prospect will deliver.
He nods. "Coming right up, Shug,”
Turning my attention to Chayser, I ask, "How's your night going?"
"Good. How was work?" He gives me that seductive, sexy smile. Chayser is a good-looking guy with long blond dreadlocks, hazel eyes, and a toned body. If I’m honest, he’s sexy as hell, but I can’t bring myself to feel any type of way for him besides as a friend. Maybe I’m holding up my walls because I know there would never be anything more.
"It was good. A slow night, but good all the same." I give a genuine smile this time, taking pride in the fact that I have a real job—an actual paying job.
After a few more shots and drinks, Chayser says, "You ready to do this, Shug?"
"Yeah, let's go." He takes my hand, helping me off the barstool, leading me to where the bedrooms are. Once inside, I inquire, "What'll it be tonight?"
His arm snakes around my waist, tugging me closer. His mouth moves from my cheek to my ear. "Shug, slow the fuck down. Stop treating this like it’s a fuckin’ job. I like being with you.”
My hands reach for the button on his jeans before tears can spring forth in my eyes. Once I’ve gotten his pants and boxer briefs around his ankles, I push against his chest, and Chayser falls onto his mattress.
I kneel between his tight muscled thighs. His eyes are glued to mine as his tongue skims across his wet lips. I begin to stroke my hand up and down along his hard length. Leaning forward, my tongue lightly touches the tip of his cock where precum is beading. Bursts of his salty flavor invade my taste buds, and I open my mouth wide, taking him in until he touches the back of my throat. I learned long ago how to control my gag reflex. Not only is he long, he’s thick, too, filling my mouth while the protruding veins in his dick rub against my tongue. Coming back up to the top, I suck on his tip. Slowly, I push down, swallowing, until he hits the back of my throat again. After a few bobs, I release him, only to flick my tongue against his slit in a fast motion, then swirl it around the head. He growls, and I’m pretty sure he’s frustrated with my teasing. I quickly begin blowing him again, performing the job I’d been selected to do.
Chayser’s hand finds my hair, tangling his fingers through it, and directing me to give him what he wants. Sucking him hard, I go down as far as I can. His fist tightens in my hair as he makes me move faster, deeper. Tears well in my eyes. I want to gag, but I don’t. His deep rumbling sounds of pleasure become louder. Chayser’s hips thrust upwards as he pushes my head down, fucking my mouth as if he’s desperate to find the release he seeks.
I allow him to take the lead, driving himself closer and closer. If I let him have control, it will make this shit go a whole lot faster. I position one hand on his thigh, digging my nails into his flesh while the other moves to his balls. I massage him before taking them into my hand and pulling down tightly. He loves it when I do that. I feel him grow impossibly harder inside my mouth.
He groans breathlessly, "I'm about to come." And that's my cue. I pull my mouth away, replacing it with my hand, pumping him a few more times until he growls, "Fuck!" His hot cum shoots out, filling my hand, but I keep stroking until he falls back on the bed and covers his eyes with one arm.
Sitting back on my heels with my hand full of Chayser’s cum, I stare at him in his sated position. I wonder what it’s like to feel good during sex or sexual acts. I wonder what it’s like to feel that sated feeling. Personally, I’ve never felt it. These guys don’t turn me on, and sex with them isn’t something I enjoy. I’m always in my head during, and afterward…well, they’re either rushing me out, or I’m running for the door. I don’t even think I’ve ever had an orgasm, always focused on getting it over with. How much longer will it take?
Chayser releases a deep breath. "Shit, Shug, that was good." His voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I stand from the floor to step over to his nightstand.
I laugh a real laugh. "Isn't it always?" I ask as I take a Kleenex and wipe off my hand.
"Yeah." His grin shines brightly. "Sit down." I do as he demands, dropping beside him, my hands fidget with the tissue in my lap. "Let me return the favor."
Keeping my head down, I adamantly shake it. “That’s not part of the deal, and you know it.”
"Shug, look at me." I lift my gaze to meet his. "Why are you here?"
"Not your business, Chayser." Jumping from the bed, I open the door and slam it behind me. I storm toward my room, grumbling all the way.
Grateful that my room has a private bathroom, I immediately rush into it and turn the water on in the shower, allowing the small space fill with steam before I step inside. I try to wash off the dirty feeling inside of me that never goes away, the one I’m never free from. I drop to the shower floor as tears begin to cascade down my cheeks, and gut-wrenching sobs are silenced by the sound of falling water.
I don't know why Chayser would even ask me to allow him to pleasure me. I have restrictions, and all of the guys are aware of them: I don't kiss, I don't let them go down on me, they don't come in my mouth, and they always use condoms. It’s my way of holding onto something for myself and staying somewhat in charge. Kissing is intimate, and so is letting someone’s face into my most private place.
I want some type of control in this life I live. Claiming these parts of myself is my way of doing that. I realize it may not make sense to anyone else, but it makes sense to me. Yes, I’m a whore, but I’m also a twenty-two-year-old woman who has never been kissed. Hopefully, it’ll happen one day, but I'm not holding my breath. Who could ever want me knowing what I am?