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Blank, Sex & Murder - Chapter 9 And 10 free porn video
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Chapter 9
The only J's I knew of was down on shit street by the shipbuilding yards. The only reason I knew that was because at one point I used to make "deliveries" down there because a chick I let move in with me took off with my savings I had stuck in the mattress.
Yes, I actually did that. Shut up.
My logic was that no one would be stupid enough to do such a thing, so who would actually look there? In my brilliance, I crammed the mattress with 25k of my hard-earned.
I wasn't completely stupid, though, I cut into the Sealy and shoved packs of 20's and 50's everywhere around the springs and to the four corners. I figure it must’ve taken my live-in a good 25-30 minutes to get all of it. My only consolation was that she had cut herself in the process and left a little trail of blood.
Yeah, she got all of it.
She was persistent, the little fucker.
And I do mean little. Thai. A nipple over 4 1/2 feet. Walking in the bars, everyone thought I was bangin' a child. I almost broke up with her for that reason. I don't normally give a fuck what other people think, but in this case, it was almost warranted. Even with all my twisted sexual behavior, pedophiles are the one group of people I'd cross the street to kill. I didn't want to be grouped in with them in any way.
So I kept her mostly secret. That was another stupid move. Few people saw me with her. I didn't mention her to anyone. Hell, I didn't even brag about fucking her—and she was tight. And hairless. Everything a guy would find brag-worthy. At the time, I don't know if her hairlessness was genetic or not, but I never saw her shave. I never felt stubble. Even her ass was hairless. And man, I never tasted better ass.
Yes, I had enough sense to make sure she was actually of age. Shortly after meeting her, I pretty much demanded that I see her ID. I wasn't going to take her word—not with her broken English and diminutive form. It turned out that she was 20 and had just gotten her work permit. She had come directly from Thailand. Had family there who were going to receive most of her paycheck, once she got a job and started making some good money.
After that first hairless sex experience, I checked her ID again to make sure I hadn't missed anything. She was legit. Turns out that a lot of Thai girls were like that. Some Filipino's, too.
Reassured, I honed my pussy-eating skills on her. That was about the only thing of worth I got out of her.
When I came home one day and found all her clothes gone and my mattress torn up, I took two days off to cuss at her and at myself. I walked the city in a fury hunting for her, then I notified the police. Then I spent another day cussing, drinking, and missing that pussy.
I was still a guy. Pussy like that was rare.
I then had to take a few side gigs for Thad. "Deliveries."
I'm sure the deliveries were dirty. I didn't look in the packages I carried, I didn't want that knowledge. When you're meeting guys named Olag in the shipyards at 2 in the morning, the less you know, the better. Olag, Chancy, Creen, and Jon. Dirtiest fuckers you ever laid eyes on. I made my deliveries and got the fuck out of there.
I didn't make back all my money with those gigs, but I got close. That's why I knew they were dirty. No one pays that amount of wad to hand off an envelope or a brown paper bag.
I dropped Thad after that. Didn’t want him thinking I was his bitch. But Thad did have his fingers in the porn industry, and I wanted steady work. Seems I was his bitch just a little.
J’s…I didn’t want to go down there. I didn’t want to meet Candy. Fuck her, yes. Taste her again, yes. Feel her…
Oh, fuck it.
Now, I only had to figure out what to wear. And whether or not I was going to take a weapon. It was still a seedy area. Her stiletto, maybe. She’d be pissed if I brought that.
Yeah. Really pissed.
Now I only had to figure out where I was going to hide that damned thing.
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Chapter 10
J’s was as shitty as the the shit street that ran past its front door. Deeper in the city, you have clubs for the Cadillac gays hoping for a hop and pop and chic baritones with a surprise for you under their skirts. J’s was S&M for those who didn’t know any better. It was for minds still stuck in the 80’s with assless chaps, flat leather caps, and horseshoe mustaches. Torn, threaded denim—the kind you earn—rounded out their less than trim figures.
I parked my car about three blocks away in a large broken parking area with a tattered rag fence. The lot was a joke, but the guy holding out his hand for the cash to park was not. He didn’t care if anyone saw the blade at his waist or his bad attitude. I understood hiding his gaze under his ray-bans, but it was fucking dark. The single pole light above was anything but illuminating. I gave him my money and stopped myself from commenting. I had the stiletto, but I hadn’t any practice or skill using it. Joe Cool with the glasses would probably cut me for being the smart ass I thought I was…show me how to use a blade from the inside out and then ask me for a twenty for his trouble.
I made it out of the lot and down the street without managing to kill or partially gut myself. This was harder than you think: I had the stiletto wrapped in a thin towel shoved down the front of my shirt and pants. If I fell, I’d end up shivving my gut.
I agonized about how best to bring the thing. I ended up romanticizing how slick it would be to have her reach down and grab my dick, only to find the end of the stiletto there. There would be the surprised look to her face and then the resultant animal lust from her because I had disobeyed. I wasn’t anyone’s bitch.
But as I walked, I was terrified that I would fall and kill myself. I must’ve looked like I was seriously constipated.
I thought about putting the thing down my pants point first, but between stabbing myself in the gut or taking the chance of piercing my dick all the way through and chance making it useless—I chose the gut. I think any man would make the same choice. I had the sense to wrap the stiletto in a towel. It made me look like I had a good bulge in my pants.
Sure, I could’ve put it down my sock, but I didn’t own any. I barely had pants. Most of my Florida wear was sweatpants and sandals in the coldest of weather. The gigs I worked didn’t have a dress code. I was spoiled in that.
So, it was black sweatpants, sandals and a loose black shirt—I wanted her to be able to rip my clothes off quickly.
As I walked, though, I could feel the tip of the stiletto work its way through the towel a bit. It rubbed my stomach sharply.
I looked ahead and saw a few club members hanging outside. One gruff dude actually had a toothpick—at least I thought it was a toothpick—hanging off the corner of his mouth.
I wanted to adjust the stiletto, but I didn’t want anyone seeing me doing that. And by now everyone was looking at me.
Yeah, I didn’t fit.
Leather and denim. Have to remember that for next time.
Fuck next time. She was meeting me somewhere else.
A woman stood next to the guy. She could have been his mother. She wore an opened vest that displayed her drooping cleavage down to a grey honey trail that dipped below a thick black belt studded with silver. Her belt wrapped a leather bikini, and those were wrapped in chaps. She wore dark eyeliner.
Next to her was a thinner, younger woman who was stroking the older woman’s thigh. This one could’ve come out of a Madonna video. As I approached, she looked at me and let her hand slide up the older woman’s crotch. She whispered something in the older woman’s ear.
I resisted the urge to close my eyes tightly and wish it all away, but that would have been insulting people who did life like this because they believed in it. I was not one to criticize another person’s life. I required the same of the rest of the world for my own choices. Walk on, old and young babe; I got your back.
With all that before me, I wasn’t being truly honest with myself. I actually was turned on a little. It had more to do with the excitement of what I was expecting or, rather, wishing to happen, and the fact that this stroking woman was doing this out in the open for anyone to see.
Anyone who happened to be crazy enough to walk out this way in the pit of night.
Still, sex was sex. On a set with cameras and lighting, there was a specific plan of action. Out here, anything could happen. That was the undercurrent that woke my dick a little. Nothing full-fledged, mind you, (I did have some control), but enough to make an outline happen in my sweatpants that ran right along the length of the stiletto.
Yep, I was looking like a two-dicked man about to get him some.
This wasn’t lost on the man. He looked down at me in a little confusion, then grinned. He reached up to his collar, on the side I couldn’t see, and then pulled down a mic hanging from a curly cord. He kept an eye on me and put a hand out to stop me.
I stopped.
“I think he’s here,” the man said. “Dorky. Thin. Has more than one hard on.”
There was silence for a few seconds, then he nodded and waved me over to him. He let go of the mic and put a hand on my chest to stop me as the two women moved toward me, one in front, the other in back.
I found it difficult to keep my tongue in check, but I managed. I was ready to challenge that dorky comment, but figured it wouldn’t help me get inside any faster—and might just have the opposite effect.
It wasn’t long before I had expert hands probing all over me, the best frisking experience I’ve had. They knew their way around a body and even lingered on the crease where God split me, traveled up there to cup my balls. I couldn’t keep my soldier from standing at attention through that. Hell, they were fine rubbing their own creases in public, what was a hard-on between friends?
I opened my mouth to say something when I noticed that these women weren’t quite what they appeared to be. I mean, older, yes, and younger, a little overweight and thin, but they were practiced. Strong. They moved with purpose and subtle strength.
I looked at the man and realized that he wasn’t just a lump of a guy either, but probably an old powerlifter. He had a little more flab on him than I’m sure in his heyday, but I wasn’t going to bet against him in a confrontation with me—or even three of me. The toothpick? It was a sharply pointed sliver of steel or some other metal. I don’t know if it was a weapon or a lock-picking tool.
The older woman got my attention again with a good, hard feel of my cock. She was damn good. I wanted more of that and gave her a smile indicating so. The younger one was against my back and then feeling up under my armpits and then hairline.
Finally, the older one felt all along the stiletto and then lifted up my shirt. She peeled back the towel some to reveal the rest of the stiletto’s tip. I was ready to protest and object them taking it from me, powerlifter or not, when the old woman let my shirt fall over it. She gave the powerlifter a small shake of her head with a look that said I was stupid.
I was okay with that. I’d let her think anything she wanted, if she’d just go back to caressing my dick again, Hell, I’d even insult myself for her.
But she didn’t do that. She went back to her place by the side of the door and her younger friend moved right back with her and resumed her caressing.
Beside me, the powerlifter touched his mic again and spoke into it. “He brought it,” he said. He waited again and then got his reply.
I didn’t like the reply he got in his ear. I don’t know what it was, but I didn’t like it. The guy smiled at me in a way that said I was in for something. That I had crossed a line somewhere I shouldn’t have.
He kept his smile while opening his arm wide to let me pass. I heard the door ahead unlock.
Yep. It was at this point I thought I should probably have gone in the opposite direction. Head back to my car with my tail between my legs and consider myself lucky.
But it turned out, I was as stubborn as I had always been. My youth hadn’t left me after all. Nobody was going to scare me away. It just wasn’t going to happen.
I looked at the three of them, and I stepped to the door and opened it.
And yes, it turned out that I was stupid, too. -->
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