Thursday Thrillers {1) - Her Revenge

Thursday Thrills

Okay this another new little jaunt I've joined. It's call Thursday Thrillers and is being hosted by the delightful Tallulah Rose. It's a pretty simple idea. Write a flash fiction piece based the picture she provides.  You have up to 1000 words. My first week's piece is called Her Revenge...and is a bit tongue in cheek but still hot in its own way. I hope you enjoy it.  Once you get done reading my piece, make sure to stop by the rest of the contributing blogs. 

Thursday Thrills {1}: Her Revenge

I smirked as I read the plaque on the door. No prostitutes? Leave it to Sinclair to post such a brassy sign on his door. Whether you called his girls  soiled doves, ladies of the night, or whores, we all in the end were prostitutes. 

“Are you sure this is the right place?” The slurred voice of my john in my ear had me smiling up at him. 

“Of course, lover. You said you wanted to fuck me on my daddy’s desk. Well it’s behind this door.” This wasn’t the first time I’d lured an unexpecting john home. Sliding my key into the lock I slipped through the door, pulling my patron behind me. As usual, I stopped and listened to intently. When no sounds met my ears, I tugged my guest down the hall towards the study. Pushing him inside, I locked the door behind us. Putting my middle finger in my mouth I pouted, playing the role of the naughty school girl. “You going to punish me, now?” 

His eyes glazed with lust. His erection was obvious behind the twill of his pants. Chest heaving, he stumbled forward to press me over the desk. As he jerked my plaid school girl skirt up to my waist, I pretended to squeal as his hand smacked clumsily at my ass. Putting on the act, I wasn’t necessarily aroused by his actions but was by the idea of getting even with my pimp or my daddy as I referred to him. He’d slept with one of the new girls, and I was pissed. By screwing some miscellaneous john over his desk, it was apt revenge. He didn’t care who I fucked as long as they paid and he didn’t have to see it. We had a twisted relationship for sure. 

“Naughty little bitch. You need to be punished.” The loud rasp of his zipper didn’t surprise me, nor did his trying to enter me bareback. Shifting my hips with ease, I squirmed away. 

Dropping to my knees, I lifted my eyes demurely. “Let me make it up to you, Sir.” I begged, licking my lips and easing the condom out of my hidden stash while he was distracted. 

“Fuck yeah!” His hands grabbed my head and forced into his crotch. Swallowing his cock with ease, I slurped and sucked, while using my free hand to prepare myself. Circling my little clit, I imagined what it must sound like outside the office. My john’s loud groans, my slurps and then the door handle rattled. 

“What the hell?” Sinclair’s voice was muffled but unmistakable. A rush of fluid coated my thighs. It was time. Evading his grasping hands, I quickly sheathed my john's cock. 

“Fuck me.” I bent over and wiggled my ass in invitation. I groaned as he filled me. Keeping my thumb on my clit, I worked it rapidly as he pounded against my ass. Within minutes, he was groaning and spilling. I screamed out my release as pleasure hit me hard. 

“God damnit, Elise!” There was a louder sound as Sinclair’s fist hit the wood 

I giggled as my john pulled free. “What the hell?” His eyes were glazed with pleasure but it was obvious he didn’t know what was going on. 

“Don’t worry. That’s just my daddy.” I purred, pushing him to the back entrance of the study. “Best you go out the back.” 

He stumbled but patted his pants pocket for his wallet. “But what about price…” 

“Honey didn’t you read the sign? This isn’t a brothel.” I smirked as I pushed him out the door.

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©Dakota Trace All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and 

incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No portion of this work may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.