Revenge 88

I was bored. Again. Hell, even my day job as a copywriter for a law firm was duller than usual. No high-profile cases, no juicy scandals. Just a couple of boring mergers to proof-read and straighten out the usual egregious errors in grammar, not that anyone but me would care. Yuck. Lawyers!

Most times my second profession, my nighttime job, was compensation enough, but not lately. Oh, Sly had been getting clients for me all right, but they'd all been pretty ordinary. Nice guys, for the most part, but

ordinary

. I mean, I appreciate his efforts to protect me from weirdos or situations that could potentially become dangerous, but I just wanted a tad more spice. I guess I'd been getting a little spoiled of late.

Oh yeah, if you didn't already know, I sell sex, and Sly is what I like to call my agent. He has a different term for it, but he's learned not to use it around me.

I called him.

"So, you have anything for me this week?" I asked.

"Yeah," he responded. "I got a couple of guys lined up, including that guy with the funny haircut from a couple of weeks ago. He wants a rematch. You okay for next Tuesday?"

I sighed, audibly.

"What's the matter, Princess? You got a problem?" Sly was always solicitous of my welfare, and not exclusively for professional reasons. As my agent, he of course wants me available, but as our professional relationship has grown, he's developed an uncharacteristic (for him, anyway) respect for me, and I knew that his concern was genuine. Of course, he doesn't have a lot of patience for less tangible emotional problems like boredom, so I stifled it.

"I guess not," I said reluctantly. "I'll be there."

"C'mon Princess," he said. He still calls me that. When we first met, he used it in a pejorative way to mock my lily-white upper-class Connecticut upbringing. In a way it was defensive on his part. Around me he's acutely aware of the rough life he's led and that his only education comes from the streets. In mocking me he could let me know how hopelessly unsuited I was for the "real world", as he calls it. Now it's just a name. It took a while, but I've earned his respect, something that means a lot to me. He's accepted that I'm good at what I do, in spite of my background. Still, I'll admit that I like the name.

"Level with me."

"Okay, you asked," I said. "I feel like I need a little excitement. These last few jobs have been okay, but just that: okay. I'm remembering the balloon guys and the opera guy."

"Ah," he said. "I see. Y'know, Princess, you're fuckin spoilt. Fuck. I'm used to a different kind of girl, one who's in it just for the money. I never worked with anyone like you before, so forgive me if I haven't learned to cater to your more sophisticated tastes."

"Fuck you," I said, getting mad at his sarcasm. "You goddam well know that I've been good for you. I'm a professional. None of our clients have ever complained, have they? I do my job and I do it well. I'm just asking that once in a while you get me something a little more interesting, that's all. Is that too much to ask?"

"Okay, okay, Princess. I hear ya. Keep yer panties on, for now, at least. Lemme see what I can do."

Sly, in his own way, is professional enough to know when to shut up and keep the staff happy.

A couple of days later, he called me.

"Remember, Princess, you asked for this. I've got one for you that should shake off your boredom pretty damned well. I don't know if you're gonna like it, though."

"Tell me," I said. "Let me decide whether or not I like it."

He did.

"Jesus Christ!" I said when he had finished. "Where in the hell did you find this one? This has got to be the most bizarre one you've come up with, ever. Oh hell, no, don't tell me, I really

don't

want to know where you get them.

"Just give me a minute or two to get my head around this."

There was silence on the line.

"What the hell," I finally said, "I'll do it. I asked, and you delivered. I guess I owe you that much."

"Princess, you're a trouper."

When I told the Uber driver where I wanted to go, he gave me a very strange look. He had been happy enough to fantasize where this beautiful woman in a form-fitting short cocktail dress with stockings and heels was going at two o'clock in the morning, but he'd never expected this.

We drove uptown through largely deserted streets until we passed into a more residential area. Soon even the houses thinned out. Eventually we stopped in front of the elaborate gate for a large cemetery. There was another car parked there. I got out and told the driver to wait, that I expected to be not much more than an hour. He looked completely mystified, but he'd been at this too long to question his clients' quirks.

A man got out of the other car. He approached and looked me over carefully.

"Wow," he said, "You're gorgeous. This is gonna be perfect!"

He took my hand and led me through the gate. I have to tell you, even though I pride myself on being sophisticated and not particularly superstitious, it was really weird wandering through a cemetery on a dark night, lit only by the glow from the nearby city lights. Empty-looking mausoleums and elaborate tombstones loomed around us, hollowly echoing the sound of our shoes on the gravel paths as he led me on a tortuous path, deeper and deeper into the cemetery. My high heels kept digging into the gravel, and I had to lean on my escort for support. He clearly rather enjoyed that, although for the most part he seemed intent on what he was doing. We didn't talk. I think we both felt that conversation was somehow inappropriate under these circumstances.

At last, we came to a fairly new gravesite.

"This is it," he said. "This is her."

He unfolded and spread a woolen blanket on top of the grave.

"You ready?" he asked.

I bit my tongue. This was going to take every ounce of professionalism I could muster.

"Yes," I said. "Let's do it." I was proud that my voice didn't quaver.

I took off my dress and laid it beside the blanket. His eyes followed my every move. When I was down to bra, panties, stockings and heels, he smiled.

"I am really going to enjoy this," he said. He stripped. Luckily it was a warm summer night, so neither of us had goosebumps, at least not from the temperature.

I took off my bra and lay down on the blanket. He had a lovely bulge in his shorts that looked quite promising.

Bless him, he took his time with me. I think you can understand why under the circumstances I might appreciate a little encouragement, professional or not. He started on my breasts, fondling and kissing them. My nipples apparently don't care about unusual circumstances: they responded nicely, perking right up and unabashedly asking for more.

He worked his way down my abdomen and eventually got to my pussy. He kissed it a few times through the nylon, then gently eased my panties aside and probed me with his tongue. His warm tongue caressing my clit sent electric shocks through me. He slid my panties down and off. By then I was more than willing to help. He wasted no time and got right back to work. Oh God, he felt good down there between my legs. He had a very talented tongue, and soon I was quite wet. I stroked his hair and moaned in encouragement.

All too soon he rose up on his knees and dropped his shorts. I could see in the dim light that lovely big cock of his, fully erect and dripping with pre-cum. Oh, how I wanted that thing inside me. My hips were slowly undulating, and my breath was coming faster and faster.

He smiled down at me and penetrated me. I was very ready. His swollen cock parted my expectant pussy lips and easily slid into me. I felt my membranes stretch delightfully. Deeper and deeper he went, with my hips rising to meet him, until our groins touched.

We were both gasping by then. Any lingering thoughts about the strange circumstances around us were gone. All we could think about was the wonderful all-consuming sensations coming from our bodies. He began to stroke in and out of me. I could feel my vagina wrapping around his warm cock, almost sucking it as he withdrew and then drawing it in again. My hips were writhing, and I gave out a little involuntary "oh" each time he plumbed my depths.

Finally, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close to him. My breasts pressed into his chest. His hips pressed against mine, and he came, his cock throbbing deep inside me.

Oh lord, I could feel every deliciously warm spurt of his semen as he came, again and again. Both of us were moaning and gasping, holding on to each other as if the world was ending. He kissed me then, deeply and passionately even as he was cumming inside me. I responded. The world went away for a long time.

When it was over, he lay on top of me, exhausted. Both of us were breathing hard. Gradually reality re-exerted itself. He slowly pulled out of me and stood up. For a long moment he looked at my naked body, glistening in the dim light. He smiled. Then his gaze turned to the headstone marking the grave. His smile evaporated.

"Take that, you dried up sexless bitch!" he grated. "That's what you missed all these years. Fuck you!"

With that he seemed satisfied. He smiled again at me and helped me up. He thanked me very politely. We both dressed. He guided me back out of the cemetery and we got into our respective cars and left. I never saw him again, which I think is a good idea: I don't think I'd ever want to get on his bad side.