Blurred Lines (Blurred Lines Volume 1)
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Authors: Breena Wilde
Blurred Lines
Copyright © Breena Wilde
Breena
Wilde Books
ASIN
:
B00DSW0B9M
Digital Edition
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All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written consent of the author,
Breena Wilde, P.O. Box 1408 Bountiful, UT 84011.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the creation of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by: Breena Wilde Books
Des
ign copyright @2013 Steven Novak www.novakillustration.com
Interior design by: Breena Wile Books
Blurred Lines
Volume
1
Hooking has four important rules.
Cash only.
Use protection.
Carry mace.
Don’t fall in love.
Twenty-year-old Cadence
is a prostitute and she lives by the rules. They keep her alive and they keep her heart protected. But when she agrees to take one last job to get out from under her pimp, she discovers some of the rules might be worth breaking.
Chapter 1
“I’ll take the money first,” I say, walking into the skeevy hotel room and turning to meet the businessman’s gaze.
“Fine.” He pulls his wallet from his back pocket. While getting out the bills, I study him. He’s a little soft
around the middle, the norm for men his age—early thirties. He’s slightly balding and overly tanned, like he spends a lot of time on the golf course, and he’s short. Like five foot six, which is my height. With my heels on, I’m taller.
“
Here. Count it.” He hands me a hundred bucks and I
do
count it. I sure as hell don’t do this job for free.
“Awesome.
” I fold the crisp bills and stick them in my sparkly black purse. “Now that’s taken care of, where do you want this to happen? The bed? The chair? The floor?” I notice he’s already sporting a hard on. The tent in his pants gives him away. He doesn’t seem to care though. Neither do I. His sexual readiness just means our encounter will be over sooner rather than later.
I charge by the hour, but there’s rarel
y been a guy who can go that long. And once they’re satiated, they can’t make me leave fast enough. Yeah, I’m the dirty little secret.
He sits on the edge of the hotel bed.
“I get whatever I want for the hour, right?”
I nod, stifling a sigh. This may take longer than I thought. “As long as you’re wearing a condom, yes.” That’s one of my rules: always use protection.
He pulls one from his pocket, but I shake my head. “We’ll use one of mine.” I’ve heard enough horror stories of guys poking holes in condoms to give the girl some horrible disease. It’s not going to happen to me.
“Fine,” he agrees, slipping off his shiny wingtips.
I reach into my purse, pull out several condoms, and set all but one on the chest of drawers across from the bed.
He
takes the condom, places it on the bed, slowly removes his navy suit jacket, and hangs it in the closet. He’s obviously in no hurry. Once he’s naked—except his black socks—he turns to me.
“Now y
ou,” he says, sitting back down, the condom already over his hardened cock.
“Any particular way?”
I smile seductively.
“I don’t give a shit how the clothes come off, just get out of them,” he barks.
I flinch, but keep my features stoic. Some guys get a kick out of scaring girls. While that’s fine, I can pretend as good as the next girl. I want to know what he has in mind first. “You got it.” I slip out of my black heels, and step out of my tiny black skirt. My top is a bandeau and I slide it down my stomach and off. Then I turn away from him and place my things on a desk with my bag underneath.
He’s suddenly behind me
, his cock pressed into the cleft of my ass.
I cringe slightly but force it down. “Is that what you want, baby? To come in my ass?”
“Not yet. First I want your pussy.” He slides into me. After three hard thrusts he comes. “Now go lay on the bed,” he commands.
I obey and watch him throw the used condom into the trash and grab another.
He’s still semi hard and he slides it on.
“What now, baby?” I keep my eyes hooded, pretending I’m into him. My knees are up and I’m spread open playing with myself.
He climbs on the bed and smacks my hand away. “Don’t touch yourself. This isn’t about your pleasure, it’s about mine.”
I rest my hand on my st
omach, ignoring the slight sting.
“Roll onto your knees and stick your ass in the air. For touching yourself you get ten spankings.”
Oh, he’s one of those
, I think, shifting my persona into that mode. I roll onto my knees. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I say, sounding contrite.
He grunts
. “Call me Master.” Then he smacks my ass hard, again and again and again until tears fill my eyes from the pain.
After ten
, he stops. “I’m going to fuck your ass now.” He spits several times and rubs his saliva over my asshole before sliding inside. “Moan for me, whore. Show me how much you like it.”
“Yes, master.” I moan loudly
, acting as though he’s the best lay I’ve ever had. “Oh, God. You’re fucking me so good.”
“Yeah
whore. I know how to fuck. No one is ever going to be better than me. Say it!”
“
You’re the best fuck I’ll ever have, Master.”
After several minutes, I feel his body tense. He’ll come again soon. “
Can I touch myself, master?” I ask, hoping he agrees. “Please. I want to come with you inside me.”
He slaps my ass again. “Yes, whore. Touch yourself, but only come once. I’ll know if it’s more.”
“Yes, Master.” I touch my clit. Massage it until the tension starts to build. And then I come, the orgasm racking my body. He comes quickly after. It’s always faster for the men if they can feel me come.
He slides out
of my ass and rolls onto his back. “Get another condom and suck my dick until I come again, whore.”
“Yes,
Master.” I climb off the bed and steel myself. This man will definitely go the full hour. He obviously wants his money’s worth.
Chapter 2
The alarm
goes off at seven o’clock, not a.m., but p.m. It’s a hazard of my job: sleep all day and take care of business all night. But I’m already awake. Lying in bed, preparing for what tonight holds.
“Turn that
fucking thing off. It’s hurting my brain.” My roommate, Jessica, tosses her pillow at the nightstand, sending the alarm clock crashing to the floor. It’s still ringing, though. “Holy fuck, turn it off.”
I get out of
my twin-sized bed and handle the clock.
Jessica sits up.
“Is tonight the night?” Her hair is a frizzy mess of blond curls. They’re standing all over her head. Makeup from last night streaks her face, including some red lipstick. When she’s put together she’s very beautiful, willowy. Tall with a killer body and eyes the color of creamy caramel.
Jessica came to
Los Angeles to be an actress, as did eighty-five percent of the prostitutes in L.A. County. There’s no way I would ever become an actress; my life is already way too full of drama.
Anyway, Jessica
did a commercial and a few small speaking parts, but that doesn’t pay the bills for very long.
When I found her she was
nearly dead from starvation. I took her in, gave her a place to stay, food to eat. When she found out what I did, she wanted in. She’s definitely better at it than me, but I’m persistent, like a dog with a bone. If I want something, I won’t give up.
Prostitution isn’t the best job in the world, but it
keeps me from being homeless. Sure, there are tons of people who say it’s an evil occupation and that everyone who does it or takes part in it is evil as well. I say they can suck it. We all work to earn a living, I just do mine on my back.
A
s a businesswoman I want to be my own boss. Get out from under the thumb of Fileze the Sleave, my dirty-no-good-pimp.
I swallow the jittery moths climbing my throat. “Yep. Fileze says if I do this one last job, he’ll let me go.
And then I’ll be my own boss. I’ll be able to dictate with who, how far, and how much.”
“Yeah, but you know Fileze isn’t going to make this easy. It’ll probably be one of his asshole drug friends.”
“I know,” I say throwing my pink comforter across my bed in an attempt to make it. Grabbing my shower bag, I walk to the bathroom in our tiny one bedroom apartment. “You working tonight?”
“Of course. There’s no rest for the wicked.” She laughs and throws her baby blue My Little Pony at me.
I catch it and toss it back. “K, I’ll hurry.”
My pimp told me to wear a party dress. The only one I have is tight, lacy red, and cuts about mid-thigh.
I style and dry my hair until it’s shiny and curls gently at the ends. When I’m finished I walk out of the bathroom.
“What do you think?”
Jessica, who’s still sleeping, rolls over and groans. She pushes her hair off her face and smiles. “You look smokin’ hot. Dayum. I’d tap that.”
“Thanks. Which shoes though? The red ones?” I hold up seven-inch platform shoes. “Or these black ones.” They’re also seven-inch heels and patent leather.
“The black ones, for sure. They’ll look perfect with your outfit and hair.” She climbs out of bed. She’s wearing a black thong and a white tank.
I slide on the shoes and grab my black bag.
“You got enough condoms?” she asks, taking her shower bag into the bathroom. “I bought a new box yesterday. They’re under my bed, or maybe on my bed.” She shakes her fingers through her hair. “They’re somewhere over there.”
“Thanks, Jessica. I’m still good.” At the door, I pause. Jessica turns on the water. The automatic coffee
pot—our one splurge—kicks on and I sigh contentedly. When I come home in the morning, I’ll no longer be someone’s bitch. I’ll be my own person, obligated to no one. That one thought pushes out any worry about what Fileze has in store with the man I’m seeing tonight.